Ginger's Sunday Sampler from Gail Roughton

I sort of fell off the wagon last week.  Hubby and I both were feeling our age.  He hurt his back and I sprained something in my ankle.  We both slept most of the weekend away so we didn't have to think about how old we've gotten.  :)  Anyhow, I'm back this week with an offering from a great story I'm reading, War-N-Wit, Inc - Resurrection.  If you like witches and warlocks, you've got to grab this one. This is the second in Gail Roughton's War-N-Wit series:

Blurb:

Resurrection. A secret society. Not everyone can join, just the elite few who remember their past lives. Only the Seer knows if those memories are truth or fabrication. There’s just one problem. The new Seer is missing in action. War-N-Wit’s new assignment is a blast from the past! But whose past?

Excerpt:

The honeymoon was over.  And a damn good thing, too.  As honeymoons go, this one had been a killer.  Almost for real.

I glared down at my husband.  Officially, we'd been married five days.  Unofficially, well--let's just say we'd been together a lot longer than that.  Through eternity, in fact.

"The doctor said you needed to stay at least three days!  So if you think you're walking out of this hospital within thirty-six hours of almost bleedin' to death, you got another think coming Magic Man!"

He flung the white hospital bedcovers back with his right arm, at up and swung his legs off the bed.  He was good, I'll give him that.  I doubt anybody but me would've noticed the white tinge around his lips or the faint grimace when his left arm and shoulder moved.  Then again, nobody but me could feel the sting from the torn flesh around the bullet hole in his shoulder.

I said we'd been together through eternity, didn't I?  Well, there's some side benefits to this "eternal couple" thing.  This time around, it seemed we didn't just know what the other was feeling.  We felt it.

The soreness wasn't so bad.  I knew it was there and I could keep it at a distance.

Occasionally, my foot still remembered the healing knife wound through his foot--a souvenir of our wedding trip to Vegas last week.  That is, our combination wedding trip coupled with hauling in the ho and pimp who'd skipped bail.  A little side business that hadn't gone quite as planned.  Still, not everybody could say they'd gotten married on a motorcycle in the White Chapel's Tunnel of Love Drive-Thru.

***
This author has a way of writing that makes you feel part of the story from the get go.  I've just started the book myself, and I can't wait to get back to it, so excuse me for cutting this short.  Guess you'll have to get your own copy to find out what happens to this snappy hero and heroine.  You can find it on Amazon.

Sunday Sampler

Sunday is almost over.  I totally zoned on what day it was until bedtime last night when I set the alarm for church.  It's so danged hot here.  Tennessee is setting all kinds of heat records.  I blogged about it being 111 day before yesterday, exceeding any record since records have been kept about weather.  Today, we're already at 104, but that's supposed to be as high as we get.  I suppose the heat will eventually end, but luckily, and I'm knocking on wood here, we have power to run our AC which is better than some poor folks in VA and the DC area.  

Anyhow, better late than never, I wanted to share a sample from the awesome book I'm reading at the moment, Winter Fire by Kathy Fischer-Brown.  This is my first novel by this author, and I promise it won't be my last.  I've loving her descriptive talent


Blurb:

When Ethan Caine pulled the unconscious woman from the half-frozen creek, he had no idea that his world was about to explode. Dressed in quilled doeskin of Iroquois design, she stirred up dark secrets from his past. At the same time, she was everything he desired. But she was more Indian than white, and on the run for murder. He needed to know the truth. He needed to find it within himself to trust her.

Banished by the Seneca Indians who had adopted and raised her, ostracized by the whites in the settlement, Zara Grey wanted only to be accepted. “Ethancaine” treated her with kindness and concern. It was easy to trust him. But her Indian ways disturbed him, and her heart she would always be Seneca.

Excerpt:

Rufus dismounted, pulling Zara down after him.  "See to the horse," he called abruptly to his son.  Without a word, Jabez led the animal to the barn.

"Oh, Zara!"  Ginny strode toward her.  In the pale lamplight, her aunt's face bore signs of strain broken by a smile.  "Thank the Lord you're safe!  What a fright you gave us."  She moved to take Zara under her arm.  "Come inside.  You must be cold..."

"She's coming with me!" Rufus turned and shoved Zara before him.  She feel hard into the snow.

Ginny bend to help Zara up, but Rufus blocked her.  "Oh, no Rufus, please...!"

"Stay away, Ginny!"

His wife took a step back, her eyes wide, a hand to her gaping mouth.

"Gi'me that lamp!"

Lying in the snow, Zara felt him step over her.  She jammed her eyes shut.

"Get up!"

She would not obey.  She would not so much as look at him.

His foot grazed her side, not forcefully, but enough to make her flinch.  "I said, get up!"

"Rufus, don't!"  Ginny cried. "I'm begging you, please.  Leave her be!"

"Go inside, Ginny!  Now!"

"I cannot allow--"

Her aunt's words were cut short.  Rufus struck her a resounding slap across her face.  Zara winced at the sound.  Then came an explosion of breath, a moan, and the hasty retreat of  her aunt's steps crunching over the snow.  Zara pulled herself up on hands and knees.

But before she could summon the will to move, Rufus hauled her up under the shoulders, and half dragging, half pushing, propelled her toward the tool shed.  "Next time you'll think twice before you make a fool of me!"

He slammed the door open.  The murky light of his lamp caused the cramped space to jump at her from the darkness.  Shapes and shadows loomed up like ghosts, and she clutched at the doorjamb with both hands.

"Go on, Git inside!"  He pushed her in and closed the door behind him.  The moldy, dusty smell made her eyes sting.

Rufus hung the lamp and his coat on pegs by the door.  From the darkened corner, he took a long, slender birch rod.  As the turned slowly, he flexed it in his hands, his face distorted by shadows.  "I'll teach you to run away from me."  Drawing a small knife from his belt, he stepped toward her.

***

Okay...I'll bet I got your attention.  If you want to read more, you can get a copy on Amazon by clicking here.

If you're an author, or even a reader who has a book you'd like to share, please leave a blurb/teaser and the buy link in the comment section.  Thanks for stopping by, and stay cool!

Sunday Sampler

Hi, and welcome to my second Sunday Sampler where you're invited to leave a sample of your work and buy link in the comments.  I hope you will.  All those Kindle owners are always looking for good reads.

I'm a bit late getting my post up today, but being retired and half-senile...the days run together and I forget where I am in the week.  *smile*

Anyhow...I'm happy to announce the release of Time Invested, a World War II novella, available on Amazon now.  Books We Love was gracious enough to re-publish this work, after it spent three non-eventful years on a very problematic site.  I really liked writing this story patterned after memories of my mother and father's courting days, and I'm proud of the end result.

Here's the blurb:

Previously published as Tender Return

Why won't Meagan Murphy's father allow her to date anyone in uniform? He must have reasons he hasn't shared, but contrary to Daddy's rules, Meg meets Ryan Cullen while volunteering at the USO and throws caution to the wind. Ryan only has a short time before his unit ships out, and Meagan intends to make the most of the time they have left together. His parting gift is a ring on her finger and a request that she wait for him to return. Will he make it home to ask permission for her hand. . .or are all those nightly radio newscasts about mounting casualties warning her to prepare for the worst?

First Scene:

Texas, March 1943

Meagan Murphy tapped her toe beneath the food-laden table despite the fact she’d been
hunched over it for hours, dishing out portions at the weekly USO dance. Preferring to find a partner and have a little fun, she methodically spooned mashed potatoes onto passing plates and eyed the “Jitterbuggers” on the floor.

“May I have some gravy please?” A deep voice drew her attention.

The eyes she looked into darkened, and his perfectly formed lips curved into a dimpled
smile. She cleared her throat and picked up the ladle. “Say when.”

“How about right after I polish off this chow.

“Excuse me?” She cocked a brow.

“You said, say when. I thought you were inviting me to dance.” He winked.

There was something about him—different from the other GIs. Flirting was a common
occurrence here, and she generally ignored it, but this brazen specimen piqued her interest. Still, she didn’t dare encourage him because her of her father’s presence at the dance. She rolled her eyes. “I meant tell me how much gravy you want on your potatoes.” Drizzling juice over his plate, she spoke in her best business-like tone.

“When!” He dabbed at a spot of gravy on the plate’s edge and flashed a smile. “Now,
about that dance…” He licked his finger clean.

The fellow behind him cast an impatient stare at her and thrummed his fingers on the
table.

“You’re holding up the line,” she said to the flirt, her cheeks heating. Nerves clutched at
her stomach, stealing the appeal of the mingling food aromas.

“Tell me your name, and I’ll move along.” He stood firm.

“Meagan. Now scoot! You’re going to get us both into trouble.” She glanced across the
room to where her father sat, hating when he dropped in. His presence put a giant damper on the evening. Showing anything more than polite attention to men in uniform wasn’t tolerated. Daddy’s demand proved to be a test of her resilience…especially tonight. She turned her gaze back to the fellow who hadn’t budged.

“Name’s Ryan Cullen.” He finally moved on to the breadbasket but kept his stare focused
on her. “I’ll look for you when you’re done serving.”

Managing a weak smile, she pondered how to avoid him and an embarrassing explanation, then turned her attention away and waved to her mother and younger sister, Martha, who sat next to her father along the far wall. Thomas Murphy, a local councilman, fulfilled his civic duty by visiting once a month to show his support of the USO and their mission. Why did he have to pick tonight?

Her sister fidgeted and slumped in her chair. The look on her face screamed ‘bored to
tears.’ The situation wouldn’t be any different had Martha been older, because Daddy only
supported the troops to the extent that they stayed away from his daughters.

Meagan sighed. So much for dancing with Ryan Cullen. At least tonight. Hopefully, he’d
come next week when her father stayed home and listened to his infernal radio. She nibbled her  lip and wondered if Ryan danced as good as he looked, but a fly buzzed too close to the food and interrupted her thoughts. She swatted at the annoying insect and planted her hand firmly in the remaining mashed potatoes. Hoping no one noticed, she swiped her mushy palm along her apron, gasping when she spied the dead insect within the handprint she left behind.

Luckily, her replacement showed up with a fresh bowl. “Time to take over,” Freida said.

“Thank goodness.” Megan snatched up and transferred the quarter-empty dish to the cart
behind the table. “My feet are screaming. See you next week.” She tossed her apron into a box then paused while she rubbed the small of her back and shrugged tired shoulders.

“Ready to dance?”

Ryan’s voice made her jump. “I-I can’t—”

“Can’t believe your good fortune? Can’t wait to dance with me?” He took her hand.

Her response to his arrogance dangled on her tongue, but disappeared when her sister
scurried over and elbowed her in the side. “Meg, Daddy says it’s time to go. You know you aren’t supposed to talk to strangers.” Martha twirled a braid and flashed a grin at Ryan.

Meagan withdrew her hand from Ryan’s as if a flame burned her palm then stooped until
her face was inches away from her sibling’s. “Really, why don’t you act your age? You’re
thirteen, not five,” she whispered.

Straightening, she turned her attention back to Ryan. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Maybe
we can have that dance another time.” She lowered her lashes then yanked her sister by the arm toward where their parents waited. “Honestly,” Meagan chastised, “why do you insist on embarrassing me?”

Martha pulled free. “You liked him. I could tell. And if you don’t be nice to me, I’m
gonna tell Daddy you promised to dance with that fella.”

Meagan grabbed the brat’s hand and squeezed. “You will not say a word, got me?”