Monday, March 31, 2014

Keller Family Does it Again

Genre: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary
Release Date: May 29, 2014
Digital ISBN-10: 1631120360 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-036-7
Print ISBN-10: 1631120379 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-037-4

The Acceptance:
Tyler Benson’s world was shaken with the news that he had a sister—one he never knew he had. Though he loves his sister, and his family remains a tightly woven unit, he simply can’t shake the feeling of betrayal from his mother. After a sabbatical from his family to find himself it is time to head back home and try to pick up the pieces of his life.

Courtney Fields has learned to deal with many tragedies. Losing her sight at eight-years-old was only a challenge that gave her many other skills. Now dealing with the loss of her brother in combat will no doubt teach her new lessons in life.

When Tyler meets Courtney on a South bound flight to Nashville he couldn’t possibly have expected that she’d be his lesson in accepting the things he cannot change or control. But can he reciprocate in helping her accept the loss of her brother when she learns the truth of his death?

Monday, March 24, 2014

You will get a Kick out of this one!

Genre: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary
Release Date: April 24, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-034-3 ISBN: 10: 1631120344
Print ISBN-10: 1631120352 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-035-0

Indomitable Spirit:

Caught between the traditional Korean culture of her mother and the fun-loving Irish heritage of her father, Kym O'Byrne has never felt truly at home ... until she inherits the O'Byrne Karate School in the sleepy Colorado town of Aspen Creek. Staying focused and disciplined is her game, but something buried deep within the eyes of the grouchy handyman, John Larson—father of some of her most promising students—threatens to turn her strict world on its end ...

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Looking for a Quick, Free Read, Ghostly Style? Check this one out.


Available from 5 Prince Publishing
Genre: Fiction, Ghost
Release Date: March 20, 2014
Digital: ISBN: 13: 978-1-63112-017-6 ISBN: 10: 1631120174


A haunted mallet. A spooky song. An old west ghost story. Can Shelby survive a family camping trip or will the ghost of past misdeeds come calling?

Shelby didn’t want to go on the family camping trip with her parents and baby sister Rhea. Sitting around telling ghost stories couldn’t be more boring, even if one of the stories is supposedly true. When she accidently gets a scrape on her finger from the wooden mallet that is the heart of her mother’s ghost story, and not to mention also a bloodstained antique from the cowboy days, Shelby gets a glimpse of what she may have unwittingly unleashed into modern times. With the help of her family, Shelby must try to piece together the story of the haunted mallet and a certain song by the Eagles that keeps playing ... and playing ... and playing – before this Texas-sized ancestral ghost story takes a turn that just might be headed down a dead end. 

About Sara Barnard
Sara Barnard, who was most likely born into the wrong century, is mother to four awesome children. In addition to Rebekah’s Quilt, she has authored the historical romance Everlasting Heart series, consisting of bestselling A Heart on Hold, which was also a 2012 RONE award finalist, A Heart Broken, A Heart at Home, and A Heart Forever Wild – all from 5 Prince Publishing. She also writes for the younger among us. Chunky Sugars is a picture book from 5 Prince Kids and her independently published children’s nonfiction titles, The ABC’s of Oklahoma Plants and The Big Bad Wolf Really Isn’t so Big and Bad, have hit bestseller lists several times. She and her family make their home in the far reaches of the west Texas desert with the Javalina, mesquite trees, and of course, lots and lots of oil.

Where to find Sara:
Twitter: @TheSaraBarnard

Excerpt of Deperado:
“Okay let’s have a contest to see who can tell the scariest story.” Mom’s voice was much too chipper for my taste. She was all into this camping stuff, but there was nowhere for me to plug in my curling iron, so I could care less about being out here.
The flames from the fire danced, as though alive, as I shot a pained look at Dad. Showing off his trademark grin, Dad gave me a wink and tiny nod as if to say, humor your mother, she loves you.
Defeated, I pulled my old holey blanket around my shoulders and tried to ignore the encroaching shadows that looked to be dancing with the flickering firelight.
My baby sister Rhea straightened her back and leaned forward in her camp chair. “I’ll go first,” she chirruped. Rhea’s seven-year-old voice tried to sound scary and her blue eyes widened as she began her tale. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...”
I stuffed a whole s’more into my mouth.
Rhea held her hands up like claws. “There was a blue, no wait, make that a green bird.” She looked from face to face until she got to mine. “No, not a bird, a sister.”
I rolled my eyes as the corners of my mouth twitched upward.
Unfazed, Rhea continued. “The green sister was silly.” She dropped her voice low. “And I mean very, very, very silly.” She dropped her claw-hands into her lap, sat back in the camp chair, and grinned. “The end.”
Mom and Dad applauded wildly. I hid my ghost of a smile behind a nose twitch and passed Rhea another gooey s’more. “That was pretty good, Sissy,” I commended. “Take a few storytelling classes and you’ll be as good as Stephen King someday.”
The fact that I adored my baby sister was no secret, and I flattered myself to think that the feeling was mutual.
Rhea blew her blonde bangs up in a dramatic huff. “Shelby, do you always have to talk about him?” Her voice was an octave away from a full-on whine. “That movie he wrote scared me.” She glanced over her shoulder and scooted closer to Dad.
I crossed my legs. “Rhea, he writes books. Not movies.” It was an old argument the two of us shared ever since she snuck in and hid behind the couch while I was watching Pet Sematary one night. Rhea had watched the entire thing before I discovered her back there, terrified. She’d been sleeping in my room ever since then. “They make movies based on his books—”
“Ahem.” I could feel Mom glaring at me. My cheeks burned as the rest of my sentence fizzled, forgotten. Busted.
“We will talk about movie rules when we get home tomorrow, young ladies,” she said sternly. “As for now, who wants to hear a scary story? A true, scary story.”
“I do. Oh, Mommy, I do,” Rhea trilled in her normal, singsong voice. She scooted a little closer to Mom.
Dad rose from his camp chair. “If you ladies will excuse me, I think I will go find a tree right quick.” Turning, he trotted off into the shadowy woods.
Mom cut her gaze to me. “Shelby, are you up to it?”
I nodded and scooted in a tad bit closer to the fire.
Mom pulled her pink camouflaged backpack into her lap. “Good. Well, when I was a little girl, we were at a family reunion, not too far from here.” She gestured widely with her arm toward the west. “Before we left for the hour’s ride home, my mom, grandmother, great-grandmother, and I stopped at a garage sale on the edge of town. The house itself looked like it was out of a Stephen King novel––boarded up windows, creaky wooden front door swinging to and fro, peeling paint––the works.” She glanced at me. I smiled. She knew I was eating this up.
Mom leaned in and shifted her gaze back to Rhea. “Your great-great grandmother noticed that the homeowner was in a hurry to sell everything off. When she started poking around in a box of kitchenware, he accepted twenty-five cents for the whole box of stuff. Antiques, he said they were.”
The fire glinted off Mom’s face, making her wide eyes sparkle even more than they usually did. Rhea’s mouth hung open, a bit of marshmallow stuck to her cheek. A rogue arctic blast suddenly swept through our campsite, sending a collective shiver through all three of us. I tugged at the ends of my blanket and snuggled down deeper into my camp chair, taking care to not look into the dark woods behind me.
“Antiques?” Rhea asked through sticky lips. “What’s that?”
“The man told Great Gran that the stuff she bought had come west with his grandparents by way of a wagon train. Everything in that box was all that had survived a hellish campfire accident on their journey from the Pennsylvania.”
Rhea was sticking and unsticking her fingers. “Oh. Okay.”
Mom slowly slid up the zipper of her backpack. “Well, on the ride home, we had the radio on while your great-great grandma sorted through her box of treasures. She gave a purple glass bottle marked 1806 to my mom, a strange little garlic press to me, and a tiny tin snuff can to my grandma. From the very bottom of the box, she pulled out this.”
Mom reached into her backpack and drew out a weird looking wooden kitchen instrument.
“Is that a mallet?” I asked, letting my eyes rove over the little tool. “And what’s that stain? Is it ...” I gulped. “Blood?”
Mom nodded. “Yes and yes. The wagon train came under attack by a bad outlaw after the campfire accident. His grandma grabbed this mallet and swung it to kill, knocking the desperado’s black hat clean off his head. As Great Gran told the story to us in the car, the song on the radio changed to Desperado by The Eagles.”
“Oh, I love The Eagles,” I cooed.
Ignoring me, Mom continued. “While she told the story, Great Gran somehow managed to cut her finger on the mallet. Probably on this rough spot right here.” Mom slowly held the mallet out to me.
Equally slow, I reached to feel the spot she spoke of. The world around me melted into the blackness of the night as I touched the ancient piece of wood.
Oh did we mention that is is FREE?

Monday, March 17, 2014

Looks Intriguing!

Genre: Fiction/Romance/Historical
Release Date: May 1, 2014
Digital ISBN-10: 1631120328 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-032-9
Print ISBN-10: 1631120336 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-033-6

In the bitter winter of 1752, Evangeline Grey is determined to return to London, claim her inheritance, and lead a solitary, uneventful existence. York holds too many sad memories for her now, and she's ready to leave it behind. 
When she finds out that her guardian has designs on her -- and her pending fortune -- Evangeline manages to escape, but her journey south is fraught with uncertainty and danger. Mourning the murder of her brother, still reeling from her aunt’s recent death, and close to penniless until she finds her way back to London, she's never been more alone. 
And then, on a desolate Northern English moor, she meets a benevolent stranger who changes everything.
Kendall Beaumont is a man running from a few demons of his own. On his way to his home in remote Almsborough, he stops to help the pretty, young runaway. The future seems fairly bleak for the both of them -- until he decides to make her an offer she can't refuse...

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Love this Cover.

Available from 5 Prince Publishing
Genre: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Alternative History
Release Date: March 13, 2014
Digital ISBN 10: 1631120093 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-009-1
Print ISBN 10:1631120107 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-010-7

The Copper Witch:
“Ambition or Love”

Adela Tilden has always been more ambitious than her station in life might allow. A minor nobleman’s daughter on a failing barony, Adela’s prospects seem dire outside of marrying well-off. When Adela catches the eye of the crown prince, Edward, however, well-off doesn’t seem to be a problem. Thrown into a world of politics and intrigue, Adela might have found all the excitement she ever wanted—if she can manage to leave her past behind.

About Jessica Dall:
Jessica Dall finished her first novel at age 15 and been writing ever sense. She is the author of such novels as Grey Areas and The Bleeding Crowd and a number of short stories which have appeared in both literary magazines and anthologies. When not writing, she works as a freelance editor and creative writing teacher in Washington, DC.

How to find Jessica Dall:
Twitter: @JessicaDall

Excerpt of The Copper Witch:
Adela Tilden held as still as she could force herself to be, her eyes sliding over every now and again to study the man sitting in front of her.
Antony looked up from the easel and released a breath through his nose. “Hold still.”
“I am,” she said, barely moving her mouth.
He gave her a dark look.
Adela exaggerated a sigh, dropping her eyes again to the side, staring at the same patch of grey stone as she had been for what felt like years. “I want to see what you’re doing.”
“You’ll see when I’m done.”
She fidgeted, glancing at her dress. “Can’t we make the neckline just a little lower?”
“Your grandmother doesn’t like it as it is,” Antony droned, the same answer yet again.
“Well, of course she doesn’t,” Adela said, barely refraining from rolling her eyes and getting yelled at again.
“Drop your shoulder a little,” he directed, “and hold still.”
So she’d get yelled at either way, it seemed. Adela shifted, still attempted to freeze.
Antony shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his brown hair. “No, drop…not… You know what?” He moved to her.
Adela watched him carefully, making no effort to help as he straightened the line of the dress where it stopped around her shoulders. If a little too thin to be called well built, she had to admit Antony was an attractive man with his dark eyes and square jaw. It was a shame he had staged her looking away. She wouldn’t have minded the excuse to spend her time studying him right back.
He pressed her shoulder down lightly with the end of his paintbrush. “Can you hold that now?”
Her eyes remained on his face. “It’s hardly acrobatics.”
Antony’s eyes flicked up as he offered a weak smile, sliding away just as quickly as he adjusted the oblong pearl in the headpiece Adela’s grandmother had pulled out just for the occasion. He paused, finally moved a strand of the hair that had been left out of the braids at her crown and placed it over her shoulder. He stepped back, looking at her just a little bit too long, starting when he met her eyes. “There. Much better.”
The way he backed away, almost making it look like a retreat, made Adela smile. She watched Antony settle himself before tilting her head back the way it had been. “I don’t understand why Grandmamma wants a portrait of me anyway. It’s not as if anyone is going to see it. No one ever comes out here, you know. I’m surprised you’re here and you’re paid to be.”
“She’s trying to make sure that no one gets any funny ideas about your financial situation, I believe, Miss Tilden.” Antony didn’t look away from the easel.
“Even if they’re completely correct.” Adela heaved a sigh.
“Stop moving.”
She couldn’t help glancing again, looking away when he glared. “How old are you, Antony?”
He paused momentarily. “Does that matter?”
“I was just curious,” she said. “You’re much younger than the painters we used to have come here.”
“I’m not as well-seasoned as them, I would think,” he said. “And I imagine I’m quite a bit cheaper.”
“Oh.” She fought away a smile. “So I shouldn’t be surprised when my nose comprises the better part of my face, then?”
“I think I’m skilled enough to keep that from happening,” Antony answered, continuing under his breath, “Anyway, if I were going to make a feature too large it would much more likely be your eyes.”
Her eyes slid over to him again.
He met them for a second before looking away sharply. “Stay still.”
“You just started painting, then?” She looked down and away again.
“I’ve been painting my entire life,” he said, seeming relieved. “Just finished my apprenticeship a year or so ago.”
“So you’re what then?” Adela did the math in her head. “Twenty? Twenty-One?”
“Something like that.”
She smiled. “You don’t know which one?”
“Relax your face.”
She took a breath, forced off the smile. “Is it a secret?”
Exasperation leeched into his voice. “Is what?”
“Your age.”
He released a breath. “I just don’t see how it’s relevant.”
“I asked,” she said. “That doesn’t make it relevant enough?”
“I don’t believe that’s the way it works, Miss Tilden.”
She shifted. “Can I please move?
I’m going to freeze in this position if I have to keep it up much longer.”
Antony set down his brush, holding his hands up, motioning his surrender. “We can take a break.”
Adela rolled her shoulders, standing quickly to stretch her legs. She turned. “Can I see now?”
He looked up from straightening his paints.
“I’d like to see how you’re painting me,” she continued at his silence.
Antony hesitated. “I prefer people not to see what I’m painting until I’m done.”
She moved closer. “I’m paying for it. I’d think you’d want to know if I’m unsatisfied in any way.”
He opened his mouth, cleared his throat before starting. “Your grandmother’s paying for it, Miss Tilden. Maybe I should show her.”
Adela pouted. “Please?”
He looked at her for another moment. Finally, sighing, he backed up for her to take a look.
Adela moved quickly, her soft slippers barely making a sound on the stone floor. And the painting slid into view. Unlike the other china-doll portraits in the manor—with every inch of the women in them softened, pale—the picture in front of her looked as though he had taken her reflection and pressed it onto the canvas.  She studied herself, fascinated for a moment before collecting herself. She pulled herself straight. “You’re using a lot of red in my hair.”
His eyes lifted to her scalp. “Well, there is a lot of red in your hair, Miss Tilden.”
She twirled a strand absentmindedly around her finger, and didn’t dispute it.
“Satisfied?” he finally asked.
“You are quite talented,” she said, looked from the painting to him. “I don’t think you have my lips quite right, though.”
She picked up the mirror on the mantel, studying her face before looking back at him. “Don’t you think? My bottom lip is fuller.”
He looked at her lips for a moment, slid his eyes away, nodding. “I’ll fix it when you sit back down.”
She looked at her reflection for another moment before tilting the mirror down to fix the neckline of her dress. “This was the dress I wore to my mother’s funeral, you know.”
Antony started, mouth working as he searched for something to say. “Oh.”
“It’s been altered, of course.” She played with the gold thread that had been used to embroider the swirling pattern along the bodice. “But Grandmamma insisted that black was the proper color for a portrait, and I doubt we would have been able to get new silk, so she recycled this one.”
“Oh,” Antony repeated.
“I have to say, I like it better this way.” She leaned back against the wall sliding her hands down the skirt.
Antony coughed, looked at the windows. “We’re not going to have the light much longer. As soon as the sun…we’ll have to stop for the night.”
Adela sighed dramatically, looking at the high windows around the gaping hall. “How much longer do you think it’s going to be?”
“Not long. I’m almost done with what I need you for. I can do the background alone.”
She nodded slowly, studying him.
He met her eyes before once again looking away. “What?”
“Where did you learn to paint?”
He shook his head. “I told you, I’ve always painted.”
“Was your father a painter?”
Antony pressed his lips together. “Soldier, actually.”
“Ah,” Adela said. “Second son?”
Antony shrugged.
“What’s your last name?”
“I don’t think I was hired to help you figure out my life story, Miss Tilden.” Antony finally looked back at her.
“I’m just curious.” Adela shrugged innocently. “If you were able to apprentice as a painter obviously you aren’t from a farming family.”
He shook his head, straightening his brushes awkwardly. “Fletcher.”
Adela tilted her head. “Any relation to Thurston Fletcher?”
“None,” he said, voice curt. “Think you’ve stretched out enough to let me finish?”
She smiled at the joke he didn’t seem to catch. “Maybe.”
He motioned to the stool. “Whenever you’re ready, Miss Tilden.”
All business once again, Adela’s smile dropped as she settled on her stool. “You could call me Adela, you realize. No need for all the formality.”
“I’m more comfortable with ‘Miss Tilden’ if it’s all the same to you,” he said, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t presume the familiarity.”
“You wouldn’t be presuming anything. I said you could,” she said. “I call you Antony. I didn’t even know your last name until a few moments ago.”
“Your family is quite a bit more important than mine, Miss Tilden.” He took his seat. “There’s no reason for you to know my family.”
She scoffed. “I’m living in the middle of nowhere, alone, save my grandmother who hasn’t been further than our front gates since my mother passed.” Adela looked up at the ceiling. “God rest her soul. I’m surprised anyone remembers us at all.”
“You do own Penrith,” he said.
“Also known as the entirety of three-dozen people and five-thousand sheep.” She let out an exasperated sigh when he didn’t answer. “Am I sitting properly?”
“Turn a little towards me,” he directed, finally looking up. “Relax your hand.”
“Like this?”
He nodded. “Head down. Right there. You can hold that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I have been for two days.”
He didn’t answer, returning to the painting.
“Whom have you painted before?” she asked.
“Mostly models,” Antony said.
“Were they pretty?” Adela asked.
Antony’s cheek twitched. “If you want me to get your mouth right you’re going to have to stop moving it, Miss Tilden.”
She released a breath, froze, staying still as long as she could stand the silence. Her eyes flicked toward him. “Well, were they?”
“Miss Tilden,” he snapped.
“It’s just a question, Antony.”
He groaned, the sound coming from the back of his throat before he finally answered in a more civilized, if still strained, tone, “Were they what?”
“Pretty,” she said. “The models.”
He painted a few more strokes. “I suppose. Some of them.”
“Only some?” she asked.
“Well, we need to know how to paint non-pretty people too.”
“That can’t be fun.” Her nose crinkled. “Staring at ugly people for days on end.”
“Hold still.”
She sighed, complying for barely a second before continuing, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
He frowned. “I hardly think I’m qualified to judge, Miss Tilden.”
“You’ve seen plenty of both, I’m sure,” she said. “Am I closer to the pretty models or the ugly ones?”
He released a slow breath. “You are attractive, in my opinion, Miss Tilden.”
She smiled.
“Miss Tilden,” he snapped.
The smile dropped without having to be told. She tapped her foot under her dress for a moment. “What’s it like having a job, Antony?”
He let out a loud, exasperated sigh, resting his pallet in his lap. “What?”
“I’ve never worked,” she said.
“You’re young.” He waited, only continuing when she didn’t speak again. “And I doubt you need to.”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt around here.” She puffed out her cheeks, stopping before he could snap again. “Though my grandmother would rather die in the poorhouse than let me work, I’m sure.”
He hummed, eyes back on the painting.
“And I’m not that young,” she added.
“Young enough,” he said.
She studied him out of the corner of her eyes, glancing away each time he looked up. The brush moved quickly, Antony barely seeming to think before he made the next line. She half wanted to be on the other side of the easel watching how he painted rather than stuck on her stool across the room. The silence stretched on, every movement of the brush seeming amplified as he refused to speak. “You’re rather boring, you know that?”
“I’m not paid to be entertaining,” Antony answered quickly.
The silence returned, long enough this time Adela began to doubt he would answer at all, then the sound of brushes being set on his small table. Adela turned her head to look at him.
He didn’t look back. “I think I have what I need.”
She frowned. “You’re sure?”
She stood, looking at him for a long moment. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Antony?”
He glanced up, then away. “No. Why?”
“You never look me in the eyes.”
“That’s a sign of respect, isn’t it?”
“Maybe a hundred years ago.” She scoffed. “Seems dishonest to me.”
He looked at her, straight on, nearly seeming to squirm. “You have very…interesting eyes, Miss Tilden.”
She smiled. “Runs in my family, don’t you know? My mother’s side.”
“I know, in…” he led off.
“You can say it,” she said. “Just because we’re far enough removed that they forget about us doesn’t mean we don’t talk about our dear royal family.”
“Your mother,” he said. “From a long line of mothers.”
“Yes, it’s all very maternal,” Adela droned. “And why I’m out here on a small tract of nothing rather than in Carby.”
“You’re still nobility,” Antony said quietly.
“But not noble enough to even be called ‘Lady’.” Adela pouted. “I’m just ‘The Honorable Miss Tilden’.”
“Most people would be thrilled at being able to put ‘honorable’ in front of their name,” Antony said.
“In all due respect Antony.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not most people.”
He looked at her, finally managing to hold her eyes with some degree of fortitude. “So what’s your plan then, Miss Tilden? Find yourself a prince to marry?”
Her smile returned. “I’d be happy with a marquess. Maybe an earl in a pinch. No need for a prince.”
“Well, you have that royal blood. You have that going for you.” He looked at the portrait.
“True.” She looked at her wrists, studying the blue veins just under the skin. “Just not nearly enough of it to be of any use to me.”
Antony tilted his head to the side, looking at the painting from another angle before looking back up at her. “I mean no offense, Miss Tilden, but I don’t think I’m the one to whom you should be complaining about your family.”
“You could always claim you’re related to Thurston Fletcher,” Adela said. “He was knighted recently.”
“I’m sure he’d love that.”
“Or you could make friends with someone important and see if they could get you knighted,” she suggested.
“I have no desire to be Sir Antony Fletcher, Miss Tilden” Antony said. “I’ll leave such ambitions to you.”
“I don’t want to be a knight.” Adela smirked. “That would be a step down.”
He frowned. “You know what I meant, Miss Tilden.”
She still smirked, looking him over. “You have no ambition then, Antony?”
He shook his head, wiping off one of his brushes.
“None whatsoever?”
“I’m quite content as I am, Miss Tilden.”
“Would you turn it down if someone offered it?”
“There are already two Sir Fletchers in my family.” He gave a tight smile. “I believe my father and brother have that title more than covered.”
“You can’t seriously tell me you would turn down the chance for the title,” Adela insisted.
“You don’t need to sit around here, Miss Tilden.” He went to straightening his paints, not looking at her. “I can finish this simply enough.”
“I don’t have anywhere better to go,” Adela said. “Sadly you’re some of the most interesting human interaction to be had around here.”
“Lucky me,” he said, sarcasm breaking through. He quickly reined himself back in. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”
“I’d just be in my room, reading or sewing more than likely.” Adela picked at a piece of lint on her hip. “And as much as I do love Lettice, there’s only so long one can talk to the same person before everything becomes a chore.”
“Lettice?” he asked
“My chambermaid,” she said. “Though these days she’s somewhere between a lady’s maid and chambermaid. She’s the one who did my hair.”
Antony nodded, silent.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Suspense Coming Soon-Ghostly....

Genre: Fiction, Ghost
Release Date: March 20, 2014
ISBN: 13: 978-1-63112-017-6 ISBN: 10: 1631120174

A haunted mallet. A spooky song. An old west ghost story. Can Shelby survive a family camping trip or will the ghost of past misdeeds come calling?

Shelby didn’t want to go on the family camping trip with her parents and baby sister Rhea. Sitting around telling ghost stories couldn’t be more boring, even if one of the stories is supposedly true. When she accidently gets a scrape on her finger from the wooden mallet that is the heart of her mother’s ghost story, and not to mention also a bloodstained antique from the cowboy days, Shelby gets a glimpse of what she may have unwittingly unleashed into modern times. With the help of her family, Shelby must try to piece together the story of the haunted mallet and a certain song by the Eagles that keeps playing ... and playing ... and playing – before this Texas-sized ancestral ghost story takes a turn that just might be headed down a dead end. 

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Book Three is Finally Here! Check it out!

Available from 5 Prince Publishing
Release Date: March 6, 2014
Digital ISBN-10: 1631120158 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-015-2
Print ISBN-10: 1631120166 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-016-9

Lonely Heart
The consequences of past decisions can ruin your future.
Instead of planning her wedding, Kaitlyn Rodgers is facing motherhood alone, the pressures of a new job, and caring for her rebellious younger sister. What should have been the happiest time of her life turns into one stressful event after another.

After watching his father struggle to raise a family by himself, auto mechanic Antonio Rodriguez refuses to follow his father’s footsteps…even if it means a lifetime of loneliness.

When Kaitlyn’s car breaks down, though, Antonio goes beyond auto repairs to take care of her needs. An unexpected friendship begins, allowing them a glimpse of happiness…until the father of Kaitlyn’s child returns, ready to offer her marriage and a future. But at what cost?

Author Bio:

M.J. Kane stumbled into writing. An avid reader, this stay at home mom never lost the overactive imagination of an only child. As an adult she made up stories, though never shared them, to keep herself entertained. It wasn’t until surviving a traumatic medical incident in 2006 that she found a reason to let the characters inhabiting her imagination free.  Upon the suggestion of her husband, she commandeered his laptop and allowed the characters to take life. It was that, or look over her shoulder for men caring a purple strait jacket. And the rest, as they say, is history.
No longer a television addict, if M.J. isn’t reading a book by one of her favorite authors, she’s battling with her creative muse to balance writing and being a wife and mother. She resides in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her high school sweetheart, four wonderful children, and four pit bulls.
MJ’s debut novel, A Heart Not Easily Broken, Book one of the Butterfly Memoirs, became an instant Amazon Bestseller in Multicultural Romance and African-American Literature and Fiction within hours of publication. It has also spent time on the African-American Women’s Fiction and African-American Romance Bestsellers lists.
In addition to writing, MJ is the director of a writer’s group which meets at Barnes & Noble, is the Newsletter Editor for the Romance Novels in Color website, and shares writing tips, introduces her readers to new authors, and shares her personal experiences on her blog, This Writer’s Life. Other activities she enjoys include: creating custom floral arrangements, assisting her children in their creative pursuits of music and art, and supporting her husband’s music production business, 3D Sounds.
MJ can be found online connecting with readers and other authors sharing her writing, and talking about music, life, and family.

Public contact information

Twitter: @MJKaneBooks

Excerpt of Lonely Heart:
“Kaity, are you sure this is what you want?”
A final scan of the room showed nothing left behind. “Yes, Ebony, I’m positive. Luke made it clear he doesn’t want this baby, which means he doesn’t want me.”
After months of failed attempts to convince my boyfriend of two years that keeping our family together was best, I’d had enough.  The moment he learned about the pregnancy, he suggested abortion. After arguing, he conceded to try and work things out. Everything went fine for a while, but the more I asked him to participate in the doctor’s appointments and for ideas about setting up the baby’s room, the more standoffish he became.
His decision to avoid the sonogram and ignore my calls and text messages was enough.
I had three months until my baby’s arrival.
My baby…Who’d have thought I’d become a single mom?
A few short months ago, my life was perfect. I worked my dream job and had a man who loved me.
Turns out I was wrong about that.
I made some bad decisions in my life, but it was too late to change them now.
For the next three months my focus would be providing my baby with a happy home.  And regardless of what Luke thought, he would still have responsibility in providing for his child.
“That’s everythin’. Let’s get out of here before he gets home.”

Monday, March 3, 2014

Coming Soon-A Heart Forever Wild

Genre: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Release Date: April 3, 2014
Digital ISBN-10: 1631120298 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-029-9
Print ISBN-10: 1631120301 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-030-5

A Heart Forever Wild
Outlaws. Lies. Executions. Indians.

When all of their dreams come true, will Sanderson and Charlotte still have what started it all – their everlasting love?

In this final installment of the Everlasting Heart series, Sanderson and Charlotte must make a home for themselves in the Army town of Fort Bidwell, California. When the job as an Indian agent begs him to round up the peaceful area Indians for execution, Sanderson again runs afoul of the government. In answer to the broken promises of the Army, Sanderson and Jerry turn to a well-paying job with the railroad. However, they are warned to turn a blind eye to the treatment of their Chinese workers ...  or else. But can money buy this formerly-happy Arkansas family the happiness they are so desperately searching for?

Meanwhile as Charlotte stands up for Cotton against the town bullies, she accidently falls into favor with Johnny Tan, the handsome young outlaw who slowly transforms into both Sanderson’s nemesis and his saving grace. In a world where women are expected to be silent, can Charlotte be a parent Cotton, a wife to Sanderson who seems to have fallen more in love with money than with her, and friend to Minerva, who seems to be drifting farther and farther away?