Teddy Grahams

Captain's Log, Stardate 04.28.2010

I blogged yesterday at Girls, God, and the Good Life about (what else?) food:

Camy here! And yes, I realized I just posted about marshmallows and now I’m posting about Teddy Grahams. What can I say, I’m on a food kick.

(Come to think of it, when am I not on a food kick?)

Click here to read the rest and weigh in!

Interview on Hook'em and Book'em blog

Captain's Log, Supplemental

I'm totally thrilled to be interviewed on Mark Young's blog! Check it out here!

Mark's a former police officer and I absolutely love his blog. I read it all the time because he has great interviews with mystery/suspense authors and also law enforcement officers. Really cool stuff!

Nerd alert

Captain’s Log, Supplemental

Captain Caffeine and I were watching last week’s episode of the TV show CSI and it was one of those funny episodes as opposed to their more serious ones (I wish they’d get back on the Dr. Jekyll serial killer! Way cool!).

Anyway, poor Henry, one of the lab techs, has had some practical jokes played on him and he blames Hodges, who is admittedly one of my least favorite characters but he’s also one of the most unique characters I’ve seen on TV.

Henry:

”Back off, man. I’m a toxicologist. I know every odorless, colorless, vomit-inducing liquid known to man. You think about that the next time you eat lunch.”

I heard that and just howled. Captain Caffeine says it’s my geeky biologist side.

I’m like, Come on, other people think it’s funny too, right? Right?

How to cook fresh parsley?

Captain’s Log, Stardate 04.22.2010

I’m over at Faithchick.com with a poll for you kitchen gurus:

Camy here! And yes, I’m serious.

Whether you love or hate vegetables, I’d like some ideas from you guys. Here’s the setup (and a little gushing):

Click here to read the rest and chime in!

Excerpt - Mountain Peril by Sandra Robbins

Mountain Peril
by
Sandra Robbins

According to an anonymous message, a young woman is going to be murdered in the North Carolina mountains. When a body is found, Danielle Tyler is shocked to learn it's her student—the third person in her life to meet an untimely death. Is she next? From disturbing notes and roses left in her office to cold-blooded murder, someone means deadly business. Detective Jack Denton—the stalwart lawman who makes her pulse race—vows to find the deranged madman, but Danielle doesn't dare let him too close. Especially when death seems to be the destiny of anyone she cares about…

Excerpt of chapter one:

The Webster Falls Sheriff's Department Asks for Help in Apprehending a Killer.

The flashing words, accompanied by the steady drone of a drumbeat and the eerie sound of distant guitars, hovered above a picture that sent chills down Danielle Tyler's back. She leaned closer to the computer screen and stared spellbound at the scene below the words. As Dean of Students at Webster University, she was familiar with some of the Web sites her students frequented, but she'd never seen anything like this.

A young girl lay on her back, her dark hair fanned out on a pillow of mountain foliage underneath. Red-tinged leaves littered her blood-drenched clothes. Her open eyes stared upward as if offering a silent plea for release from pain.

Danielle closed her eyes for a moment to shut out the grisly scene of the girl she knew so well and reopened them to stare at Detective Jack Denton from the Webster Falls Sheriff's Department sitting across from her desk. "H-how did you find this horrible site?"

He opened the notebook he held and glanced at a page. "A man named Harrison Coleman from Marietta, Georgia, called our department this morning. He said his son who attends Georgia Tech said the Web site has become the main topic of conversation on the campus. When I pulled it up, I was surprised at what I saw."

Danielle crossed her arms and hugged herself to suppress the icy feeling flowing through her body. "It's given me quite a shock, too."

"I can understand. I intended to take this to the university's president, but when I arrived, his secretary told me he was in Asheville today. She suggested I bring it to you."

Danielle nodded. "Dr. Newman will be back tomorrow. In the meantime, how can I help you?"

The muscle in the detective's jaw twitched. "The Web site claims the girl on there is a Webster student and has been murdered." He paused before he continued. "Our department doesn't know anything about a murder, but we're concerned that the scene is identical to the murder ten years ago of Jennifer McCaslin who was a student here."

Danielle took a deep breath. "I realized that when I saw the picture."

A frown creased his forehead. "Did you know Jennifer McCaslin?"

Danielle sank back in her chair. "We were roommates. She was murdered our senior year at Webster." She pointed to the screen. "But this girl's not Jennifer."

"No, I realized that. I looked at a picture from Jennifer McCaslin's cold case file. We don't know who the girl on the Web site is."

Danielle gritted her teeth. "She's Tricia Peterson, a student here at Webster. But I saw her on campus this morning and she was fine. She was only a child when Jennifer was killed. How would she even know about the murder?"

"I don't know."

Danielle glanced back at the screen. "This doesn't make any sense."

"We know that, but we wanted to see if anyone can give us information. From what my caller told me this morning, this Web site is causing panic on college campuses. Not to mention the fact that it doesn't look good that a sheriff's office is advertising for help in catching a killer."

Danielle frowned. "But why are students frightened by this obvious prank?"

He nodded toward the computer. "Why don't you read what it says next?"

Danielle turned back to the computer and read the lines printed underneath the flashing heading.

The Webster Falls, North Carolina, Sheriff's Department asks for your help in the apprehension of Damien Carter, the chief suspect in the murder of Lila Barrett. The victim, a student at Webster University, was found on a Smoky Mountain trail outside of Webster Falls in September. Carter, also a student at the school, disappeared soon after the discovery of the body. Various sightings of the fugitive have been reported, but so far he has eluded capture.

Danielle shook her head and frowned. "We don't have a Lila Barrett or a Damien Carter enrolled at Webster."

Detective Denton nodded. "I know. When I went to the president's office, his secretary told me."

Acquaintances of the suspect report the young man had become obsessed with murders on college campuses and had often threatened to wage his own rampage across the country. Having been blackballed by a fraternity, he harbors animosity against anyone belonging to a Greek organization. Students enrolled in institutions of higher learning are warned to be on the lookout for this suspected killer. If he is seen, notify the Webster Falls, North Carolina, Sheriff's Department at once.

Danielle leaned back in her chair and pointed to the screen. "I can't believe this. Who would construct such a Web site?"

Detective Denton glanced down at the notebook. "Actually we know. Our tech guys traced the Internet Service Provider and found out the Web site owner is Flynn Carter."

Danielle sprang from her chair. "Flynn?" she screeched. "He's my work study student and Tricia's boyfriend. Why would he do this?"

"That's what I need to find out. Can you get Carter in here?"

She reached for the phone, but her hands shook so that it slipped from her fingers. Clutching it with both hands, she brought it to her ear. "Betty, would you find out what class Flynn Carter is in and get him to my office right away?" After hanging up, she glanced at the detective. "Is there anything else?"

Detective Denton nodded. "There are pages of forensics information, a picture of the victim and killer together before the murder. There's even a page with pictures of the suspected killer at places all across the country—Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, a museum in Oklahoma City, Graceland. It says these photos were sent to the department by tourists who just happened to catch him in their family vacation pictures."

Danielle clicked on the page with the photographs and gasped. "That's Flynn in those pictures."

"That's what I suspected," Detective Denton said.

She started to speak, but Flynn shuffled into the room. Wearing faded jeans with blown-out holes and a muscle-fitted, sueded cotton shirt, he looked like any other Webster student, not the designer of a gruesome Web site. His bleached hair tumbled over his forehead, and he glanced from one to the other, before he settled a deadpan expression on Danielle. "You sent for me, Dr. Tyler?"

She nodded in Detective Denton's direction. "This is Detective Jack Denton, an investigator with the sheriff's office. He'd like to ask you some questions."

A crimson flush spread across his face and forehead. "What about?"

Danielle sucked in her breath and frowned. She opened her mouth, but Detective Denton interrupted her. "I'm here investigating a complaint I had today and need to ask you a few questions."

Flynn tensed. "Fire away."

"Are you responsible for the Web site that claims to document the murder of a Webster student?"

Flynn's body relaxed, and a smirk crossed his face. "Yeah."

The detective's mouth thinned into a straight line. "Can you explain what made you construct such a site?"

Flynn chuckled. "What's the big deal? It was just a joke. You know, shake some fraternity and sorority kids up a little."

Anger flashed on Jack Denton's face, and he advanced on Flynn. "I don't consider it a joke when our department gets calls from parents in other parts of the country who have kids scared to venture out on their college campuses."

Flynn glanced at Danielle. "You mean they thought it was real?"

The frown on Detective Denton's forehead deepened. "Yeah. There's no telling what harm your little prank has caused. With all the crazy people out there, all it would take would be for one to see your site and decide to copy the murder."

"You've got to be kidding. Nobody would do that."

Detective Denton jabbed his finger at Flynn's chest. "Look, Mr. Smart Guy, if you could see all the information that comes across my desk about copycat crimes, you'd have thought twice before you put up that Web site."

Flynn gritted his teeth. "I can't help it if there are crazy people out there. It has nothing to do with me or my Web site."

"Well, just to make sure, our department wants you to take it down."

Flynn shook his head. "You can't make me do that. My dad's a lawyer, and he's taught me all about my rights. I haven't broken any laws, and you know it."

"That remains to be seen."

Flynn started to respond, but Danielle interrupted him. "I suggest you do as the detective tells you, Flynn, before your enrollment at this university is affected."

Flynn's eyes widened. "Dr. Newman wouldn't kick me out, would he?"

Danielle nodded. "You involved the university when you depicted the murder scene of a former student. Since that case has never been solved, you used information from an ongoing investigation." She paused and took a breath. "And I might add that in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you act as disrespectful as you have today. Now unless the detective has more questions, I want you to leave."

Detective Denton held up his hand. "I do have one more question. What about the pictures on the Web site of you at different spots across the country? How did you pull that off?"

Flynn pulled his attention away from Danielle and faced the detective. "That was really cool, wasn't it?" A laugh rumbled in his throat. "A friend and I drove from California when we came back to school. We stopped at tourist attractions along the way. We'd spot a family group. I'd walk over close to them, and my friend would snap the picture. I posted them and said they were pictures sent from people who caught a killer by mistake on their vacation photos."

"Humph!" The snort reflected the disgust on Jack Denton's face. "That's all the questions I have at this time. I'll be talking to you later, though."

Flynn glanced from one to another before he whirled and stormed toward the door. When he'd left, Danielle turned back to the detective. "I want to apologize for Flynn's behavior."

Detective Denton closed his notebook and smiled. "I'm used to it. That's one of the hazards of police work."

Danielle walked around her desk and stuck out her hand. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention." He grasped her hand, and his touch warmed her cool skin. She pulled away and flexed her fingers. "What will you do next?"

He glanced at his watch. "I'll talk to the district attorney. See if we have legal grounds for making Carter take the site down."

"Will you do that today?"

"I don't know. I'm expected in court to testify in a case. I have no idea how long I'll be there, but I'll get back in touch as soon as I know anything."

"Thank you. Do you think you can charge him with anything?"

He shrugged. "I doubt it. He really hasn't broken any laws. I suppose his dad could say he was just exercising his right to free speech."

She clenched her fists. "Well, his right to free speech has brought back one of the most horrible times in my life."

He said nothing for a moment, and she saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dr. Tyler. We'll do everything we can to get this matter resolved."

"I appreciate that."

As he walked out the door, Danielle thought about the surprising turn her morning had taken. As much as she had tried, for the past ten years, she hadn't been able to put Jennifer's death from her mind, and now it had returned to haunt her even more.

She crossed her arms and hugged herself. Jennifer's murder made no sense when it happened, and ten years later it still didn't. The police had never found any motive for the murder, and they had eventually abandoned it to the cold-case files.

Maybe Flynn's Web site would provide a reason for them to study the murder again. Detective Denton hadn't given any indication the department was willing to reopen the investigation, but something about his demeanor gave her the idea he was a dogged investigator. Maybe he would be the person who would finally shed some light on the nightmare she'd lived with for ten years.

Danielle walked to the door, stepped into the hallway and gazed at the retreating figure of Jack Denton. Just before he reached the foyer, he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened as if surprised to see her standing there. For a moment their gazes locked before he turned away and disappeared through the front door.

There was something about the handsome detective that intrigued her. Perhaps it was that momentary flash of sympathy for her feelings she saw in his eyes. Then again, she might be imagining his concern. After all, he knew nothing about her or the devastating events in her life that started with the discovery of Jennifer's body on the mountain trail.

Days went by when she wouldn't think about what had happened. Then something would remind her. Old wounds would be laid bare, and those things best forgotten would resurface. All she could do was pray that she would survive again as she had done so many times before.

Jack Denton climbed into his car and sat there taking in the Webster University campus. The stately, brick buildings surrounded by manicured lawns and ringed by the Appalachians in the background provided a picture of wealth, affluence and privilege, not anything like the small state college he'd attended.

He stared at the Administration Building, which he'd just left. The structure was really a mansion that sat in the middle of a bustling campus. The information he'd read said it had been home to generations of the Webster family before Thaddeus Webster, at the end of World War I, established a university on the property. Today the mansion housed staff offices and classrooms.

The more modern buildings that bordered a rectangular grassy area across the back of the campus looked slightly out of place in the shadow of the main house. He'd read that the newest structure, the Nathan Webster Pavilion for concerts and recitals, had been completed a year before.

Students hurried from one building to another on their way to class. He thought of Danielle Tyler and wondered why she'd returned to work at Webster after going through the trauma of her roommate's death.

Her sea-green eyes had held a sparkle until she saw the site, and he'd been disappointed to see it disappear. He could smell the perfume she wore, and the familiar scent reminded him of another woman from what seemed like another lifetime ago. He grunted in disgust, turned the ignition and punched the play button on the car's CD player.

The music of Jade Dragon, the hottest rock band in history, filled the interior. They'd been his favorite band since his teenage years. Whenever the past threatened to intrude, he could always depend on them to distract his thoughts.

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Click here to get 2 Free Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense Books from Harlequin today.





Offer ends 4/25/2010!

Deadly Intent finaled in the National Readers’ Choice Awards!

Captain’s Log, Stardate 04.20.2010

I was thrilled to get a phone call from the Oklahoma RWA chapter that Deadly Intent finaled in their National Readers’ Choice Awards contest!

YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY !!!

It finaled in the Inspirational romance category.

I’m also deeply honored by the other finalists! Look what illustrious company I’m in!

Inspirational

• LAURA SCOTT - THE THANKSGIVING TARGET
• ROBIN LEE HATCHER - A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE
• ROBIN LEE HATCHER - FIT TO BE TIED
• CAMY TANG - DEADLY INTENT
• COLLEEN COBLE - THE LIGHTKEEPER'S DAUGHTER

Click here to see the rest of the finalists in the other categories!

Interview and excerpt - BLOOD RANSOM by Lisa Harris

Captain's Log, Stardate 04.19.2010

Blood Ransom
by
Lisa Harris

Natalie Sinclair is working to eradicate the diseases decimating whole villages in the Republic of Dhambizao when she meets Dr. Chad Talcott, a surgeon on sabbatical from a lucrative medical practice now volunteering at a small clinic.

Meanwhile, things are unraveling in Dhambizao. Joseph Komboli returns to his village to discover rebel soldiers abducting his family and friends. Those that were too old or weak to work lay motionless in the African soil. When Chad and Natalie decide to help Joseph expose this modern-day slave trade—and a high-ranking political figure involved in it—disaster nips at their heels.

Where is God in the chaos? Will Chad, Natalie, and Joseph win their race against time?

Romance and adventure drive Blood Ransom, by Lisa Harris, a powerful thriller about the modern-day slave trade and those who dare to challenge it.




Excerpt of chapter one:

PROLOGUE
A narrow shaft of sunlight broke through the thick canopy of leaves
above Joseph Komboli’s short frame and pierced through to the layers
of vines that crawled along the forest floor. He trudged past a spiny
tree trunk — one of hundreds whose flat crowns reached toward the
heavens before disappearing into the cloudless African sky — and
smiled as the familiar hum of the forest welcomed him home.


A trickle of moisture dripped down the back of his neck, and he
reached up to brush it away, then flicked at a mosquito. The musty
smell of rotting leaves and sweet flowers encircled him, a sharp con-
trast to the stale exhaust fumes of the capital’s countless taxis or the
stench of hundreds of humans pressed together on the dilapidated
cargo boat he’d left at the edge of the river this morning.


Another flying insect buzzed in his ears, its insistent drone
drowned out only by the birds chattering in the treetops. He slapped
the insect away and dug into the pocket of his worn trousers for a
handful of fire-roasted peanuts, still managing to balance the bag that
rested atop his head. His mother’s sister had packed it for him, ensur-
ing that the journey — by taxi, boat, and now foot — wouldn’t leave his
belly empty. Once, not too long ago, he had believed no one living in
the mountain forests surrounding his village, or perhaps even in all of
Africa, could cook goza and fish sauce like his mother. But now, hav-
ing ventured from the dense and sheltering rainforest, he knew she
was only one of thousands of women who tirelessly pounded cassava
and prepared the thick stew for their families day after day.


Still, his mouth watered at the thought of his mother’s cooking.
The capital of Bogama might offer running water and electricity for
those willing to forfeit a percentage of their minimal salaries, but
even the new shirt and camera his uncle had given him as parting
gifts weren’t enough to lessen his longings for home.


He wrapped the string of the camera around his wrist and felt
his heart swell with pride. No other boy in his village owned such a
stunning piece. Not that the camera was a frivolous gift. Not at all.
His uncle called it an investment in the future. In the city lived a
never-ending line of men and women willing to pay a few cents for a
color photo. When he returned to Bogama for school, he planned to
make enough money to send some home to his family — something
that guaranteed plenty of meat and cassava for the evening meal.


Anxious to give his little sister, Aina, one of the sweets tucked
safely in his pocket and his mother the bag of sugar he carried, Joseph
quickened his steps across the red soil, careful to avoid a low limb
swaying under the weight of a monkey.


A cry shattered the relative calm of the forest.


Joseph slowed as the familiar noises of the forest faded into the
shouts of human voices. More than likely the village children had
finished collecting water from the river and now played a game of
chase or soccer with a homemade ball.


The wind blew across his face, sending a chill down his spine as
he neared the thinning trees at the edge of the forest. Another scream
split the afternoon like a sharpened machete.


Joseph stopped. These were not the sounds of laughter.


Dropping behind the dense covering of the large leaves, Joseph
approached the outskirts of the small village, straining his eyes in an
effort to decipher the commotion before him. At first glance every-
thing appeared familiar. Two dozen mud huts with thatched roofs
greeted him like an old friend. Tendrils of smoke rose from fires
beneath rounded cooking pots that held sauce for evening meals.
Brightly colored pieces of fabric fluttered in the breeze as freshly
laundered clothes soaked up the warmth of the afternoon sun.


His gaze flickered to a figure emerging from behind one of the
grass-thatched huts. Black uniform . . . rifle pressed against his shoul-
der . . . Joseph felt his lungs constrict. Another soldier emerged, then
another, until there were half a dozen shouting orders at the confused
villagers who stumbled onto the open area in front of them. Joseph
watched as his best friend Mbona tried to fight back, but his hoe was
no match against the rifle butt that struck his head. Mbona fell to
the ground.


Ghost Soldiers!


A wave of panic, strong as the mighty Congo River rushing
through its narrow tributaries, ripped through Joseph’s chest. He
gasped for breath, his chest heaving as air refused to fill his lungs.
The green forest spun. Gripping the sturdy branch of a tree, he man-
aged to suck in a shallow breath.


He’d heard his uncle speak of the rumored Ghost Soldiers —
mercenaries who appeared from nowhere and kidnapped human la-
borers to work as slaves for the mines. Inhabitants of isolated villages
could disappear without a trace and no one would ever know.


Except he’d thought such myths weren’t true.


The sight of his little sister told him otherwise. His mind fought
to grasp what was happening. Blood trickled down the seven-year-
old’s forehead as she faltered in front of the soldiers with her hands
tied behind her.


No!


Unable to restrain himself, Joseph lunged forward but tripped
over a knotty vine and fell. A twig snapped, startling a bird into flight
above him.


The soldier turned from his sister and stared into the dense fo-
liage. Joseph lay flat against the ground, his hand clasped over the
groan escaping his throat. The soldier hesitated a moment longer, then
grabbed his sister’s arm and pulled her to join the others.


Choking back a sob, Joseph rose to his knees and dug his fingers
into the hard earth. What could he do? Nothing. He was no match
for these men. If he didn’t remain secluded behind the cover of the
forest, he too would vanish along with his family.


The haunting sounds of screams mingled with gunshots. His
grandfather fell to the ground and Joseph squeezed his eyes shut,
blackness enveloping him. It was then, as he pressed his hand against
his pounding chest, that he felt the camera swinging against his wrist.
He stared at the silver case. Slowly, he pressed the On button.


This time, the world would know.


With a trembling arm Joseph lifted the camera. Careful to stay
within the concealing shade of the forest, he snapped a picture with-
out bothering to aim as his uncle had taught him. He took another
photo, and another, and another . . . until the cries of his people dis-
sipated on the north side of the clearing as the soldiers led those
strong enough to work toward the mountains. The rest — those like
his grandfather, too old or too weak to work in the mines — lay mo-
tionless against the now bloodstained African soil.


In the remaining silence, the voices of two men drifted across the
breeze. English words were foreign to his own people’s uneducated
ears but had become familiar to Joseph. What he heard now brought
a second wave of terror . . .


“Only four more days until we are in power . . . There is no need
to worry . . . The president will be taken care of . . . I can personally
guarantee the support of this district . . .”


Joseph zoomed in and took a picture of the two men.


A monkey jumped to the tree above him and started chattering.
One of the beefy soldiers jerked around, his attention drawn to the
edge of the clearing. Joseph froze as his gaze locked with the man’s.


Someone shouted.


If they caught him now, no one would ever know what had hap-
pened to his family.


Joseph scrambled to his feet as the soldier ran toward him, but the
man was faster. The butt of a rifle struck Joseph’s head. He faltered,
but as a trickle of blood dripped into his eye, he pictured Aina being
led away . . . his grandfather murdered in cold blood . . .


Ignoring the searing pain, Joseph fought to pull loose from his
attacker’s grip, kicked at the man’s shins. The soldier faltered on the
uneven terrain. Clambering to his feet, Joseph ran into the cover of
the forest. A rifle fired, and the bullet whizzed past his ear, but he
kept moving. With the Ghost Soldier in pursuit, Joseph sprinted as
fast as he could through the tangled foliage and prayed that the thick
jungle would swallow him.

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And now, here’s me and Lisa!

What inspired you to write this book and these characters?

It was a combination of my love for Africa and writing romantic suspense. I wanted the characters to be ordinary people who ended up facing extraordinary circumstances where they were forced to rely on God.

What do you hope people will take away from this book?

Beside a couple hours page-turning read. :-) That none of us are too small for Him to use us.

If you were an ice cream flavor, what would you be and why?

Today I'm craving chocolate and trying to ignore the urge, so how about double chocolate with fudge ribbons. Yum!

What are you reading right now?

Tom Davis' Priceless that comes out this summer.

You're off the hotseat! Any parting words?

Thanks so much for letting me stop by, Camy! Readers can find out more about my books and life in Africa at http://myblogintheheartofafrica.blogspot.com.

Camy here: Thanks so much for being here with me, Lisa!

Excerpt - PraiseMoves DVD by Laurette Willis

Today's Wild Card author is:

Laurette Willis

and the book:

Power PraiseMoves™ DVD

December 1, 2009

***Special thanks to David P. Bartlett - Print & Internet Publicist - Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Laurette Willis, the founder of PraiseMoves®, is a Women’s Fitness Specialist and certified personal trainer, as well as a popular keynote speaker and an award-winning actor and playwright. She has produced the videos PraiseMoves™ and 20-Minute PraiseMoves™ and written BASIC Steps to Godly Fitness.





Visit the author's website.





Product Details:



List Price: $16.99

Actors: Laurette Willis

Directors: Josh Atkinson

Format: NTSC

Region: All Regions

Number of discs: 1

Studio: CT Videography

DVD Release Date: December 1, 2009

Run Time: 120 minutes

ASIN: 0736928456



AND NOW...A SAMPLE OF THE VIDEO:







It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Marshmallows

Captain’s Log, Stardate 04.14.2010

I’m at Girls, God, and the Good Life today talking about—what else?—food:

Camy here with yet another really random and not very spiritual post. But you all love me anyway, right? Right???

Anyway, I’ve been on a marshmallow kick since Easter. It’s all the fault of those darn Peeps. I love them. I love biting their heads off. (There’s some deep psychological meaning behind that, but I’m going to ignore that.)

Click here to read the rest and weigh in!

Excerpt - A STRANGER'S WISH by Gayle Roper

Today's Wild Card author is:

Gayle Roper

and the book:

A Stranger's Wish (The Amish Farm Trilogy)

Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to David P. Bartlett - Print & Internet Publicist - Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Gayle Roper is the award-winning author of more than forty books and has been a Christy finalist three times. Gayle enjoys speaking at women’s events across the nation and loves sharing the powerful truths of Scripture with humor and practicality. She lives with her husband in southeastern Pennsylvania where Gayle enjoys reading, gardening, and her family.


Visit the author's website.



Englischer Kristie Matthews' move to an Amish family farm leads to mystery. While solving the mystery (and staying alive), Kristie must decide whether her lawyer boyfriend, Todd Reasoner, is really right for her....or if Jon Clarke Griffin, the new local man she's met, is all he seems to be.

Product Details:

List Price: $10.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736925864
ISBN-13: 978-0736925860

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:




It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Citizen’s Police Academy

Captain’s Log, Stardate 04.13.2010

I had never even heard of one until yesterday, then when I Googled it I saw one for Santa Clara California residents that seems pretty neat. I tried to find one for San Jose but no luck, so I emailed the San Jose Police Department to ask about one.

(I wonder why the SJPD website didn’t have a link to the Citizen’s Police Academy? I saw some news pages saying that San Jose did have one, so why isn’t it on the website?)

It’s kind of scary emailing a police department. And I felt a little silly saying I’m a novelist, but hopefully there aren’t SO many engineers in San Jose that the SJPD understands that us weird artistic types live here, too.

So now I’m waiting for them to email me back. I hope the timing is right so that I could take it this summer or something like that.

I think that taking it would help me write my romantic suspense novels better. Usually crime involves the police, right? And often cops or ex-cops are good heroes in romantic suspenses.

Do you have a Citizen’s Police Academy in your area? Anyone been to one of them? What’s it like?

Excerpt - Calculated Revenge by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

Calculated Revenge
by
Jill Elizabeth Nelson

It's been eighteen years since Laney Thompson's sister was abducted and killed, but the pain Laney feels has never faded. And now the murderer is back, taunting Laney with mementos of her sister and threatening Laney's young daughter. School principal Noah Ryder is her best hope for protecting her daughter—if she can convince the former investigator to take the case. As the threats accelerate, a string of clues leads Laney to uncover old secrets. But without Noah's help, how can she piece together the puzzle before her child—like her sister—is lost to a killer's revenge?

Excerpt of chapter one:

The grimy backpack rested abandoned against the playground fence. Laney Thompson's eyes riveted on the schoolbag, but her feet stuck to the gravel near the swings. What was the matter with her? The students had rushed less than a minute ago into the elementary school building after noon recess. One of them must have forgotten the bag. Simple explanation. Then why did her skin pebble as if she stood on this Minnesota playground in mid-January, rather than the balmy end of May?

A warm breeze puffed a curtain of light brown hair in front of her face, and she blinked, breaking the hold of the strange paralysis. Laney brushed the hair aside and moved forward. Standing in front of the pack, she curled her hands into fists. Come on, pick it up. But her arms balked at the command to reach for the pack's frayed top strap.

Dread pummeled her.

She studied the object. Mildew stains spattered the canvas, and the original color was barely discernable as green. Whoever owned this schoolbag had been mighty careless with it or was too poor to afford a new one. Several students who fit either description passed through her mind.

All she needed to do was check inside for papers identifying the owner. The plumpness of the pack suggested that there

ought to be plenty of clues inside. She reached for the strap, then froze, breath sawing in her lungs. Blackness trimmed her vision.

Laney Thompson, this is no time for a panic attack. You left those behind. Remember?

Yes, she remembered the years of counseling. Vividly. Then the determined struggle to put the past behind her and get a college education—an effort prolonged and complicated by a mistake of a marriage and the birth of a beautiful daughter. But at twenty-eight she now had her teaching degree. She was what she had always dreamed of being—a protector and guide to the young. Perhaps to atone for…

Laney swallowed and rubbed damp palms against her tan slacks. She snatched up the pack. A side seam gave way, and the corner of a notebook stuck out. The bag was in worse shape than she'd realized. Laney squatted and set the pack on new spring grass. A smell like rancid musk wafted from the canvas. Her heart rattled against her ribs. Trembling fingers worked the zipper and another seam parted as she yanked the notebook out.

She had to know who owned this schoolbag.

Laney flipped open a yellowed page, and found a first name printed in ragged block letters in the top right corner. For breathless seconds, her mind denied what she saw. Then the horror—and the guilt—deluged her, as suffocating as the day of Laney's tenth birthday. The day the nightmare began.

Grace Thompson. The name mocked her from the page.

This backpack had belonged to her eight-year-old sister. At least, that's how old Gracie had been the day she disappeared on her way home from school. Alone. Eighteen years ago.

That terrible smell now held no mystery. Decay. She gagged. The pack had come from the unknown tomb where Gracie's abductor had stashed her body. Her killer had put the bag here on purpose. He wanted Laney to find it. To know he was nearby.

She scooted backward, wails ripping through her mind, but bottled in her chest. She tumbled onto her side and gripped her legs in a fetal position. The screams burst free.

A sliver of her mind continued to churn questions. Was he watching? Enjoying her breakdown? Why now? What did he want? Or who?

Briana!

A vision of her daughter's face sobered her like a plunge in a glacial lake. She sat up stiff. How could this mean anything else? Briana was newly eight years old. Just like Gracie.

Excited voices that had been there, but unregistered, reached her ears. The aide from the music department stuck his face in hers. "Are you all right?"

She surged to her feet, strong-arming him aside. "My daughter. I have to go!"

Astonished faces melted away before her as she charged between approaching people. Why couldn't she move faster than the speed of sludge? Laney yanked open the door and raced up a hallway floored in wax-coated linoleum and walls covered with bulletin boards and glass display cases. Familiar scents pumped through her nostrils—white-board markers, sweaty gym shoes stored in lockers. She rounded a corner and dodged around a line of kindergarteners and their teacher heading for the restrooms. Squeaks of surprise followed her into the first classroom on the left.

Briana's teacher and Laney's best friend, Ellen Kline, stood at the head of the third grade classroom. She stopped mid-sentence and stared at Laney. "What's going on?"

"Mommy!" A little girl's voice drew Laney's attention.

"Sweetie, you're okay!" She ran to her daughter at her desk and hugged her tight. At the smell of strawberry shampoo in soft, brown pigtails, she exhaled a thankful prayer.

"Mommy…I can…hardly breathe."

Laney loosened her grip and eased away from her daughter.

Briana's sea-blue eyes, mirrors of her own, brimmed with puzzlement. The classroom was dead silent. They must all think she'd gone insane. She needed to find a quick excuse for the interruption without alarming her daughter, or anyone else, further.

Fastening a smile to her lips, Laney rose. "I'm sorry—I…Well, I just needed to check on my daughter. One of those mother's intuition things. I'm glad I was wrong." She nodded toward Ellen, whose puckered brow said she wasn't buying the lame explanation. "Forgive the interruption." She backed toward the door, and a soft buzz of student voices followed her out into the hall. So did Ellen.

Her friend stepped in front of her, hands planted on generous hips. "Are you okay?"

Laney's fingers dug into the soft flesh of Ellen's upper arms. "Don't take your eyes off Briana. Don't let her go anywhere alone, not even to the bathroom. I've got to see Principal Ryder, and then I'm going to call the police."

"The po—"

"I'll explain later." Laney hustled off, leaving her friend with her mouth open.

Seconds later, Laney burst through the door of the main office.

Miss Aggie, the receptionist, fixed her with an eagle's stare. "If you were a student, you'd risk a warning for running in the halls."

"Is he in?" Laney's breath came in little puffs.

"Who? Mr. Ryder?" Miss Aggie stood, her lined face beginning to mirror the alarm Laney radiated from her whole body.

"What's up?" The man himself stepped out of the office situated to the left of the reception desk.

Lean and medium tall, the strength of Principal Ryder's steady green gaze left no one in doubt of his authority. In the school year that he and Laney had served the district together, he'd shown himself to be a man as protective of his students as he was a firm, but understanding disciplinarian. He was also as honorable as he was good-looking, a combination that amazed Laney, based on past life experience.

A wave of warm comfort swept over her. She'd found a safe haven. Noah wouldn't let anything bad happen to Briana. Hot tears spilled down her face and a sob surged from her throat.

Laney Thompson's shattered expression shot a deep burn through Noah's gut. In his thirty-six years, he'd had reason to learn the difference between a minor emergency and a critical situation. This felt like the latter. He motioned her into his office. As she stumbled past the reception desk, Miss Aggie stuffed a tissue into her hand. Noah nodded appreciation to the woman who really ran the show around here, and then closed his office door.

"Have a seat," he told the attractive special education teacher who'd dogged his thoughts since he interviewed her for the position last summer.

She melted into a cloth-covered chair in front of his desk, wiping at pale cheeks with the tissue. Her fine-boned chin quivered. He perched on the edge of his desk. If she keeled over, he'd just as soon catch her before she hit the floor.

"What's this all about?"

"Briana," she croaked. "My daughter. I think she's in danger."

"How so?" His spine prickled.

Her fingers white-knuckled the wooden arms of her chair. "I don't have time to go into detail, but I just found a backpack left on our playground that belonged to my sister Grace." Her slender neck contracted around a deep swallow. "Gracie was abducted and presumed murdered eighteen years ago. They never found her body. Briana's the same age as my sister was when she disappeared. I just…I can't…Nothing can happen to my daughter!" Her haunted blue gaze sifted him, searching for a promise of safety.

He'd seen that look too often not to be wary of its demand. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Where is your daughter right now?"

"In her classroom. Ellen is watching out for her, but she doesn't know why."

"And where's the backpack?"

"Still on the playground. It was more important to make you aware that a maniac may be nearby, and then to call the police."

"You're doing everything right, Laney. Make your call." He patted the phone on his desk. "I'll go to the playground and secure the evidence, while Miss Aggie puts the staff on alert."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you're in charge of this school."

The husky gratitude sandpapered through Noah as he went into the reception area. He was nobody's savior. He'd proven that six years ago.

Agatha Nederleitner speared him with a stare. "Anyone can see that woman's in trouble. How are you going to help her?"

"We're going to help her," Noah answered, then briefed her on what Laney had told him.

The woman grasped the situation quickly, and Noah was grateful once again for this gem in the rough. The steel-haired brick of the office never soft-pedaled her opinion, but her sternness hid a marshmallow heart. She refused to plague the children with her last name, so she was the beloved Miss Aggie who packed an ounce of sugar into her scolds and stood firm as a rock while everyone's problems crashed against her. Today, she would need all her fortitude.

"Announce an orange alert over the intercom," Noah finished. "Then give Laney any assistance she needs. I'll wait for the authorities on the playground. Send someone to get me if you need me."

"Will do." Miss Aggie's blazing brown eyes telegraphed that Satan himself would have a hard time getting past her to do anyone harm in her school.

As he strode up the hall, the woman's platinum tones issued the orange alert, the internal code for intruder watch. In the tiny town of Cottonwood Grove, Minnesota, people routinely left their cars running during the winter while they ran into the grocery store for milk, so his code system had seemed extreme to some. When he implemented it, he'd hoped never to use some of the alerts—especially this one. At least it wasn't an Amber Alert, the national code for a missing child.

Noah strode onto the playground. A small group of staff members hovered near the fence about a foot from an entrance gap. In the center of the huddle stood the custodian, Richard Hodge. The man cradled a bulky object in his arm while he rifled through it.

"All right, people." Noah smacked his palms together, and heads swiveled toward him. The custodian froze with his hand in the bag. "Thanks for coming out to help. Richard, please leave the pack on the ground. I'll take it from here."

With murmurs and shrugs, the group dispersed.

The custodian plunked the bag on the grass and backed away from it. "Just tryin' to see whose it was. Didn't recognize the name."

"Thank you, but it's not your worry. Head inside, but be aware that we are on orange alert."

Richard's prematurely lined face settled into a scowl. "Figured we couldn't end the school year without some kind of trouble." He clomped away.

Noah watched him go. For a thirtysomething guy with most of his life ahead of him, a steady job and good benefits, the custodian had the dimmest outlook of anyone he knew. What was his story?

Shaking his head, Noah studied the bag. The backpack used to be green. He squatted down and took in the shabby condition and decaying seams. A few sheets of yellowed paper stuck out of the torn edges—aged but not pulped by exposure to the elements. Interesting. When the police arrived, he'd have to inform them the custodian had handled the bag, so they could get his fingerprints for elimination. Laney's, too.

Noah let out a soft growl and rose. Even after all this time, his thoughts fell into investigator mode. This situation was a trap for him in more ways than one.

"The authorities are on their way." Laney's mellow voice reminded him of one of those traps.

He turned to find her approaching. Her complexion had more color than when she all but collapsed in his office. Everything about her appealed to him, from the glossy brown hair bouncing against slender shoulders to her big blue eyes and gentle way with her special needs students. But he'd vowed never again to mix his professional life with his personal life.

She stopped beside him, the top of her head coming to his chin, which made her a petite five-two or so. "I think we're going to see both the sheriff and the city boys," she said, her gaze fixed on the backpack. She shuddered and hugged herself.

Noah bunched his fists and denied the impulse to hold her. The temptation would have been harder to squash if he didn't know so many eyes were on them. He'd seen noses pressed against the windows. Even without the orange alert, people in this small school could smell something was up.

"Tell me about it, Laney." He stepped close.

Noah mentally smacked himself for a fool. The fresh rain scent of her understated cologne reached his nostrils, and as usual, those enormous eyes did terrible, wonderful things to his insides. Good thing for him she'd always appeared oblivious to the attraction.

"Grace was autistic," she said. "It wouldn't have been hard for someone to take advantage of her."

"She was eight." He grimaced. "It's pretty easy for an adult to take advantage of any child that young."

"I know but…how do I explain?" She rubbed the side of her neck. "My sister didn't see the world in the same way as a child without that particular perspective. Gracie could fixate on something and not notice one other thing around her. The monster who took her must have lured her with something that fascinated her. Otherwise she was leery of strangers, and could get vocal and combative if someone unfamiliar invaded her space."

Noah frowned. "Lured her? You're sure it was a stranger abduction?"

"The FBI came to that conclusion after extensive investigation."

"Did the predator have to get her away from a public place? If he found her in a remote or private location, he wouldn't have cared if there was a struggle."

Laney's sable brows lifted. "You talk like someone familiar with these situations."

Noah rippled his shoulders. "A school principal needs to be these days."

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Book giveaway – HER MOTHER'S HOPE by Francine Rivers

Captain's Log, Stardate 04.12.2010

The winner of Rooms
by
James L. Rubart
is
LaTawnia
Congratulations!

Didn’t win the book but want to read it?
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Blog book giveaway:

Please click here to read giveaway rules and why I had to change them.

To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and US state. Sorry, no international entrants (see post above for why). Only one entry per person.

Please also leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.

Update: Sorry, no extra entries anymore. Call me lazy, I just don’t want to keep track. :)

I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you are on vacation or leave an email address you don’t check frequently. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.

I'll pick a name out of a hat on Monday, April 19th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)

Today I’m giving away:

Her Mother’s Hope
by
Francine Rivers

From the beloved, best-selling author of Redeeming Love comes a powerful epic that spans continents and generations in an unforgettable story about family and faith, dreams and disappointments, and ultimately the resilience and tenacity of love.

Best-selling author Francine Rivers pens a sweeping and lyrical two-book saga that explores the depths of grace and forgiveness in one of life’s fiercest bonds—the love between mother and daughter.

Near the turn of the twentieth century, fiery Marta Schneider is torn between her father’s declaration that she’ll never be more than a servant and her mother’s encouragement to chase her dreams. Determined to fulfill her mother’s hope, Marta leaves home for a better life. Young and alone, she earns her way with a series of housekeeping and cooking jobs that bring her ever closer to her dream of owning an inn.

Heartbreaking news from home strengthens Marta’s resolve as she moves to England and eventually to Canada. There, she meets handsome Niclas Waltert, a man just as committed as she to forging a better life in a new place. But nothing has prepared her for the sacrifices she must make for marriage and motherhood as she travels first to the Canadian wilderness and finally to the dusty Central Valley of California to raise her family.

Marta’s hope is to give her children a better life, but experience has taught her that only the strong survive. Her tough love is often misunderstood, especially by her oldest daughter, Hildemara Rose, who craves her mother’s acceptance. Amid the drama of World War II, Hildie falls in love and begins a family of her own. But unexpected and tragic events force mother and daughter to face their own shortcomings and the ever-widening chasm that threatens to separate them forever.

Excerpt of chapter one:

Chapter One
STEFFISBURG, SWITZERLAND, 1901
Marta usually loved Sundays. It was the only day Papa closed the tailor shop and Mama had a rest. The family dressed in their finest clothes and walked to church, Papa and Mama ahead, Marta's older brother, Hermann, behind them, and Marta and her younger sister, Elise, bringing up the rear. Usually other families joined them along the way. Marta would watch eagerly for her best friend, Rosie Gilgan, who'd run down the hill to join her and walk the rest of the way to the old Romanesque church with its arches mortared shut and the white clock tower.
Today, Marta hung her head, wishing she could run away and hide among the pines and alders while the townsfolk gathered for services. She could sit on her favorite fallen tree and ask God why Papa despised her so much and seemed so set on making her suffer. Today, she wouldn't have complained if Papa had told her to stay home and work in the shop alone and not step foot outside the door for a week, though it would take longer than that for the bruises to fade.
Despite evidence of the beating he had given her, Papa insisted everyone attend services. She wore a knitted cap and kept her chin down, hoping no one would notice. It wasn't the first time she had borne the marks of his anger. When peoplecame close, Marta shifted the woolen scarf or turned her face away.
When they came into the churchyard, Papa sent Mama ahead with Elise and Hermann. He caught Marta by the elbow and spoke into her ear. "You'll sit in back."
"People will want to know why."
"And I'll tell them the truth. You're being punished for defying me." His fingers dug in painfully, but she refused to utter a sound of pain. "Keep your head down. No one wants to see your ugly face." He let go of her and went inside.
Fighting tears, Marta went in alone and stepped into the last row of straight-backed chairs.
She watched her father join Mama. When he glanced back, she tucked her chin quickly, looking up again only after he had seated himself. Her sister, Elise, looked back over her shoulder, face far too pale and strained for a child. Mama leaned close, whispering, and Elise turned face-forward again. Hermann sat between Mama and Papa, his head turning to the right and left. No doubt he was looking for friends and would disappear as soon as the services ended.
Rosie passed by and sat near the front. The Gilgans had eight children and took up an entire row. Rosie glanced toward Marta's mother and father, then back. Marta hid behind Herr Becker, sitting in front of her. She waited briefly and peered around the baker again.
All the murmuring stopped when the minister stepped into the pulpit. He opened the service with prayer. Joining with the congregation, Marta said the prayer of confession, and she heard the minister's assurance of God's mercy and forgiveness. As the creed and Scriptures were read, Marta let her mind drift like the snow blowing across the Alpine meadows above Steffisburg. She imagined herself spreading her arms like wings and letting the white swirling flakes lift and carry her wherever God willed.
And where would that be? she wondered.
The minister's voice rose as he preached. He always said the same thing, but used different words, different examples from the Bible. "Strive harder. Faith is dead without good works. Do not become complacent. Those who turn their backs on God are destined for hell."
Was God like Papa, never satisfied no matter how hard she tried? Papa believed in God, but when had he ever shown her mercy? And if he believed God created everyone, then what right had Papa to complain over how tall she was, how thin, how white her skin, how large her hands and feet? Her father cursed her because she passed the school examinations "and made Hermann look a fool!"
She'd tried to defend herself. She should have known better. "Hermann doesn't apply himself. He'd rather hike in the hills than do his studies."
Papa came after her. Mama tried to get between, but he shoved her roughly aside. "You think you can talk to me like that and get away with it?" Marta raised her arm to protect herself, but it did no good.
"Johann, don't!" Mama cried out.
Still gripping Marta's arm, he turned on Mama. "Don't you tell me-"
"How many times must we turn the other cheek, Papa?" Something white-hot rose up inside Marta when he threatened Mama.
That's when he used his fist on her. He let go of her abruptly and stood over her. "She made me do it. You heard her! A father can't tolerate insolence in his own home!"
Marta didn't know she'd fainted until Mama stroked the hair back from her face. "Be still, Marta. Elise is getting a wet cloth." Marta could hear Elise crying. "Papa's gone to the tanner. He won't be back for a while." Mama took the cloth Elise held out. Marta sucked in her breath when Mama dabbed her split lip. "You shouldn't provoke your father."
"So it's my fault."
"I didn't say that."
"I pass the examination with the highest marks in school and get a beating for it. Where's Hermann? Strolling along on some mountain trail?"
Mama cupped her cheek. "You must forgive your father. He lost his temper. He didn't know what he was doing."
Mama always made excuses for him, just as Papa made excuses for Hermann. No one made excuses for her.
"Forgive," Mama said. "Seventy times seven. Forgive!"
Marta's mouth twisted as the minister spoke of God the Father. She wished God was like Mama instead.
When the service ended, Marta waited until Papa motioned her to join the family. Head down, she fell into step beside Elise.
"Johann Schneider!"
Papa turned at Herr Gilgan's voice. The two men shook hands and talked. Hermann took advantage of the distraction to join some friends heading up the hill. Mama took Elise's hand when Frau Gilgan joined them.
"Where have you been all week?" Rosie spoke softly and Marta turned. Rosie gasped softly. "Oh, Marta." She moaned in sympathy. "Again? What was his reason this time?"
"School."
"But you passed the examination!"
"Hermann didn't."
"But that's not fair."
Marta lifted one shoulder and gave Rosie a bleak smile. "It does no good to tell him so." Rosie would never be able to understand. Her father adored her. Herr Gilgan adored all his children. They all worked together in the running of Hotel Edelweiss, encouraging one another in everything. They teased one another with good-natured humor, but never mocked or belittled anyone. If one of them had a difficulty, the others lovingly closed ranks around him and helped.
Sometimes Marta envied her friend. Every member of the Gilgan family would finish school. The boys would serve their two years in the Swiss Army and then go off to university in Bern or Zurich. Rosie and her sisters would learn fine cuisine and the art of running a large household that embraced up to thirty outsiders. She would be tutored in French, English, and Italian. If Rosie had further aspirations, her father wouldn't deny her simply because she was a girl. He would send her to university along with her brothers.
"You've been in school long enough," Papa had declared when he came back from the tanner. "You're old enough to carry your share of the financial burden."
Begging him for one more year of school had done no good at all.
Tears filled Marta's eyes. "Papa said it's enough that I can read, write, and do arithmetic."
"But you're only twelve, and if anyone in our class should make it to the university, it would be you."
"There will be no university for me. Papa said I'm done with school."
"But why?"
"Papa says too much school fills a girl's head with nonsense." By nonsense Papa meant ambition. Marta burned with it. Marta had hoped that with enough schooling, she would have choices about what to do with her life. Papa said school had puffed her up and she needed to be brought down to where she belonged.
Rosie took Marta's hand. "Maybe he'll change his mind and let you come back to school. I'm sure Herr Scholz will want to talk to him about it."
Herr Scholz might try, but her father wouldn't listen. Once he made up his mind, not even an avalanche would change it. "It'll do no good, Rosie."
"What will you do now?"
"Papa plans to hire me out."
"Marta!"
Marta jumped at Papa's bellowing voice. Scowling, he motioned sharply for her to come. Rosie didn't let go of her hand as they joined their families.
Frau Gilgan stared at Marta. "What happened to your face?" She cast an angry look at Papa.
Papa stared back at her. "She fell down the stairs." Papa gave Marta a look of warning. "She's always been clumsy. Just look at those big hands and feet."
Frau Gilgan's dark eyes snapped. "She'll grow into them." Her husband put his hand beneath her elbow.
Mama held out her hand to Marta. "Come along. Elise is cold. We need to go home." Elise huddled close to Mama's side, not looking at anyone.
Rosie hugged Marta and whispered, "I'll ask Papa to hire you!"
Marta didn't dare hope her father would agree-he knew how much she would enjoy working for the Gilgans.
Papa went out that afternoon and didn't return home until late in the evening. He smelled of beer and seemed quite pleased with himself. "Marta!" He slapped his hand on the table. "I have found work for you."
She would work for the Beckers at the bakery every morning. "You must be there by four in the morning." She would spend three afternoons a week working for the Zimmers. The doctor thought his wife would welcome some freedom from tending their fractious new baby. "And Frau Fuchs says she can use you to tend her hives. It's getting colder, and she'll be ready to harvest the honey soon. You'll work nights as long as she needs you." He leaned back in his chair. "And you'll work at Hotel Edelweiss two days a week." He watched her face closely. "Don't think you're going to have tea and cookies with your little friend anymore. You're there to work. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa." Marta clasped her hands in front of her, trying not to show her pleasure.
"And don't ask for anything. Not from any of them. Herr Becker will pay in bread, Frau Fuchs in honey when the time comes. As to the others, they will settle with me and not you."
Heat spread through Marta's limbs, surging up her neck into her cheeks and burning there like lava beneath pale earth. "Am I to receive nothing, Papa? nothing at all?"
"You receive a roof over your head and food on your plate. You receive clothes on your back. As long as you live in my house, whatever you make rightfully belongs to me." He turned his head away. "Anna!" he shouted at Mama. "Are you done with that dress for Frau Keller yet?"
"I'm working on it now, Johann."
Scowling, Papa shouted again. "She expects delivery by the end of the week! If you don't have it ready by then, she'll take her business to another dressmaker!" Papa jerked his head. "Go help your mother."
Marta joined Mama by the fire. She had a box of colored threads on the table at her side and black wool partially embroidered spread across her lap. She coughed violently into a cloth, folded and tucked it in her apron pocket before taking up her sewing again. Anyone could see by her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes that Mama wasn't well again. Mama had weak lungs. Tonight, her lips had a faint bluish tint. "Help your sister, Marta. She's developing another headache."
Elise had spent all evening on her sampler, brow furrowed over every stitch in pained concentration. Marta had helped her until Papa returned. About the only thing Elise could do well was hem, leaving Mama and Marta to do the fine embroidery work. Elise struggled as much as Hermann in school, though not for the same reasons. At ten, Elise could barely read and write. However, what she lacked in intellect and dexterity was overlooked because of her rare and delicate beauty. Mama's greatest pleasure took place every morning when she brushed and braided Elise's waist-length white-blonde hair. She had flawless alabaster skin and wide, angelic blue eyes. Papa asked nothing of her, taking pride in her beauty, acting sometimes as though he owned a priceless piece of art.
Marta worried about her sister. Papa might be right about suitors, but he didn't understand Elise's deep-seated fears. She had an almost-desperate dependence upon Mama and became hysterical when Papa went into one of his rages, though never in Elise's life had a hand been laid on her in anger. Papa would have an eye out for a settled man with money and position for Elise.
Marta prayed nightly that God would bless her sister with a husband who would cherish and protect her-and be rich enough to hire others to cook, clean, and raise the children! Elise would never be able to carry out such responsibilities.
Marta lifted a stool and set it beside her mother's chair. "Frau Keller always wants things done yesterday."
"She's a good customer." Mama laid a section of skirt carefully over Marta's lap so they could work on it together.
"Good is not a word I would use, Mama. The woman is a tyrant."
"It's not wrong to know what you want."
"If you're willing to pay for it." Marta fumed. Yes, Papa would ask Frau Keller to pay for the additional work, but Frau Keller would refuse. If Papa pressed, Frau Keller would become indignant "at such treatment" and threaten to take her business "to someone more appreciative of my generosity." She would remind Papa that she ordered six dresses a year, and he should be thankful for her business in these hard times. Papa would apologize profusely, then add what he could to the amount Herr Keller owed for the suits Papa made him. And Papa often had to wait six months for even partial payment. No wonder the Kellers were rich. They clung to their money like lichen to rock. "If I were Papa, I'd demand a portion of the money before beginning the work, and full payment before any garment left the shop."
Mama laughed softly. "So much fire from a twelve-year-old girl."
Marta wondered how Mama would ever finish the skirt on time. She threaded a needle with pink silk and set to work on flower petals. "Papa has hired me out, Mama."
Mama sighed. "I know, Liebling." She quickly drew the cloth from her apron pocket to cover her mouth. When the spasm passed, she fought for breath as she pushed the cloth back into its hiding place.
"Your cough is getting worse."
"I know. It comes from the years I worked in the cigar factory. It'll get better when summer comes." In summer, Mama could sit outside and work instead of sitting by a smoking fire.
"It never goes away completely, Mama. You should see the doctor." Perhaps when Marta worked for Frau Zimmer, she might speak with the doctor about what could be done to help Mama.
"Let's not worry about that now. Frau Keller must have her dress!"
* * *
Marta quickly became used to her work schedule. She got up while it was still dark, dressed quickly, and went up the street to the bakery. When Frau Becker let her in the front door, the room smelled of fresh baking bread. Marta went into the kitchen and chopped nuts for Nusstorten while Frau Becker stirred batter for Schokoladenkuchen.
"We're making Magenbrot today," Herr Becker announced as he stretched out a long snake of dough and cut it into small pieces. "Marta, dip those in butter and roll them in cinnamon and raisins, and then arrange them in the angel cake tins."
Marta worked quickly, aware that both of the Beckers watched her. Frau Becker poured the dark batter into cake forms and handed the wooden spoon to Marta. "Go ahead. Lick it clean."
Herr Becker laughed. "Ah, see how the girl can smile, Fanny." He punched dough down. "You learn quickly, Marta." He winked at his wife. "We'll have to teach her how to make Epiphany cakes this coming Christmas. Ja?"
"And Lebkuchen." Frau Becker winked at Marta. Mama loved the spicy gingerbread. "And Marzipan." Frau Becker took the spoon and tossed it into the sink. "I'll teach you how to make Butterplätzchen." She set butter, flour, and sugar on the worktable. "And tomorrow, I'll teach you how to make anise cookies."
(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Her Mother's Hope by FRANCINE RIVERS Copyright © 2010 by Francine Rivers.

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I’m so ready for the rain to stop ...

Captain's Log, Stardate 04.08.2010

I’m over at the Faithchick blog with a bit of weather whining:

Camy here! Give me a hollaback if you’re tired of winter yet???

Click here to read the rest of why I am a wimp.
(Update: I corrected the link! Sorry about that!)

Excerpt - Deadly Vows by Shirlee McCoy

Deadly Vows
by
Shirlee McCoy

Olivia Jarrod was newly placed in witness protection when she discovered she was pregnant. First rule of the program: no contact with anyone from her former life. That includes her estranged husband, Ford Jensen—the unknowing father of her unborn child. Despite their rocky marriage, Olivia still loves him deeply. And when Ford shocks her by tracking her down, she knows the mobster pursuing her can't be far behind. But now their baby's very life depends on both of them staying alive—and together.

Excerpt of chapter one:

She'd popped.

Olivia Jarrod turned sideways and stared at her reflection, not sure if she should be elated or horrified. The flat plane of her stomach was gone. In its place was a subtle roundness that was emphasized by her fitted T-shirt. She placed her hands on the bump, imagining tiny hands and feet, translucent skin, a swiftly beating heart.

Her baby.

And Ford's.

She frowned, pulling the fabric taut against her abdomen as she turned from side to side. Thinking about Ford was something she tried not to do. The last few months had been difficult enough without reliving her failed marriage, thinking about the year she and Ford had been separated or dwelling on the last time she'd seen him.

She frowned again, turning away from the mirror and the telltale evidence of just how easily she'd fallen for her husband's charming ways again. She still didn't know why he'd shown up on the doorstep of her Chicago bungalow just a few days after Christmas. Had he been lonely in their penthouse? Had he decided to fight for their marriage?

Olivia had asked herself the same questions over and over again in the days after she'd fled Chicago, but she had no answers. All she knew for sure was that Ford didn't want kids. Too much trouble, he'd said years ago. Too many complications. He had too much riding on his career and too little time to devote to the mess and chaos children brought.

He'd be shocked if he found out he was going to be a father.

Appalled.

Angry.

There were plenty of words Olivia could think of that would describe Ford's reaction to impeding fatherhood. None of them were good.

It was a good thing she knew it. Otherwise, she'd pick up the phone and do what she knew she wasn't supposed to. She'd call Ford. She'd tell him that in a few short months he was going to be a father.

And she'd probably end up dying because she'd contacted him.

After all, wasn't that the first rule of witness protection?

No contact with anyone or anything from the past.

People who followed the rule lived. People who didn't died. It was as simple as that.

What wasn't simple was forgetting the past. Moving on. Letting go. She'd loved Ford for a long time. Even during their yearlong separation, she'd loved him, longed for his company and prayed that someday things would be different and they could be together again.

God hadn't answered that prayer.

But He had given Olivia something she'd always dreamed of. A baby. She needed to focus on that. Forget about everything else.

Which was exactly why she shouldn't be thinking about Ford.

As the key witness in the prosecution's murder case against Chicago crime family scion Vincent "Bloodbath" Martino, Olivia couldn't afford to make a mistake. Entering witness protection would only keep her safe as long as she followed the rules, and following the rules was only easy when she didn't dwell on the things she could no longer have. Like a relationship with the only man she'd ever loved, a man who'd broken her heart a hundred times but who still deserved to know he was going to be a father.

"Just stop it!" she muttered, grabbing her waitress uniform off the bed and shoving it into the hamper. It had been a long day. A long couple of weeks, really. Being relocated from Billings, Montana, to Pine Bluff, Montana, had knocked her off kilter. Although, it was more the reason for the relocation rather than the move itself that had shaken her. Two women in witness protection had been murdered in Montana. Both women had green eyes and were around Olivia's age. The U.S. Marshals weren't sure if Olivia had been the true target of the attacks. The fact that she had blue eyes rather than green made the chances slim, but Micah McGraw, Olivia's contact in the marshal's office, hadn't wanted to take any chances.

So she'd been moved.

Quickly.

So quickly she hadn't had time to say goodbye to some of the friends she'd made in Billings or to tell her church family there that she was leaving. Nearly four months of pretending to be someone she wasn't, blending into a new community, and it was over. She'd packed a small bag, climbed into a waiting car and been whisked away.

And now she was tired. Jumping at shadows. Imagining danger around every corner.

She sighed, grabbing a sweater and throwing it over her T-shirt. What she needed was a cup of tea, a few hours of mindless television and a good night's sleep. She'd feel better in the morning.

The telephone rang as she walked into the living room, and she jumped, her heart racing.

"For goodness' sake, Olivia. It's just the phone," she mumbled as she lifted the receiver and pressed it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Olivia? It's Lorna Scott. I know this is short notice, but our preschool ballet teacher is sick. Any chance you can fill in for her?" Lorna asked, her tone brusque. Director of Pine Bluff's YMCA program, she was a frequent patron of the diner where Olivia worked, and often stopped in for breakfast during Olivia's shift. She'd been the first one in years to ask if Olivia was a dancer, and the question had sparked a long conversation about the YMCA's programs. It hadn't taken long for Lorna to offer Olivia a job as a substitute ballet teacher at the Y. It had taken Olivia a little longer to accept. She'd had to weigh the danger of participating in an activity connected to her previous life with the danger of making Lorna curious.

In the end, she'd decided that she'd rather accept the job than answer questions about why she couldn't. Too many lies made it too easy to make mistakes. "What time is the class?"

"Six."

Olivia glanced at her watch, hesitating. It was only five. Plenty of time to get ready and go. She just wasn't sure she wanted to. She'd felt off all week. Nervous and even more on edge than usual. "I—"

"If you've got plans, I'm sure I can find someone else." There was a question in Lorna's words, and Olivia knew that refusing to take over the class meant explaining why she couldn't. Unfortunately, she had no real excuse.

"That's all right. I can come," she said, knowing she had to live her life as if she had nothing to be afraid of. As if she really was Olivia Jarrod from Hollywood, Florida, newly single and starting over with a new job in a new state.

"You're sure?"

"It's a forty-five-minute class, right?"

"That's right."

"Then no problem."

"See you at six."

Olivia hung up and paced to the front window. Outside, the sun was still high, its golden presence comforting. During daylight hours, Olivia felt almost safe. It was night that she dreaded. Darkness bred fear and stirred up memories she'd rather not dwell on. Not just of the murder she'd witnessed but of the years she'd spent alone waiting for Ford to come home from work, waiting for him to remember their anniversary or to wish her a happy birthday, waiting for her dreams of a happy home and loving family to come true. So much time wasted waiting for something that would never happen.

Too bad it had taken her so long to realize the truth. If she'd walked away two years into their marriage or three or even four rather than the ten it had taken, she and Ford would have been divorced a long time ago, and nothing that had happened in the past four months would have happened. She wouldn't have let Ford into her house, wouldn't have believed that he might really want something different from their marriage than what they'd had. She wouldn't have been so hurt when he'd interrupted a conversation about their future to take a business phone call.

And she wouldn't have run from her Chicago home and straight into a scene out of a crime drama—two men walking near the river, the moon bright and full above them. One pulling a gun, pointing it at the other's head and firing. A body falling into the river. A face that Olivia recognized from the newspaper.

She shuddered, pushing the memory away. It was better to focus on the present and the future. As much as she wished she hadn't seen a man murdered in cold blood, she couldn't regret that night. It had given her a precious gift. God had given her a precious gift. She needed to focus on that and forget everything else.

"We'll be okay, baby. I have to believe that," she said. God had gotten her through that terrifying night. He'd get her through the next month, and He'd get her through Vincent Martino's trial.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since lunch. It would be a good idea to grab something before going to the YMCA, but Olivia was afraid to. Her stomach hadn't been quite right since she'd gotten pregnant, and the months hadn't eased the discomfort. Her new obstetrician had assured Olivia that she'd be feeling better soon, but soon hadn't come yet.

Anxious and antsy, she grabbed the pregnancy book she'd left on the coffee table, thumbed to the section on the second trimester and tried to read, but one word bled into another and she couldn't make sense of any of it. Disgusted, she dropped the book back onto the table, grabbed her purse and jacket and opened the front door.

Outside, the day had turned cool, a brisk breeze stirring the trees and grass. Across the street, Maria and Joshua Sil-verman were herding their three kids into their 1950s ranch style home. Both waved before disappearing inside. Olivia knew a lot about them. That they'd married straight out of high school and had their first child a year later. That they were honest, hard working and that they'd believed every word Olivia had said about being newly divorced and looking to start over again. What she didn't know was what they'd think if they found out the truth. That most of what she'd told them was a lie. That she was a woman with a price on her head, and that at any moment one of Vincent Martino's thugs might end her life.

She shivered, pulling the jacket closed and glancing up and down the quiet street. Her contact with the U.S. Marshals had been limited since she'd been relocated, but she'd been assured she was under twenty-four-hour protection. Maybe so, but she didn't feel protected. She felt vulnerable and more alone than she'd ever been before. No matter where she went in Pine Bluff, no matter what she was doing, she felt exposed. As if a predator were hiding just out of sight, waiting to pounce.

It wasn't a good feeling, and when she spoke to Micah McGraw again, she was going to ask him just how much protection his team was providing.

"Headin' out for the night?" Jeb Carlson, Olivia's next door neighbor, called out from the window of his house, and she smiled. Maybe the marshals weren't watching, but Jeb sure was.

"I'm teaching at the Y."

"Pretty girl like you should be out having fun on a Friday night not working."

"Having fun won't pay the bills."

"You got a point there. You get the delivery?"

"What delivery?" Olivia went cold at the question, her heart beating rapidly. She hadn't ordered anything, and as far as she'd noticed, no packages had been left for her.

"Van pulled into your driveway a couple hours ago. Guy got out and grabbed something from the back. Thought he was going to leave it on your porch."

"There was nothing here when I got home."

"He left pretty quick. I put on my shoes and walked outside and the van was already gone. Probably realized he was at the wrong house and left. Happens sometimes."

"Yeah." But agreeing didn't make it so. Maybe there'd been a mistake. Or maybe the Martinos had found her.

Found her? Of course they hadn't found her.

If they had, she'd be dead.

Jeb was right. The van and delivery were simply a mix-up. Nothing sinister or scary about them at all.

"You okay, doll?" Jeb asked, and Olivia forced herself to smile and nod. Nothing was going on. Nothing that couldn't be explained. She really did need to stop jumping at shadows and imagining Martinos around every corner.

"I'm fine. I'd better head out, though."

"Don't work too hard. A lady in your condition needs her rest."

"My condition?" Olivia paused with her hand on the door to her car. She hadn't told anyone in Pine Bluff about the pregnancy. Though she'd shared with a few people in Billings, discussing the baby inevitably led to questions about the baby's father. Questions Olivia couldn't answer with any amount of truthfulness.

"Now, don't be worrying that I'll tell every Tom, Dick and Harry about it, but I've been around enough pregnant women to know one when I see one."

"I—" Olivia glanced down at the slight swelling of her stomach. Was it really that noticeable?

"Besides. I saw the pregnancy book on your table when you had me in for coffee the other day. I suppose it's that no-good ex-husband's child."

"Yes." She barely kept herself from correcting Jeb, from telling him that she wasn't divorced and that Ford wasn't no-good. That he was just too caught up in making money to care much about creating a family.

Or about her.

"Well, it's your business when you tell other people, but if you need anything, I'm right next door."

"Thanks, Jeb." Olivia got in the car and started the engine, her hand shaking. In Pine Bluff, keeping to herself was nearly impossible. The town was small, the people friendly and curious about the newcomer in their midst. Being standoffish or closed-mouthed would only make them talk about her more and that was the last thing Olivia wanted.

Blend in.

She could hear the words that had been pounded into her from the moment she'd agreed to enter the witness protection program. Don't do anything that is going to get you noticed.

That was a lot easier said than done when you were single and pregnant in small-town America. Soon, the little bulge of her stomach was going to grow. The baby that she'd been able to hide up to this point wouldn't be hidden any longer. When that happened, people would talk.

But, please, God, don't let any of Martino's men be around to hear it.

The sun dipped below distant mountains as Olivia drove across town, shrouding streets and alleys in shadows. As always, the darkness brought memories. The gun. The explosion of sound as it was fired point-blank into another man's head. Vincent Martino's cold face illuminated by moonlight. No matter how hard Olivia fought to let go of her old life, she couldn't rid herself of it. Perhaps that was why she felt so on edge, so nervous.

Streetlights did little to dispel the darkness or to chase away the memories, and Olivia was tense with anxiety as she pulled into the parking lot at the Y.

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