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1662 products

Beneath Your Lies
Veronica Sullivan's seemingly idyllic life gets turned on its head when she confronts her husband about his infidelity. Desperate to maintain his image as the State's District Attorney and salvage their marriage, he proposes a shocking solution-Veronica can indulge in her own affair, but only under his supervision.
As she embarks on this unconventional journey, Veronica meets Ronan, an enigmatic hitman haunted by his past who has a shared interest. They have an unmistakable, unquenchable connection, yet Veronica guards her own secrets closely, especially as a series of unsettling disappearances and murders grip the city. No matter how hard Veronica tries to deny it, there's something about Ronan that keeps making her go back for more...
Veronica and Ronan's passionate affair unfolds into a riveting tale of suspense and dark truths, proving some secrets can never stay buried, no matter how hard you try.

Betray the Lie: A Sydney Rye Mystery
Across the river;
The hazy moon."
Robert glances up from the book of Haiku verse. "That's like us."
"Is it?" I ask with a smile.
Blue shifts on the couch next to me, pressing more weight against my side. Nila and Frank lay together, their limbs intertwined, on the marble floor.
Robert is half in shadow, his green glass shaded reading lamp throwing a pale yellow circle across his lap and chest. A small, leather-bound book lays open in one of his long-fingered, elegant hands.
The last wisps of the sunset, just the palest, most powdery blues and darkest hues of purple, light up the sky and filter through the wall of glass, casting shadows around the living room.
Robert's phone, lying on the table next to him, vibrates, sending a low hum through the quiet, peaceful room. He glances at the screen and then answers it.
"Yes, Brock." Brock is his head of home security and handles the safety and impenetrability of this mansion on Star Island-a refuge for the extremely wealthy in Biscayne Bay, just east of downtown Miami. "I see."
Robert's gaze meets mine, his blue-green eyes narrowing. The fine lines around them deepen. In his fifties, with dark hair silvering at the temples, Robert is an imposing presence. It's not just that he's over six feet tall and well-muscled. Or that he moves with the elegance and speed of a killer, either. There is an aura of power that surrounds Robert Maxim-wafts from him-and demands to be acknowledged.
He closes the book of poems and leaves it on the side table. Blue, Nila, and Frank lift their heads, collars jangling. The puppies look to their father for direction. Eight months old, with gigantic paws, soft features, and keen instincts, they are almost as tall as Blue.
A mutt I adopted back when I lived in New York-a lifetime ago-Blue is the height of a Great Dane with the long, elegant snout of a collie, the thick coat of a wolf, and the markings of a Siberian husky, with one blue eye and one brown. Blue is trained to protect and his offspring are learning...Nila better than Frank.
Frank is a dumb dog-which I love about him. The guy is almost too sweet for the job. Whenever Merl, a dog expert, tries to get him to attack, Frank turns it into a game. Nila, on the other hand, is ruthless, smart, and quick.
Robert hangs up the phone, and Blue leaps off the couch. The puppies scramble to their feet, facing the door.
Robert stands, slipping the phone into his pocket, and crosses to me. He reaches out a hand-the shirt-sleeve rolled up, exposing a strong forearm dusted in dark hair. "Time to go," he says. I twine my fingers with his, and Robert pulls me from the couch, holding me tight as we begin to move.
A heavy fist pounds on the front door, echoing through the large house. My soft-soled sneakers are almost silent on the marble as we begin to jog. The dogs' nails click along with us.
"Homeland Security. Open up!" A man yells, his voice muffled by the large house. Robert presses a button, and a bookshelf slides away, revealing a doorway.
The loud crash of a battering ram striking the front door echoes as Maxim punches a code into the keypad next to the elevator. My heartbeat remains even.
I am not afraid.P.S. The dog does not die.
**Beware: If you can't handle a few f-bombs, you can't handle this series.**

Betrayed in Shadow

Better with Friends
Life is hard, but friends make it better.
Jackie Turner has never felt so invisible. As a top performer, the forty-eight-year-old is shocked when she's passed over for a promotion at work. Has she become irrelevant? It's a bitter pill, but she vows to keep her disappointment to herself as she travels back home to Minnesota for her thirty-year high school reunion. She deserves this unspoiled time to reconnect with her oldest and dearest friends.
Their special friendship kicked off at summer camp when five young girls bonded over butterflies, a troubling accusation, and a simple craft project. They dubbed themselves the Kaleidoscope Girls, and not even their turbulent high school years could tear them apart.
They promised to stay close, but life can thwart even the best of intentions.
Decades later, Jackie realizes she needs her lifelong friends now more than ever. Who better to turn to for advice on navigating the highs and lows of midlife? Her career feels stale, her nest is empty, and her father is fighting a battle he can't win. She needs a fresh start, and together with the rest of the Kaleidoscope Girls, Jackie will hit the road and experience what it feels like to have fun again.
Experience the magic of female friendships in Better with Friends, the first book in The Kaleidoscope Girls women's fiction series. Let Kimberly Diede, best-selling author of the popular Whispering Pines series, give you a glimpse into the early years and bring you along as the next chapters unfold for these five amazing women. Their future journeys will be even richer, thanks to old friends.
Let the Kaleidoscope Girls remind you that the best is yet to come.

Between Now And Forever (Heartwarming Contemporary Romance)
"Heartbreaking, tender and romantic. This one tugs on the heartstrings." Karen - Goodreads
Nicole met Ryan when he was a handsome, cocky teenager with a desire to fly high above the clouds. Ryan encouraged Nicole to dream big and promised her a lifetime of happiness, but several years into their lives together, they were faced with obstacles bigger than either had ever imagined. Their love faltered. They lost their way and considered what had once been unthinkable-the end of their forever.
But now fate throws them a curve, an event that forces them back together, that strips their emotions bare and is both terrifying and strangely unifying. For the first time in a long while they have to face each other, and not only talk but also listen, because their lives depend on it-not only their lives, but also the life of their six-year-old son.
Secrets and lies frame a perilous journey to the truth that takes Nicole and Ryan to Angel's Bay, a place where miracles sometimes happen. But in order to get that miracle, Nicole and Ryan must work together and learn how to trust and love each other again. Only then will they be able to save their family and find their way to happily ever after.
Don't miss this emotional, suspenseful, intriguing story that brings one shocking surprise after the next! A tale of family secrets, a mother's desperation, and a love story that gives new meaning to the words second chance romance! If you love a good cry and a book that will keep you guessing, this one is for you! Fans of Nora Roberts, Robyn Carr, Susan Wiggs, and Kristin Hannah will enjoy this stunning novel by #1 New York Times bestselling author Barbara Freethy
NOTE: The Callaways Family series offers romance, mystery and family drama in each standalone novel, and the books include some of your favorite storylines: alpha heroes, firefighter romance, girl next door, love at first sight, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, grumpy sunshine, meet cute, instalove, and second chance at love. Start reading now!
What the readers are saying...
"I loved, loved, loved this book. This author has a way of weaving a love story around chaos. This book takes readers through ups and downs and just when you think you have figured it out, you're thrown for a loop. I loved every second of it." Nicole - Goodreads
"The author has found the perfect balance of mystery and romance in BETWEEN NOW AND FOREVER. And my God, the mystery in this book was just too good - I loved the concept completely. This has to be my favorite book in the Series." Bookish Indulgences
About the Author
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing) Bestselling Author of ALL TIME! She was also the first Indie Author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon.
An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home. Barbara recently launched a new contemporary series, The Callaways, featuring a family born to "serve and protect." For more information, visit Barbara's website at www.barbarafreethy.com

Beyond the Crushing Waves: A gripping, emotional page-turner
Two generations from one family face heartbreak and injustice in this poignant and emotional novel inspired by true events.
Married to her dream man, and with a baby on the way, Dr Mia Sato's life is in perfect order.
When her beloved grandmother has a fall, the photograph clutched in her hand prompts Mia to ask questions her grandmother isn't willing to answer. Then she cries out a confession that rocks Mia to her core and leads her to make a shocking discovery of a past filled with lies, broken families and forced child migration.
Mary Roberts is a poor gutter child living in a council house in 1950's London. When she and her sister are given away to an orphanage by their mother, they could hardly imagine the turn their lives were about to take.
Harry Evans is an orphan who finds himself with Mary and her sister on a ship bound for Australia. To a farm for children, where abuse and neglect are rife. A journey that will change their lives forever, and from which they'll never return.
Based on one of Britain most secret and shameful real-life scandals in which over 100,000 British children were forcibly deported to Canada, South Africa, and Australia over several decades. Lilly Mirren's heartbreaking, captivating and ultimately uplifting tale reminds us that no matter where the journey leads us, our heart will always find its way home to those we love.
For readers of Before We Were Yours and Where the Crawdad Sings.
Author Bio:
Lilly Mirren is a USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three children.
She always dreamed of being a writer and is now living that dream. When she's not writing, she's taxiing her children to various after school activities, visiting her parents at the beach, or drinking coffee with friends.
Her books combine heartwarming storylines with achingly realistic characters readers can't get enough of.

Beyond the Darkness: Transformative Journeys Through Dark Tourism
Humanity's Darkest Moments
WITH A FOREWORD BY DR. PHILIP STONE
In Beyond the Darkness: Transformative Journeys Through Dark Tourism, Dr. Chad Scott, multi-category #1 Amazon bestselling author, takes readers on a deeply personal and thought-provoking exploration of some of history's most profound and challenging sites.
From the solemn corridors of Auschwitz to the shadowy depths of the Paris Catacombs and the reflective spaces of Ground Zero, Dr. Scott doesn't just explore the physical remnants of tragedy-he uncovers their emotional and transformative potential. With vivid storytelling and personal reflections, he examines how even the world's darkest chapters can teach us resilience, compassion, and the strength of the human spirit. Far more than a travel memoir, this is a powerful testament to how dark tourism allows us to connect with the past to find meaning in our own lives.
Beyond the Darkness asks questions that linger long after the journey ends:
What can we learn from humanity's most difficult moments?
How do these places help us confront our own struggles, mortality, and capacity for growth?
What does it mean to bear witness to history and come away forever changed?
About the Author
Scott, Chad: - Dr. Chad Scott is a multi-category #1 Amazon bestselling author, seasoned explorer, and licensed psychotherapist with over 25 years of experience in mental health. With a Ph.D. in counseling, Dr. Scott has taught psychology at Bemidji State University and Mesabi Range College, written three impactful nonfiction books, and captivated audiences as a speakerat a variety of conferences and seminars. Dr. Scott combines his expertise in psychology with a passion for transformative travel, focusing on dark tourism-journeys to historically significant and often tragic sites that uncover profound lessons about resilience, healing, and the human spirit. Through his work, he explores the intersections of history, humanity, and personal growth, inspiring readers to reflect on their own challenges and find hope in life's most difficult moments. Having overcome significant challenges with illness, divorce, and anxiety, Dr. Scott brings a hard-earned grit to his writing, offering readers an authentic and inspiring perspective on how adversity shapes our lives. From Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park to Alcatraz and the Tower of London, his experiences reveal how history's darkest moments can spark transformation and renewal. When not writing or traveling, Dr. Scott enjoys flying, outdoor adventures, cheering on local sports teams with friends, and spending time with his loyal Boston Terrier, Duke.

Bicentennial Summer: A Coming of Age Journey Across America
“[An] intimate epic of a debut.” —BookLife by Publishers Weekly
“Highly recommended reading, regardless of your favorite genre; it will stay with you for a long time.” —Readers’ Favorite
“Berelson has a gift for dialogue that rings true to a child’s perspective.” —Seattle Book Review
In the summer of 1976, thirteen-year-old Mary embarks on an unforgettable cross-country journey with her father and younger twin sisters. What begins as an exciting road trip in their beat-up car, Blue Pierre, soon unravels into a chaotic adventure as their father's decisions force them into unexpected situations.
Traveling through iconic American landscapes-from Mount Rushmore to Yellowstone and San Francisco-Mary grapples with the growing realization that her father is not the hero she once believed him to be. When the trip takes a disastrous turn in Texas, leaving them stranded, Mary must find the strength to navigate their way home to Ohio, hitchhiking with strangers and confronting the painful truth about family, loyalty, and growing up.
Set against the backdrop of America's Bicentennial celebrations and based on real-life events, Bicentennial Summer is a coming-of-age story about love, disappointment, and the bittersweet journey of understanding the people we cherish most.
Author Bio:
Mary Berelson is a storyteller, adventurer, and lifelong educator. With a 30-year teaching career, she spent 25 years guiding kindergarten and first graders before transitioning to middle school technology. She and her husband raised their two daughters in Truckee, California, where she embraced the beauty of the Sierra Nevada. Now retired, Mary draws inspiration from a life shaped by her Ohio childhood, California adventures, and her roots in Tennessee.Mary enjoys road-tripping in her beloved VW bus, tending her garden, and crafting in her creative space. When she's not writing, she can be found mountain biking with her husband and dog or spending precious time with her new granddaughter. Bicentennial Summer is inspired by a road trip she took with her younger twin sisters and their father during the summer of 1976.

Big Trouble on Sullivan's Island
“Fast paced, whip smart, and satisfying. This irresistible beach read crackles with wit.” —Mary Alice Monroe, New York Times bestselling author of The Beach House series
From the author of the best-selling Liz Talbot Mystery Series comes a novel about family and secrets, and the lengths we'll go to in order to protect both.
Can this charming do-gooder carry the day?
Charleston, SC. Hadley Cooper has a big heart. So when the easygoing private investigator gets a request from a new friend to stake out her husband's extramarital activities, she immediately begins surveillance. And when her client is discovered dead on her kitchen floor, the Southern spitfire is certain the cheater is the culprit ... even though he has the perfect alibi: Hadley herself.
Flustered since she observed the cad four hours away in Greenville at the time of the murder, the determined PI desperately searches for clues to tie him to the crime. But when her ex-boyfriend, who happens to be the lead detective on the case, arrests a handy suspect, Hadley fears a guilty man is about to walk free.
Can this Palmetto State sleuth make an impossible connection to prevent a miscarriage of justice?
With dry wit and delightful dialogue, Susan M. Boyer delivers an eccentric, vegan gumshoe sure to appeal to any fan of Southern women's fiction. With her merry band of sassy friends, Hadley Cooper is a Lowcountry detective you won't soon forget.
Big Trouble on Sullivan's Island is the engaging first book in the Carolina Tales series. If you like strong heroines, quirky sisterhoods, and plenty of Southern charm, then you'll love Susan M. Boyer's wonderful whodunit.
More Reviews:
“With characters that come to life on the page and a perfectly crafted mystery that keeps them turning, Big Trouble on Sullivan's Island is an utterly charming, beautifully atmospheric novel that will transport readers right into the Lowcountry. Susan Boyer's genius lies in her ability to make readers laugh, cry, and gasp—often all in the same chapter! The first book in the new Carolina Tales series, this is a 5-star read that has me counting the days until the next installment! No one is better than Susan Boyer at crafting an unforgettable Southern tale!” —Kristy Woodson Harvey, New York Times bestselling author of The Wedding Veil
“With a savvy heroine with a rich and interesting past, boisterous humor and colorful characters, Big Trouble on Sullivan's Island positively drips with southern charm. This is a highly entertaining mystery you won't want to miss. Hadley is my new favorite private eye!” —Kate Carlisle, New York Times bestselling author of the Fixer-Upper and Bibliophile Mysteries
“A wholesome, entertaining mystery anchored by a PI with plenty of personality.” —Kirkus
“Susan M. Boyer has outdone herself with her newest book, Big Trouble on Sullivan's Island. Steeped in Southern charm and comprised of quirky characters and more than a little sass, the novel is a deftly crafted murder mystery that is at times touching and cleverly humorous. A rare gem.” —Karen McQuestion, bestselling author of The Moonlight Child
“Every word sounds like a molasses-slow coastal Carolina drawl—the real kind, not the cloying, fake TV kind. The characters and the secrets they fight to keep could come from any gathering of women of a certain age in that secret-rich sea island place. The book transported me to languid, sandy days—and made me long to head to the coast.” —Cathy Pickens, author of Carolina True Crime series
Author Bio:
Susan M. Boyer is the USA Today bestselling author of twelve novels. Her debut novel, Lowcountry Boil, won the 2012 Agatha Award for Best First Novel, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and garnered several other award nominations. Subsequent books have been nominated for various honors, including Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance Okra Picks, the 2016 Pat Conroy Beach Music Mystery Prize, and the 2017 Southern Book Prize in Mystery & Detective Fiction.

Bipolar Disorder Through My Eyes
In this transformative memoir, a man confronts the harsh realities of living with bipolar disorder. Battling suicidal depression, manic episodes, homelessness, and repeated stays in psychiatric hospitals and jails, he reveals his journey through severe mental illness. Despite the turmoil, his life stands as a testament to overcoming immense obstacles and gaining profound spiritual insights.
From a young age, he sought wisdom and meaning, even in the darkest times. Music became his sanctuary, a language to express his soul’s depths. Teaching himself to read music and play the piano at five, and later studying classical guitar in his twenties, music was not just a hobby but a lifeline.
When the storm of his mental illness began to calm with the help of a compassionate doctor, he found stability. This allowed him to pursue a degree in Sociology and become a mentor, sharing his passion for music with others. Despite relentless challenges, he cultivated happiness and gratitude.
His creative spirit flourished as a singer/songwriter at nineteen, and his poetic voice found an audience in his thirties when he began to publish his work. Now, in his fifties, his heart is set on giving hope to others who suffer from mental illness. He is a beacon of belief that with faith in God, one can navigate through the fiercest storms and emerge stronger. His story is a testament to resilience, the transformative power of faith, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.
This memoir is not just a recounting of hardships but a powerful narrative of resilience, hope, and the unwavering human spirit. It invites readers to see beyond the challenges of mental illness and embrace the possibility of a fulfilling and meaningful life.

Bird in a Snare

Bite Shift
Kate Murphy is just a nurse and single mom who wants to slip into her forties quietly, and finally lose those last 10 pounds. After a savage attack during her night shift break, Kate is turned into a vampire to save her. Now, she is thrust into a world that she didn't know existed; trying to figure out how to keep her new condition secret from work, kids, and her ex-husband without missing a step. It's funny how the word vampire will make you forget you have a water bill.
Unfortunately, Sorin, the Lord of the city, has sent her on a suicide mission to find the thing that left her for dead before it kills again and he doesn't take "no, thanks" for an answer. Despite knowing she should despise him, the passion he has ignited inside her is hard to control and she is quickly losing the reasons she shouldn't give in...especially when he makes it clear that he wants the same thing.
Kate will need to reach inside herself to find the strength that was always there and finally learn...she was never "just" anything.
About the Author
Nazarei, Lena: - Lena Nazarei is a full-time nurse, mom and doctorate student who used writing as a way to escape the stresses of a global pandemic, responsibilities and ever-growing chaos. She has loved vampires since childhood and decided to write the story she had always wished she could read. This is her debut novel and, since she cannot say goodbye to these characters, it will be the first in a series. In the future she plans to tell the backstories of each of your favorite players to learn what led them to the moment you meet them in Bite Shift. She currently lives in Pittsburgh with her two daughters and a spoiled little dog.

Black Diamond Death
About the Author
Cheryl Bradshaw is a New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author. Born and raised in Southern California, Cheryl Bradshaw became interested in writing at a young age, but it was almost two decades before she put pen to paper. In 2009 Bradshaw wrote Black Diamond Death (Book One: Sloane Monroe series). Within six weeks it entered the top 100 in two different categories and remained in the top 100 for over a year. Since that time, Bradshaw has written four additional novels in the series, and is busy penning two additional novels this year. In 2013, Bradshaw introduced a new paranormal thriller series: Addison Lockhart, the first book titled Grayson Manor Haunting. Bradshaw is the founder of IWU on Facebook, a writers group with over 2,000 members. In August 2012, Bradshaw was named one of Twitter's seven best authors to follow. In 2013, Bradshaw's novel, Stranger in Town, was chosen as a Shamus Award finalist in the category of best P.I. novel of the year. She was the only female nominated in her category. Cheryl Bradshaw's Novels: Sloane Monroe Series: Black Diamond Death (#1) Murder in Mind (#2) I Have a Secret (#3) Stranger in Town (#4) Bed of Bones (#5) Addison Lockhart Series: Grayson Manor Haunting (#1) Till Death do us Part Novella Murder Series: Whispers of Murder (#1) Echoes of Murder (#2) COMING SOON! For information and updates about Cheryl Bradshaw, visit her at www.cherylbradshaw.com, find her on Facebook on her Cheryl Bradshaw Author Page and follow her on Twitter @cherylbradshaw.

Blackthorn Manor Haunting

Blind Vigilance (A Sydney Rye Mystery, Book #13)
No, no, no. I grab my phone, unlock it, navigate to favorites, and touch Mulberry's name without even fully registering the thought.
It rings. How am I going to explain knowing Sydney Rye needs help?
I'm thousands of miles away, stationed on a private island in the middle of the Pacific. And yet-
"Hello?" Mulberry's voice, gravelly with sleep, cuts through my thoughts.
"Sydney is bleeding."
"What?" Mulberry's voice clears as sheets rustle in the background.
A dog barks. I focus on the monitor with the live feed of Sydney's room. Blue is up and going wild. Sydney, her shoulder length hair splayed out on the pillow, the white of the hotel sheets only a few shades lighter than her blanched skin, remains motionless.
I didn't even need to call. The dogs would have alerted Mulberry. Foolish. Careless. Stupid.
"What's going on, Dan?"
I don't answer.
The door between Mulberry and Sydney's rooms flies open-I watch it on the screen and hear the hinges swoosh over the phone line. Reaching out, I slide my finger along the stylus bar to raise the volume. Mulberry stumbles into Sydney's room, unsteady on just his one leg.
She didn't lock the door. That isn't like her. Except it was Mulberry on the other side. A subtle invitation?
"No!" Mulberry's voice echoes between the phone and computer speakers. He lunges toward the bed.
Sydney lies on her back, a dark stain spreading around her hips. Mulberry drops the phone when he grabs her shoulders, his broad back blocking Sydney's face from my view.
I swivel to a different monitor and bring up Mulberry's phone screen. I dial 911. Someone has to. I can always be counted on to do what needs doing. Overstepping saves lives.
"What's your emergency?" the Miami 911 operator asks.
I clench my fist on the glass surface of my desk. Answer her, you idiot. Mulberry doesn't follow my mental command. Fine. I take full control of the phone. "My wife is pregnant and bleeding. We're at the airport Marriott, room 523," I say, my voice even and clear. I say it like it's my baby. Like it's my life. Not something I'm watching on a screen. My eyes flick back to the live feed of her room. "I can't wake her."
Mulberry sits on the edge of the bed, face tear streaked.
Sydney isn't moving.
She isn't moving.
Don't let her die.
P.S. The dog does not die.
**Beware: If you can't handle a few f-bombs, you can't handle this series.**

Blindspot
"A smart, twisty cat-and-mouse revenge tale."
- Robert Dugoni, NY Times Best Selling Author of the Tracy Crosswhite series
An ambitious district attorney. An enemy she can't see. A daughter at risk.
From the author of the award-winning Truth and Other Lies comes a gripping suspense novel about an ambitious prosecutor on the hunt for her sadistic stalker, only to find herself framed for murder when he turns up dead.
Rachel Matthews is used to stress-from the cutthroat world of the district attorney's office to her escalating clashes with her teenage daughter. So when a stranger sends a lavish bouquet with a macabre message and leaves a disturbing video on her doorstep, she's quick to act. Teaming up with an old classmate turned private investigator, she wades through old case files, searching for someone harboring a grudge against her.
But before she has time to pinpoint a suspect, her stalker issues a demand-he wants money, lots of it, or he'll hurt her daughter. In a dangerous gamble, Rachel agrees to meet her stalker on an isolated beach, only to find herself fleeing from a shocking crime scene. Can she solve the puzzle of who wants to destroy her before she loses her family, her career, and her freedom?
Fans of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent will embrace this taut tale of long-simmering revenge right up to its surprising and twisty climax.
About the Author
Smith, Maggie: - In a career that's included work as a journalist, a psychologist, and the founder of a national art consulting company, Maggie Smith added novelist to her resume with the publication of her debut, Truth and Other Lies, a women's fiction novel set in Chicago and released in March 2022 by Ten16 Press. It won NIEA's Juror Grand Prize, the Star Award for Debut Fiction from Women's Fiction Writers Association, Foreword INDIES Gold Metal for General Fiction, and was selected for the Women's Book Association Great Group Reads.In addition to her writing, Maggie hosts the weekly podcast Hear Us Roar (215+ episodes), blogs monthly for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and is Managing Editor for Chicago Writer's Association Write City E-Zine. She resides in Milwaukee WI with her husband and her aging but still adorable sheltie. Her second novel, a psychological suspense called Blindspot will be released in May 2024.

Blood and Coin: (The Ranger Archives: Book 2)
From Philip C. Quaintrell, author of the popular fantasy series 'The Echoes Saga':
'For lovers of your classic Tolkien, this series has it all' - Alan Coleman - Amazon customer
'Best newcomer to the genre. Philip is up there with Feist and Sanderson' - Philip Spick - Amazon customer
Monsters breed legends... and legends breed monsters. This is the way of things. This is the way of the Ranger.
Turned from the path of the assassin, Asher roams the world no better than a nomad, with naught to offer but his sword and grit. But woe betide the monster that believes his sword and grit will not be enough...
In a twisted chance of fate, the brash actions of Doran Heavybelly - a dwarven hunter with a lot to say - forces Asher back into the world of man. And so the ranger is brought into the light, into the gaze of Illian's greatest crime guilds and onto the lawless island of Dragorn.
A deal must be made, and with a creature far worse than any of the fiends Asher has put to his sword. To save those who cannot save themselves, the ranger must choose between his life and theirs. Should he make such a deal, 'tis not his life that would be forfeit but the man he has worked so hard to become.
In the end, it will all come down to blood and coin...
--
''The Echoes Saga' demonstrates a simple commitment to the power of story' - Stephen Dudley - Amazon customer

Blood in the Low Country: A Tension-Filled Family Saga Of Betrayal
Blood in the Low Country, the first of the Atkins Family Low Country Sagas, tells the story of a southern family living in Charleston, South Carolina in 1973. The book follows the lives of Monty Atkins, his wife Rose, and their sons Eli and Walker. Rose's childhood is plagued by poverty, abuse, and tragedy. Determined to prove she's better than her past, she relentlessly pushes her sons to succeed in proper Charleston society. When Rose's oldest son Eli, the product of her first, failed marriage, is accused of murdering his girlfriend Kimberly, Rose fears losing everything. Monty believes his son is innocent and hires a detective to find the killer. But when the murderer is revealed, Monty's marriage and everything he holds true are tested. Can Monty and Rose save their family and confront Rose's demons? Only time will tell. A story of love, faith, and redemption, Blood in the Low Country is a must-read for fans of Southern family sagas.
Author Bio:
Paul was born and raised in the Atlanta, Georgia area. Paul and his wife, Lyn, met in college at Georgetown University and were married after Paul graduated from the University of Georgia School of Law. They moved to Phoenix, Arizona in 1988 where Paul embarked on a thirty-year business career before retiring so he could write fiction. Paul and Lyn raised three children together in Phoenix and now live in Charleston, South Carolina.
Blood in the Low Country is Paul Attaway’s debut novel. Writing this book, along with the move to Charleston, is a coming home of sorts, a return to the South. The history and culture of America’s South is rich, complicated, at times comical, sad, tragic, uplifting, and inspiring. Paul hopes that his novels capture even a small bit of this tapestry.
You can learn more about Paul, his upcoming appearances, and his next novel at www.paulattaway.com.

Blood Rock
Three years before Serenity Adams was elected sheriff of Blood Rock, she worked the beat in Indianapolis. Among her many arrests, she was instrumental in putting a deranged, yet highly intelligent, child killer behind bars. Now that the murderer has escaped prison, he has only one thing on his mind-to find the woman who captured him, and make her pay.
For the first time ever, Serenity is the one being hunted, and everyone she holds dear is in grave danger in this heart pounding, latest installment of Serenity's Plain Secrets.
Author Bio:
Karen Ann Hopkins writes Amish fiction, mysteries, YA literature, paranormal, dystopian and romance for readers of all ages. She resides in northern Kentucky with her family on a farm that boasts a menagerie of horses, goats, sheep, peacocks, chickens, ducks, rabbits, pigs, dogs, and cats. Karen rescues and fosters a variety of pets and farm animals, but she also finds time to give riding lessons, coach a youth equestrian drill team, and of course, write. She was inspired to create her first book, Temptation, by the Amish community she lives in. The experiential knowledge she gained through her interactions with her neighbors drove her to create the story of the star-crossed lovers, Rose and Noah.

Bloodlines & Fencelines
Sheriff Ray Crawford Osborne is in over his head when someone murders the First Lady of Lantz, Texas. Suspects include her persnickety husband who has financial problems; their daughter who bears a lifetime of psychological scars; a businesswoman with a reputation for revenge; a nasty local drunk; a combat veteran who came home from Afghanistan with the kind of battle scars you can't see; the richest man in town who is nursing an open wound; and a young man who had a peculiar relationship with the victim. Osborne may not know much about detective work but he knows the secrets and lies of everyone in town.
About the Author
Evatt, Dls: - Evatt is a retired Texas journalist living in Austin. She spent most of her career in public communication, including on the faculty at Syracuse University.

Bloody Bay Rum Club
An idyllic Caribbean island. An exclusive resort. A deceptive façade.
While on holiday in Little Cayman, dive boat operator AJ Bailey expects a peaceful getaway. Nothing sounds better than uniquely-aged rum, crystal-clear water, and world-class diving.
But, beneath the surface, the Bloody Bay Rum Club is hiding a dangerous secret, and when AJ uncovers the truth, things turn deadly.
Bloody Bay Rum Club keeps you on the edge of your seat in book 10 of this exciting series.
Read in series order or as stand-alone books.

Bloody Ties
Bloody Ties, the newest installment of Serenity's Plain Secrets, is a thrilling and unpredictable adventure of corruption, organized crime, and murder that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.
When dead mobsters start turning up in Blood Rock, Sheriff Serenity Adams joins forces with a new recruit, a US marshal, and her ex-partner to solve the cases, but can she trust any of them? Her old partner, Ryan Donavan, is not acting like himself, and Serenity fears he's keeping secrets. For all of his politeness, there's something about Officer Jerome Wilson that doesn't ring true, and Marshall Bryant always has his own agenda. Throw in the Moretti mafia family, a Mexican drug cartel, and a hillbilly moonshine making clan, and Serenity has her hands full. But just as answers come into view, the investigations expand into the Amish community. The sudden return of an ex-Amish man marks more trouble for the sheriff, and local teenagers are once again facing bad luck.
As Serenity grasps at a little normalcy in her personal life, sinister forces descend on her town—and in a race against time, she must unravel the truth before she loses everyone she holds dear.
Author Bio:
Karen Ann Hopkins writes Amish fiction, mysteries, YA literature, paranormal, dystopian and romance for readers of all ages. She resides in northern Kentucky with her family on a farm that boasts a menagerie of horses, goats, sheep, peacocks, chickens, ducks, rabbits, pigs, dogs, and cats. Karen rescues and fosters a variety of pets and farm animals, but she also finds time to give riding lessons, coach a youth equestrian drill team, and of course, write. She was inspired to create her first book, Temptation, by the Amish community she lives in. The experiential knowledge she gained through her interactions with her neighbors drove her to create the story of the star-crossed lovers, Rose and Noah.

Blowback

Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans
About the Author
Joanne DeMaio is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary fiction. She lives with her family in Connecticut. To learn more about the author and her books, visit Joannedemaio.com.

Blue Lake
When greed, the law, and secrets collide someone is going to get hurt.
Two lonely people meet in the workplace and become close. Jason Erickson is a state judge hearing environmental cases who's getting unwelcome political pressure. Tara Highsmith is an environmental journalist covering some of Jason's cases, though she's soon to be exiled to the Science and Health beat. As their relationship develops, Jason and Tara discover shared passions for the Wisconsin wilderness, their book club, and each other. But Tara is married.
Meanwhile, Jason grows increasingly concerned about a strange conversation with an attorney. Was it an attempt at a bribe? Jason finds himself embroiled in several high-stakes ethical dilemmas involving powerful political figures, groundwater polluters, a corrupt developer, and his feelings for Tara. As he fights to stay true to his personal and professional principles, the list of Jason's enemies swells. Before long, shots are fired.
Full of intrigue, passion, and suspense, Blue Lake sets the stage for a thrilling mystery set against the rich beauty of black spruces, white pines, and austere Upper Midwest lakes. This is a compelling and richly layered story about nature and our place within it that lands with rare emotional depth.

Blue Mercy
A literary family drama, with a murder at its heart, full of emotional twists and surprises.
Will you side with mother or daughter?
When Mercy Mulcahy was 40 years old, she was accused of killing her elderly and tyrannical father. Now, at the end of her life, she has written a book about what really happened on that fateful night of Christmas Eve, 1989.
The tragic and beautiful Mercy has devoted her life to protecting Star, especially from the father whose behavior so blighted her own life. Yet Star vehemently resists reading her manuscript.
Why? What is Mercy hiding? Was her father's death, as many believe, an assisted suicide?
Or something even more sinister?
In this book, nothing is what it seems on the surface and everywhere there are emotional twists and surprises. ("Breathtaking, and I mean literally -- actual gasps will happen" said one reader review).
Set in Ireland and California, Blue Mercy is a compelling novel that combines lyrical description with a page-turning style to create an enthralling tale of love, loss and the ever-present possibility of redemption.
Praise for Orna Ross and Blue Mercy
"A lyrical, gripping and heartbreakingly beautiful tale of love, loss and the ever-present possibility of redemption." - WE Magazine for Women
"Epic sweep...ambitious scope... an intelligent book". - Sunday Tribune
"A riveting story...vividly brought to life." - Emigrant Online
About the Author
ORNA ROSS has worked in every branch of books publishing: as author, editor, teacher, mentor, novelist, poet and even as an (accidental) literary agent. Since 2012, she has been successfully self-publishing her own books and she is founder and director of The Alliance of Independent Authors. Get an email when Orna launches a new book: http: //www.ornaross.com/connect/new-book-out/ ORNA SAYS: "My NOVELS usually take the form of family-based dramas. Often they are historical fiction and usually there's a murder mystery or other buried secret from the past causing chaos in the present. I enjoy writing emotional twists and surprises around big themes -- identity, family loyalty, the struggle between freedom and belonging. My POEMS are simple and accessible and tend towards the inspirational. My NONFICTION is about applying the creative process to everything in life. We've all been educated to neglect our creative capacities -- a big mistake, as the Creative Age overtakes the Information Age. Thankfully, as with strength in any other muscle, we stop losing it by using it. The 'Go Creative!' books show how to become more creative in every aspect of life. INSPIRATIONS: #1: HISTORY: I agree with Mr Hartley that the past is, indeed, another country and it's my favourite place to travel -- reading and writing historical fiction is my favourite thing to do. I'm especially drawn to bohemian times and places where shackles are thrown off and creativity flourishes -- fin de siecle Paris (1890s); literary revival and revolutionary Ireland (1910/20s); hippy (1960s) and gay lib (1980s) San Francisco... #2: GENDER: I write the kind of women's fiction that explores what it is to be a woman, in various times and places. But I think both men and women have feminine and masculine dimensions. We are all seeded by man and born of woman and we all carry 'male' and 'female' characteristics. How these play out, in an individual life and in different societies, is endlessly fascinating to me. #3: IRELAND: I don't only write about Ireland but it is a strong influence. Because so many millions have emigrated from there, its stories reach beyond its own shores. There is always a particular flavour to Irish writing and readers tell me they experience in my books too. #4: THE SEA: Everything I really needed to know, I could have learned by watching the waves. #5: THE SPACE BETWEEN THE WORDS. About which the less said, the better.

Bobbit Rock: A Psychological Horror Novel
"A Southern Gothic for the video-game age, mixing scares and shootouts, relationships and reprisals in one big, brash package." -Leslie Mizell, Editor and Writer
Still reeling from the death of his beloved wife and unborn child, homicide detective Isaac Murphy must investigate a growing string of unsolved murders in the shadowy city of Callahan, South Carolina. When mass hysteria plagues the populace, Isaac begins to lose his sanity and questions whether the killer is a man or a monster. But a terrible secret plagues Isaac's heart--when he was a child, he climbed the forbidden Bobbit Rock and unknowingly unleashed a curse. Now, he hears the deaths are his fault.
Has Isaac doomed everything to the wrath of the WRETCHED MAN?
About the Author
Landing, Jr. Joseph: - Joseph Landing, Jr. is a three-time author who lives in Charleston, SC. He started writing novels at the age of thirteen and had published two of them before graduating high school. He studied file and media at the University of Miami and spent time developing his craft in New York and Los Angeles. He produced an award-winning short film titled, "Project Godhand," during his studies. After graduating from college, he felt an interest in writing psychological horror. Within a year, he had written Bobbit Rock.

Bodyguard of Deception
BODYGUARD OF DECEPTION: A NOVEL OF SUSPENSE
VOLUME ONE OF THE WORLD WAR TWO TRILOGY
By Samuel Marquis
#1 Denver Post Bestselling, Award-Winning Author
Praise for Bodyguard of Deception
"Bodyguard of Deception grabbed my attention right from the beginning and never let go. The character development is excellent. Samuel Marquis has a knack for using historic details and events to create captivating and fun to read tales."--Roy R. Romer, 39th Governor of Colorado
"Readers looking for an unapologetic historical action book should tear through this volume." -- Kirkus Reviews
"Old-time spy buffs will appreciate the tradecraft and attention to detail, while adventure enthusiasts will enjoy the unique perspective and setting for a WWII story. As Marquis throws in everything but the kitchen sink, he turns this well-told, if byzantine adventure novel into a combination of The Great Escape, Public Enemies, a genuine old-time Western, and a John Le Carr novel."--Blueink Review
"The world hangs in a delicate balance in the heart-pounding World War Two Trilogy opener, Bodyguard of Deception by Samuel Marquis. Put together with an intricate plot to follow and a commitment to realistic detail, there's a lot going for the read...a wonderfully nail-biting experience with good characters and solid intrigue."
--SP Review - Four-Star Review
"As usual, Marquis's descriptions are vivid, believable, and true to the time period...Bodyguard of Deception is an intriguing launch to his new trilogy."--Dr. Wesley Britton, Bookpleasures.com (Crime & Mystery)
"Bodyguard of Deception is a unique and ambitious spy thriller complete with historical figures, exciting action, and a dastardly villain. Fans of prisonbreak plots will enjoy this story of a loyal German struggling to save his homeland."--Foreword Reviews
"A fast-paced, riveting WWII espionage thriller. Bodyguard of Deception is as good as the best of Daniel Silva, Ken Follett, Alan Furst, and David Baldacci and brings back fond memories of the classic movie The Great Escape and Silva's finest novel, The Unlikely Spy."--Fred Taylor, President/Co-Founder Northstar Investment Advisors and Espionage Novel Aficionado
Can the American and British Allies stop a vaunted German spymaster and his U-boat-commander brother from warning Hitler's High Command about the Allies' greatest military secret? It is a secret that could win the war for Germany--or, at the very least, delay the outcome for years with an inestimable cost in bloodshed, physical destruction, and suffering. And it is a secret that the two contentious brothers must grapple with within their own Wehrmacht ranks, as they bring U.S. and British intelligence to their knees on America's doorstep with the clock to D-Day ticking down. From a U-boat on the frigid North Sea to a brutal British interrogation center in heart of London to a remote German-POW camp and the world-famous Broadmoor Hotel overlooking the high plains and snow-dusted mountain peaks of Colorado, Bodyguard of Deception will keep you guessing until the final chapter. The first book of #1 Denver Post Bestselling, Award-Winning Suspense Author Samuel Marquis's World War II Trilogy.

Bones of Echo Lake
The discovery of human bones on the idyllic shores of Echo Lake forces Detective Jake Cashen to expose long buried truths.
Worthington County's coldest case heats up when ground-breaking on a new luxury subdivision comes with a grisly surprise. In full view of the media and half the town, a local politician uncovers the remains of a young girl, gone missing for decades.
The victim's bones speak from the grave, telling a horrifying tale of her last moments on earth. Her death was no accident. She did not die peacefully. And she had a secret not even those closest to her knew. But was it worth killing for?
Jake zones in on a prime suspect with ties to a woman he cares about. Revealing the truth will destroy her. The case becomes personal and those in power think Jake should step aside. Are they right? Or is a conspiracy brewing that could allow a murderer to go free?
Bones of Echo Lake is the electrifying third book in the Detective Jake Cashen thriller series. A former police detective, author Declan James brings you authentic crime fiction that will keep you on the edge of your seat with twists you'll never see coming. Perfect for fans of Connelly, Box, Dugoni and Baldacci.

Bound: The House of Crimson & Clover Volume IV
The House of Crimson & Clover continues in the fourth volume, Bound. Fate demands a sacrifice. Finn lost everything when Ana left. He's not oblivious to the whispers, the pity from others who believe he should move on. But he can't move on. Because he's missing part of himself. The part that makes him whole. Ana no longer knows who she is. Or what. She longs equally for what she has and what she left behind, torn between two opposing worlds. As Aidrik watches Ana's life force drain away, now beyond the help of his magic, he realizes fate demands a sacrifice. One that goes against everything he has come to believe over thousands of years. But it is the only thing that will save Ana now. The House of Crimson and Clover Series
This is the recommended reading order for the series.
Volume I: The Storm and the Darkness
Volume II: Shattered
Volume III: The Illusions of Eventide
Volume IV: Bound
Volume V: Midnight Dynasty
Volume VI: Asunder
Volume VII: Empire of Shadows
Volume VIII: Myths of Midwinter
Volume IX: The Hinterland Veil
Volume X: The Secrets Amongst the Cypress
Volume XI: Within the Garden of Twilight
Volume XII: House of Dusk, House of Dawn The Saga of Crimson & Clover
A sprawling dynasty. An ancient bloodline. A world of magic and mayhem. Welcome to the Saga of Crimson & Clover, where all series within are linked but can be equally enjoyed on their own. For content warnings, please visit sarahmcradit.com.
About the Author
Sarah is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional. An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests). She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes. Connect with Sarah: Official Website: http: //www.sarahmcradit.com Facebook: http: //www.facebook.com/houseofcrimsonandclover Google +: google.com/+SarahMCradit Twitter: @thewritersarah

Bounty Flight
Whiskey Flight, Volume 1
Bounty Flight, Volume 2 Cedar Creek Mysteries:
The Ghost in the Curve, Volume 1
The Glow in the Woods, Volume 2
The Phantom in the Footlights, Volume 3 Cedar Creek Families:
Building Fences, Volume 1
Crossing Paths, Volume 2

Breakfast at the Beach House Hotel
When Ann Rutherford's husband dumps her for the bimbo in his office, unfairly leaving her without a home or a job, she reluctantly joins forces with Rhonda DelMonte to convert Rhonda's Florida seaside estate into the small upscale hotel it once was. Ann, quiet and reserved, is no match for brash, bossy Rhonda, who left the family's New Jersey butcher business after she won the lottery. Amid their struggles to succeed, The Sins of the Children, a soap opera, films a number of episodes at the hotel and things get complicated in unexpected ways when Ann falls for Vaughn Sanders, the star of the show.

Breakthrough
ONE OF THE GREATEST BREAKTHROUGHS IN HUMAN HISTORY.
A SECRET THAT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND.
AND A CRISIS THAT CANNOT BE STOPPED.
Deep in the Caribbean Sea, a nuclear submarine is forced to suddenly abort its mission under mysterious circumstances. Strange facts begin to emerge that lead naval investigator, John Clay, to a small group of marine biologists who are quietly on the verge of making history.
With the help of a powerful computer system, Alison Shaw and her team are preparing to translate the first two-way conversation with the planet's second smartest species. But the team discovers much more from their dolphins than they ever expected when a secret object is revealed on the ocean floor. One that was never supposed to be found.
Alison was sure she would never trust the military again. However, when an unknown group immediately becomes interested in her work, Alison realizes John Clay may be the only person she can trust. Together they must piece together a dangerous puzzle, and the most frightening piece, is the trembling in Antarctica.
To make matters worse, someone from the inside is trying to stop them. Now time is running out...and our understanding of the world is about to change forever.
About the Author
Michael C. Grumley lives in Northern California with his wife and two young daughters where he works in the Information Technology field. He's an avid reader, runner and gardener. He dotes on his girls every chance he gets. His email address is michael@michaelgrumley.com and his website is www.michaelgrumley.com

Breath of Dragons
*A 2016 Readers' Favorite Silver Medal Winner*
After Prince Alaric's death, Daria and Alex set off in search of the legendary box of the Pandors'. The box is famed to hold a secret of power-one strong enough to overcome Lord Eris and the shield of power he stole from Valdon. Daria doesn't know where the box is hidden, but she can't ignore the silent urging, beckoning her to the land of Pendel-the land her mother, Aurora Pandor, was from.
Time is running out. Lord Eris's army of shadowguard vastly outnumber Valdon's forces, and if Daria doesn't find the box in time, Valdon will need reinforcements from the other territories to survive. But those territories will not hand over their armies willingly, not without Daria's hand in marriage.
And there is another, older power rising, one that hasn't been seen in centuries-one thought lost since the days of Galahad: the dragons.

Breathe Deep & Swim
“A fast-paced and timely exploration of brotherly love in the midst of family and political turmoil. Great for fans of Gayle Forman’s If I Stay [and] Jandy Nelson’s The Sky is Everywhere.” —BookLife
Perfect for fans of We Are Okay and The Thing about Jellyfish, this witty and achingly beautiful coming of age story will tackle what it means to be alive, loved, and trusting in a world gone mad...
All 14-year-old Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Thomas wants is normalcy. But a global pandemic prevents him from having anything close to a typical teenager's life. When Wolfgang discovers his father dead in bed from the coronavirus, his world is thrust into even more turmoil and chaos. Wolfgang and his 16-year-old brother, Van Gogh, know that they must do everything they can to stay together and avoid foster care. In a cross-country road trip, they hit the road in their father's Pontiac to find their only hope: the mother who abandoned them a decade ago. As they journey for answers to their mother's whereabouts, they uncover devastating mysteries about her that they never could have imagined. Just as they near their destination, tragedy strikes once more. Wolfgang is drowning in fear and pain, but he must pull it together or lose his family for good. Can this broken adolescent find the strength and courage to Breathe Deep & Swim?
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More Reviews:
“I loved Breathe Deep & Swim by Jenna Marcus and want to share it with the world. This book speaks of hope, innocence, and challenges from the perspectives of teenagers. Highly recommended.” —Vernita Naylor for Readers' Favorite
“...compelling...memorable...An often moving portrait of brotherly love.” —Kirkus
”Jenna Marcus’ incredible story captures the depths of brotherly love and the determination of a spirit faced with insurmountable odds.” —Manhattan Book Review
“Crossing over genre lines between thriller, suspense, and coming of age, Breathe Deep & Swim is a beautiful story that portrays the unconditional love and trust shared between two brothers.” —Amy Powers for Readers' Favorite
Author Bio:
Jenna Marcus is an academic leader and published author of the YA novel, My Unusual Talent. She has a fervent passion for leveraging her decade of expertise to robustly enhance and redefine the quality of teaching and learning. As an avid reader, she believes that every child should find a book to love. In addition to her profession experience, she holds a MS. ED in Educational Leadership, a MS. ED in Middle Childhood & Adolescent English Education and a BA in Literature; she is also certified in School Building Leadership and ELA. Currently, she lives in New Rochelle, NY.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Not Midnight
It felt like a phantom clock was striking midnight.
I thought I heard twelve chimes, but maybe they were ringing somewhere off in the distance. Maybe I was just imagining it because the sound of midnight—that finite clang—would have fittingly stamped this moment. But even without hearing the distinctive ringing of a midnight bell, even without confirmation of the time, I’d always remember this moment. At some point in the night, Dad had died, and we’d been left to figure out the rest of our lives, or at least the next few hours.
I’d never seen a corpse before, not in its organic form, before being preserved in a coffin—only after being coiffed and cleaned to a perfection that never replicated the actual living person I once knew.
At Uncle Earl’s funeral, he’d worn an intensely black suit with a matching tie, but he’d once said he would rather die than wear one. Well, I guess the suit was fitting then, because if he’d taken one look at that Windsor knot, he would have dropped dead on the spot.
Lying in that shiny coffin, Uncle Earl had been like a wax statue, a pristine, unnatural representation, not the Uncle Earl we knew. That wax figure wouldn’t ruffle my hair while saying, “When are you going to cut that thing? Are you looking to grow a pet?” It’d always driven me crazy when he said that, but he was being true to who he was; he was his authentic self. In that coffin, any semblance of authenticity he’d once had dissipated, leaving a body in a proper suit. I supposed he’d been prepared and preserved to look like that for an audience, to appear “more palatable.”
This was different though, and not because the dead man lying in the bed was my dad. This was different because my dad still looked like himself. He wasn’t made up for anyone; his life had just faded away. His lily-pad-green eyes were dull and staring at nothing on the ceiling. His jaw was slack. He looked like he was waiting to sleep, but his soul had left his body instead.
The most potent difference was the absence of living movements. He was missing those subtle movements, like adjusting himself under the bedspread, or twitching his nose from time to time. He was missing his stare, when he would focus on a particular point as if to turn it over in his mind before slightly shaking his head to refocus his eyes. His dark-brown hair somehow had lost its sheen, which seemed impossible since it had grown oily from not showering for days on end.
It was his stillness that filled the room. His severe lack of movement connected him to all other corpses, but because he wasn’t in the standard coffin, in the standard funeral home, I couldn’t shake the expectation of seeing him move. It was almost like I was taking for granted that people could move. Even if you were a quadriplegic, your eyes could move back and forth, and your chest would rise and fall with every breath you took.
It was impossible to mistake a dead man for what he was, and however I felt about this situation, I knew that he was dead.
“Wolfgang, why is this door open?” Van Gogh called from the hall. His footsteps began to slow to a stop as he hesitated to enter the room. We both knew this room was off-limits, and we both knew why.
Normally I followed the rules, especially ones set by Van Gogh, but I’d felt compelled to go into our dad’s room, almost as if…as if I knew that I would find my dead dad lying in his own filth. As I mentioned, it had been a while since he’d showered.
“Wolfgang, why are you in here? You know you shouldn’t—holy shit!” Van Gogh shouted, stopping a few feet away from the bed.
Although my brother’s eyes were usually a mirror image of our dad’s lily-pad-green ones, his naturally seemed livelier. In fact, they seemed to be expanding and retracting, if that was even possible.
I had no idea how to respond, other than to say what we both knew was a lie.
“I don’t know what happened. He just … died.”
He just died. Yes, he had, that was obviously true, but we both knew what happened, we both knew the cause.
Van Gogh ran his fingers through his short dark-brown hair, staring down at the body.
“Shit, shit, shit.” My brother didn’t always know what to say in uncomfortable situations, but that was probably because he was rarely uncomfortable. Even when he got into verbal boxing matches with Dad, he didn’t seem uncomfortable, just angry and disgusted. But now, as he continued to run his fingers through his hair, it was obvious that he was severely uncomfortable.
“I know. I don’t know what happened. I just found him here,” I repeated. Normally, I was very verbose. It probably came from the fact that I was a bona fide bookworm, at least that’s what my teachers told me. That was one of the reasons I did so well on my compositions, especially in English class. I usually knew how to sew together sentences that sounded articulate, but not obnoxiously so. Dad always said I was too smart for my own good, and that he couldn’t understand a word I was saying—but that was because he wasn’t really listening. He never really tried to understand.
“What are you even doing in here? You know you shouldn’t be in here without a mask!” Van Gogh exclaimed, adjusting his white N95 mask.
“I mean, does it really matter anymore? He’s dead,” I said, reaching for the mask tucked in my back pocket.
“Wolfgang, we don’t know if he’s still contagious!” Van Gogh cried as he pulled a pair of gloves out of a pocket in his tattered Levi’s. He handed them to me before helping me adjust my mask. “There, that’s better.”
We simultaneously looked down at the stiffening body. I didn’t feel his skin, but I knew my dad’s body was getting colder and that rigor mortis would set in at some point; it was only a matter of time. However, how much time we had, who knew? I couldn’t tell you what time it was.
It was at that point that I asked the obvious yet complex question I knew was on both of our minds. “Now what?”
Van Gogh took a deep breath, so deep that I could feel him holding it for some time—as if he needed the oxygen, any oxygen, even if it were contaminated. He slowly exhaled as he looked over our dad’s body.
“Now? We need to get out of this room,” he said, taking hold of my hand and walking me into the hall. My brother hadn’t held my hand since I was eight years old and he was ten. Even though Dad had never instructed Van Gogh to do so, he’d always taken hold of my hand as we walked across the street.
Although it was six years later, and I knew that as a high school freshman I was a little too old to walk hand in hand with my older brother, I was reluctant to let go. Van Gogh had always been my life raft. I knew I needed him, and I also knew I could always rely on him.
Although my brother’s plans weren’t always fully thought through, I knew he would have one. I knew he would do everything in his power to get us safely across that street.
When we were in the hall, Van Gogh released my hand and walked over to the couch, but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he just walked around it, circling it like a vulture waiting for the right moment to land.
I pulled off my mask and tucked both the mask and the gloves into my back pocket. I couldn’t help but watch my brother as he continued to circle the couch, looking down at the brown carpet.
“What should we do?” I just needed to ask this question. Van Gogh always knew what to do, even if he acted on a whim, which he usually did. Me, on the other hand … it took me forever to construct a plan. I had to think it through too much; I’d always anticipate the worst-case scenario and would end up scrapping fully formed plans. But not Van Gogh. No, he would just go with it and whatever happened, happened.
Also, my brother would take full responsibility for his actions, but he never seemed to regret them. For example, when he’d been caught tagging a wall when he was into graffiti art, he said that if Keith Haring could do it, why couldn’t he? Granted, I’m sure Haring’s younger brother didn’t have to use his lawn mowing money to bail his brother out of jail, like I did. Even though our dad had yelled at him for a good hour about getting arrested and focusing more on his art than anything else, Van Gogh didn’t seem remorseful. Although he never apologized to Dad for his actions, he did apologize to me because he knew that it had taken me a while to earn what became his bail money.
The following week, I’d found my money paid back with interest on my dresser. It was only later that I learned that my brother pawned some of his new art supplies to pay me back. I didn’t even attempt to get them back because I knew that if I did, it would hurt his pride. We never spoke of the incident again because there was no need to; we were brothers. We would do anything for one another. That was just a fact.
For this reason, whatever decision Van Gogh made would affect the both of us, and he knew it. He normally worked well under pressure because he never let it get to him, but this was different. We both knew whatever decision he made would determine our fate. Nevertheless, he would figure out what to do. I didn’t need to worry because whatever he decided, that was what we were going to do. Even if it wasn’t the perfect plan, he would make sure it all worked out in the end. He always did.
I knew not to disturb my brother while he was thinking, so I calmly took a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch. I was tempted to pick up the book I’d left under the coffee table, not to read it but just to feel it in my hands. There was just something about holding a book, any book, that just put me at ease.
I eyed the spine, a cracked white crease severing the dull orange spine that read: The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D Salinger. You only needed to read the book once to know why the publisher chose to emphasize the words “catcher” and “rye” in the title, but I chose to read it about a dozen times, to the point where the annotations I jotted in the margins could be time stamped by the evolution of my penmanship. I really liked it when even the publisher would provide readers with a subtle hint about the book’s deeper meaning. It was as if even those binding the book recognized its potential greatness.
As I was just about to lean forward to pick up Salinger’s coming of-age tale, Van Gogh stopped in his tracks. He turned toward me but didn’t really see me. He seemed to be looking off in the distance, at an indiscriminate part of the wall. It could only mean one thing: Van Gogh had come up with a plan.
“Pack,” he commanded. “Empty out our backpacks and pack everything we can carry,” he said, marching toward our bedroom.
Pack? Following him into the bedroom, I watched him riffle through his canvas backpack, pulling out every textbook and notebook that he could find until the backpack was completely empty. I don’t even think that he left a single pencil in there.
“Pack? Pack for what?” I questioned.
“We’re leaving,” Van Gogh stated, opening up his dresser drawer and pulling out a few pairs of socks and some of his boxers.
“We’re leaving?” I sounded like an echo, mirroring his statements but recreating them into queries. “Why?”
“We have to,” he stated, not looking up while continuing to shove his clothes into the backpack, trying to fashion it into a makeshift suitcase. “Damn, this may not be big enough.”
“We have to?” Van Gogh didn’t even bother to address that echo. He just walked over to my side of the room and emptied out my backpack.
“I know you’re going to want to take some books, but don’t take too many,” my brother warned. “We’re probably going to have to carry these backpacks for a while and if they’re too heavy, we won’t make it.”
“We won’t make it? Make it where?” Getting tired of my own questions, I shook my head, as if to reconfigure my brain, trying to prevent myself from being a parrot. “Van Gogh, where are we going? Why do we have to leave? What is the plan?” My questions came flooding out, a waterfall of inquiries that just seemed to spill out of me. I felt like I was talking a mile a minute, but I couldn’t help it, my mouth was trying to catch up to my brain.
“Just pack first, ask questions later,” he stated, punching down his clothes. “We need to make a list of essentials. What we absolutely need, not what we would like to have, okay?” Before Van Gogh could move toward our closet, I grabbed his wrist, giving it a firm hold.
At the touch of my hand, he finally looked into my eyes. His were a steady wash of green, with slightly dilated pupils, all nestled under a furrowed brow.
“Van Gogh, please, I need to know what’s going on. Why are we packing?” I pleaded. “I’m not going to fight you on this, I never would, but I need to know what we are doing.”
Van Gogh nodded, knowing me too well.
Although I would follow any plan my brother would put into motion, I needed to know the intricacies of the plan. This applied to anything, really. I had a habit of resisting something unless I knew exactly what was happening. For example, when I was little, I would scream when the dentist began to work on me because he had never explained what he was going to do before he stuck his instruments into my mouth. Apparently, I was screaming so much that the dentist was afraid to continue unless my dad agreed to having the dental assistants hold me down and give me a sedative. Although my dad agreed to this, Van Gogh yelled at the dentist when he heard the plan. Unfortunately, since Van Gogh was a kid himself, the adults won in the end.
Maybe it was that instance that caused me to hate doctors. I knew that we needed doctors to survive, especially now that we were in the midst of a global pandemic, but I just couldn’t get over this underlying hatred. Well, actually, it wasn’t not that I hated them, but that I didn’t trust them. I would always trust Van Gogh, though. I trusted him more than anyone else, so whatever we had to do, we were going to do it, but I just needed to know what exactly we were doing. I needed to make sense of it first.
Van Gogh took a deep breath and placed my now empty backpack on my bed.
“Wolfgang, we can’t stay here. Pretty soon, the state will discover that Dad died. As far as I know, he is our only living relative in this state. Uncle Earl was his only brother, who never had any kids, and Dad’s parents died a long time ago, so it’s just you and me. So, since there is no one who can take us in, we are now wards of the state, which means that we will be placed in foster care. I’m sixteen, so in the state of Florida, I am still a minor—if I were eighteen, it would be a different story, but I’m not. So, it’s inevitable that we will go into foster care and then we will be separated. I know that you don’t want that to happen, and neither do I, so our only choice is to run away.”
Van Gogh’s tone was so calm, but more than calm, it was steady. His tone was a stark contrast to my mind, which was still racing with questions and trying to process what he was telling me.
Words like “foster care” and “separated” kept flipping over and over in my mind. Was he right? Would we wind up in foster care? Would we be separated? He spoke as if he was speaking from experience. Even though I knew he’d never been in foster care, we did go to school with a few classmates who were not only in foster care, but who seemed to jump from home to home. Actually, to call the places where they lived a “home” was entirely inaccurate. They were more like temporary landing bases until they found a home—if they ever found a home. I did have one friend, Sophie, who’d found a permanent home with her foster family. Sophie said that she looked so much like her foster parents because they all wore the same black-framed glasses, and like her, her foster mom also had asthma. Although Sophie was adopted by a family that she loved, they’d adopted her when she was a lot younger than us, and she was not adopted with a sibling.
Van Gogh was right. Who was going to adopt two teenage brothers? It was a possibility, but we both knew that it was too slim. Van Gogh was right—we couldn’t take that chance, we needed to leave. However, he still hadn’t answered all my questions.
“Okay, but where are we running to? We have to be going somewhere, right?”
Van Gogh looked down at my hand, which was still gripping his wrist. When I let go, he placed both of his hands on my shoulders, and continued to look me right in the eyes. His gaze was even steadier than before, but his pupils seemed to retract a bit, so he looked more like his normal self.
“There’s only one living relative I know about … our mom. I know that she ran away when we were both very young, but I remember Dad once mentioning that she lived in New York when they first met. It’s a long trip but we have to make it. It’s our only chance to stay together.”
As I looked up into Van Gogh’s eyes, I nodded, still processing the plan. Van Gogh always had a few inches on me. For this reason, although we were both pretty lanky, his hand-me-downs were always too long for me. I knew that if our dad was still alive, the blue T-shirt and matching jeans that Van Gogh was wearing would be passed down to me in a few months—but now who knew what would be passed down. Our dad was no longer alive to make those decisions, or any decisions at all. So now, we sought a new decision maker. Our mom.
Our mom. I had not heard that phrase in a long time. She left when I was three and Van Gogh was five years old. Dad never spoke about her and didn’t keep any pictures of her in the house. I barely knew anything about her, except that she ran away and that she was the one who named us. I think that’s why Dad felt the need to shorten our names to “Wolf ” and “Van.” He couldn’t stand any memory of her in his house, and our names—our existence—were constant reminders of her imprint on his life.
“How are we going to get there?” I quickly pulled out my phone and did a search. “It’s nearly 1,200 miles away, and we don’t even know which part of New York she lived in,” I stated, tucking my phone back into my front pocket.
I could feel Van Gogh’s grip tightening a bit before he took his hands away from my shoulders and turned back to my empty backpack.
“The Bronx,” Van Gogh stated, picking up my empty backpack and handing it to me. “She used to live on Pelham Parkway in the Bronx. So, that’s where we’re going—the Bronx, New York. Now, pack.”
“How do you know that?”
Van Gogh shrugged as he looked at my backpack. “I just do.”
“How are we going to get there?” I asked, feeling the weightlessness of my empty backpack.
“I have an idea. First, I need you to pack. We are wasting too much time,” he said.
As he started pulling a couple of T-shirts and light sweaters off hangers, I took a look around our room.
I tried to relive that ubiquitous scenario when your house is on fire and you need to grab everything that is important to you. But I was coming up short.
Van Gogh didn’t have to tell me that we would never return—that was a given.
As I scanned the room, I saw cracking white walls that really needed spackling. Aside from the cracks, the walls were dull and bare. In fact, essentially everything was bare. It was almost as if we lived a utilitarian lifestyle. The unmade beds and the clothes in both of our dressers and in the closet were the only signs that the room was lived in, but aside from my books and Van Gogh’s art supplies, you would never know that we lived in this room.
Before packing any clothes, I decided to put on a few of the bulkier items so I could fit more books in my backpack. As we were nearing autumn, with the temperature cooling, I decided to pull on a sweater and wear my jean jacket over it. I was already wearing a pair of jeans, and my sneakers, so I thought I was wearing enough layers to be warm. Even though it was the middle of the night, I never bothered to change for bed. It was only at night that I could read my books in peace, without hearing Dad’s cough reverberating throughout the house, or hearing him calling to Van Gogh to bring him something. With my dad’s death, the house had become eerily silent, but I knew that even in this silence, I could never read here again. Van Gogh and I could never stand still here; we needed to keep moving.
I sized up my backpack and determined that I could take about ten paperback books, a few shirts, pants, socks and underwear. After I riffled through my dresser drawer and closet, I picked out my clothes and smooshed them down into the backpack.
As I scanned the bookcase, I noticed how engorged it was from years of hoarding books. Between the school letting us keep our paperbacks, birthday gifts from Van Gogh, and the library’s weekly bookfairs, I genuinely had an abundance of books.
“Not too many,” Van Gogh warned as he walked out of our bedroom. “I’m going to see what cash we have lying around.”
Alone with my books, I determined that, like with my clothes, I could only take the essentials. But how do you determine which books are essential? They were all important to me, every single one, whether they were assigned or I’d chosen them myself. Each book carried a memory for me. I could tell you exactly when I read and reread each of the texts. Only a few were annotated, though. These were irreplaceable, so these would be the ones I needed to take.
I narrowed my selection down to seven essentials: S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders; Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451; Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart; John Knowles’s A Separate Peace; Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club; Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner; and Jean-Paul Sartre’s play, No Exit. Every single one of these texts had Post-its hanging out the sides and annotations in the margins.
After I put each book in my backpack, I zipped it up and swung it over my shoulder. Although it had more heft now, I could still fit a few extra items in there.
I quickly found J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye underneath the coffee table, unzipped my backpack, and added this to the collection.
I can fit a couple more books in here, I thought as I turned back to our bedroom. But before I could take another good look at the bookcase, I heard my brother calling for me down the hall, from Dad’s bedroom.
“Van Gogh?” I questioned, as I inched into the room.
“I’m in the closet!” he yelled. I could see his feet sticking out of the open closet door as he was kneeling on the rug.
I diverted my eyes from looking at our dad’s corpse, trying not to imagine it slowly deteriorating.
Van Gogh moved over so that we were both kneeling, looking into the closet.
“So, I was trying to find some money, and I think we hit the motherload,” he said as he held a huge wad of cash in front of me. “There has to be over $1,000 here, easy. I’m sure there is more back here, we just need to look.”
I nodded, still trying to process seeing that huge bundle of money. It was wrapped in a dingy, white rubber band, so Dad must have had that money for a while now.
“I checked his wallet too, but there was only about $20 in there. He had a few credit cards, but those are useless to us,” Van Gogh said, as he sifted through a few pairs of shoes and pushed aside our dad’s toolbox.
“Why is that useless? Do you think that they are maxed out?” If they were, that wouldn’t surprise either one of us. Between paying the bills and our dad’s growing bar tab, he had maxed out his cards a few times.
Van Gogh shrugged. “Maybe, but they are traceable. Once someone discovers his body, he will be in the system. If we were to use the credit card of a dead man, the card would be considered stolen, and the police would find us. At least if we use cash, the police can’t trace us,” Van Gogh reasoned.
“Well, they could trace the serial numbers,” I noted.
Van Gogh smirked and shook his head. “You read too many detective stories. Hey, what’s that?” he asked, pulling out a small, wooden box, buried deep in the closet. Before I could look at the box, I noticed that hidden behind the box was a stack of papers and two paperback books.
The papers seemed delicate and a little crumpled. In the middle of the papers, there was a photograph of a woman holding a swaddled baby. Before I could inspect the photo, my brother said, “This box is locked.”
“What? Locked?”
“Yeah.” He pointed out the small brass padlock dangling from the middle of the box. “I didn’t see a key, though, did you?”
“No, but it doesn’t look like you open it with a key,” I said, pointing at the four small, metal loops jutting out from the bottom of the lock. Each loop had a set of numbers, zero through nine, etched into the metal. “It looks like a combination lock, but I’ve never seen one like this, have you?”
Van Gogh shook his head as he inspected the lock. “Maybe there’s a slip of paper with the combination on it. Did you find anything like that?”
“No, but I did find this,” I said, showing him the photo.
As my brother inspected the photo, he smiled. “Mom and you. Wow, I almost forgot what she looked like.”
I’d completely forgotten what Mom looked like, as I stared at her shoulder-length, wavy light-brown hair and light-blue eyes. She was smiling down at the baby, who was apparently me. I couldn’t have been older than a few weeks, maybe a few months.
Our dad never displayed any photos, let alone kept any of them, especially of our mom. It was almost as if he was trying to erase her existence from our lives because she left us. However, to our dad, she really left him.
“I also found these,” I said as I handed Van Gogh the papers. He placed the box next to him as he carefully, but quickly, unfolded the papers. Once again, he smirked.
“You know what these are? These are our birth certificates.”
I inched over to him to take a closer look. As we inspected the birth certificates, there was no surprising information. Granted, now I knew what the Mayor, Commissioner of Health, and the City Registrar’s signatures looked like, but aside from this, the time of birth and the hospital in Florida were unsurprising. Mother: Ann Miller. Father: Benjamin Stephen Thomas. It all seemed pretty standard.
My gaze lingered on our full names though: Van Gogh Vincent Thomas. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Thomas. I couldn’t help but wonder why Mom chose those names. Clearly, Van Gogh’s name matched him perfectly. Although he never expressed a particular interest in post-impressionist art or the need to replicate Starry Night, he was unquestionably an artist. Maybe that’s why “Van Gogh” was his first name. Mom had known that his artistic talents would emerge sooner or later. Maybe that’s why she chose “Mozart” as one of my middle names. Perhaps she was questioning whether or not I would be a prodigal musician, like my namesake. By making “Mozart” my second—not even my first—middle name, it was almost as if she were planting the seed of musical genius, but she still doubted whether or not it would emerge. Perhaps she had been right in doing so because I couldn’t play any instruments, and I enjoyed reading much more than I enjoyed trying to learn how to play music.
“I’ll put the certificates in my bag. We may need these,” Van Gogh said, as he pulled out his backpack and placed both the wooden box and our birth certificates inside. “Do you see anything else?”
“Just these books,” I said, holding up the two paperbacks. One was too thin to be a novel. I inspected the orange cover with a black border, and what looked like an upside-down building with white smoke or clouds bleaching the orange cover and a tiny white airplane shooting out as if it was flying into the lower right border. I read the title to myself, All My Sons by Arthur Miller. “I wonder if he was related to Mom?” I muttered.
“What?” Van Gogh asked as he stood up.
“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if Mom was related to Arthur Miller. I mean, they both have the same last name, but maybe that’s a coincidence.”
“I don’t know. In any case, we need to leave soon. I’m going to see if I can find anything else. Meet me by the front door in a few minutes, okay?”
I nodded as Van Gogh left, leaving me to scan the other book cover. A lonely woman, who looked like she was from the Victorian age based on her attire, stared out at the reader with an expression of boredom. The title, Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, hung over her head. Although I had heard of Arthur Miller, I had never read anything by Gustave Flaubert. As I tucked the books under my arm, and stood up, I couldn’t help wondering why these books were in the back of our dad’s closet—a man who rarely read. Despite not knowing who owned these books, I decided that these were the last two books that I would take with me.
Chapter 2: Stealing a Dead Man’s Car
“What now?” I asked Van Gogh, standing outside of our house. It was practically pitch-black, and it felt like the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Wearing layers was definitely the right choice.
I looked back at the house, as if trying to etch it into my memory. I don’t remember living anywhere else other than the house our dad inherited from his parents. Uncle Earl already had a house, so when their parents died, they left their faded blue home to my dad and his new family. Maybe it was a home to them, but it never really felt like a home to me.
Oddly enough, I didn’t feel a sense of attachment to the one-story, pale-green house. For the past fourteen years, I’d slept in the same room, read on the same dingy couch, and mowed the same patchy lawn. But it’d never really seemed like a home to me; it was more like a building where I could rest, read, and refuel. I once read a poem that began with the verse, “People are made of places.” Perhaps this was the case for that poet, but I have to disagree. Maybe some people are made up of places, but it was difficult for me to believe that this house was a part of my identity.
Maybe that’s why I did not feel an ounce of sadness as I stood in front of the closed front door. This “place” wasn’t a part of who I was. This was never my home. Van Gogh and I were each other’s home. Nevertheless, we could not live on brotherhood alone.
Van Gogh dug into his front pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
“Now, we drive,” he declared, walking toward the driveway.
“Drive?” I asked as he approached our dad’s 1995 Pontiac Bonneville— another “inheritance” from his parents. The sea-green car was caked with grime and dirt from years of shunning car washes. When Van Gogh opened up the driver’s side, you could see the tears in the beige interior from miles away.
“Get in,” Van Gogh commanded as he pulled off his mask, flung his backpack on the backseat, and eased into the driver’s seat. Following suit, I slid into the front passenger’s side, placed my N95 mask next to me, and tossed my backpack next to Van Gogh’s, praying that the car would start.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” I asked, as he fought to turn over the engine.
After a few more tries, Van Gogh muttered that he would give the car a minute. Then he gave it one more attempt, and as if sensing Van Gogh’s determination, the car obeyed with the prompt rumble of the engine.
Van Gogh smiled as he shifted the gear into reverse and looked back at the dark, empty street as we backed out of the driveway.
We sat in silence for a beat before Van Gogh said anything.
“Did you bring your charger?” Van Gogh questioned as he gripped the beige steering wheel.
Charger! Damn! I’d known that I was going to forget something.
“Sorry, I forgot,” I admitted.
“That’s okay, I brought mine, but it’s in my backpack. Can you pull up Google Maps?”
As I was scrolling through my apps, I repeated the question, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
As my brother eased the car to a stop at a red light, he turned to me.
“We need to get to New York, right? As you said, it’s around 1,200 miles away. I can’t think of a better way to get there, can you?”
Although I felt there was probably an alternative to this plan, which did not involve us stealing our dad’s car, I just nodded.
“Just take a deep breath and relax. Everything will work out,” Van Gogh assured me, hitting the accelerator as soon as the light turned green.
Breathe deep and swim, I said to myself, as I closed my eyes and inhaled all of the oxygen that I could take in. I may not have remembered our mom’s appearance, but I clearly remember that that was her phrase. Her voice was like honey pouring into my ears. “Breathe deep and swim,” she’d advised. Although I clearly remember this statement, I don’t remember being near a body of water. The setting is fuzzy and frayed, but I distinctly remember a lack of swim gear. No water, no inflatable, neon water wings, no swim trunks. I don’t even remember being wet or preparing for this eventuality. However, that phrase had stirred a sense of comfort and assurance in me, especially in that moment. Maybe it was because she was the one who said it, or because there was something about that moment that I couldn’t recall where that phrase would make sense—I didn’t know. All I knew for certain was that she’d said this phrase directly to me, and that this was my only memory of her.
Breathe deep and swim. Perhaps, when we found her, I could ask her what she’d meant when she said those words. Of course, I had a million questions to ask our mom, like, “Why did you leave? Why did you leave us with Dad? Did you leave us, Dad, or both?” The list was endless. However, one of my first questions would inevitably be, “What does ‘breathe deep and swim’ mean?”
Without knowing her intention, I had to apply my own meaning to the phrase. Whether or not it was “correct,” there was no way to tell, but I always said this to myself in order to prepare for a challenging task. First, you take a deep breath to build your confidence, as if you are breathing
in the world to absorb its strength. Then, you just go. You apply yourself to the task and do not stop. You just need to swim. You have to trust in the proverbial water and your own intuition to take you to where you need to go. So, you navigate the watery depths to make your way to your destination. Maybe that’s what Van Gogh did every time he took a deep breath. Maybe I was not the only one who ever received this advice. I could’ve just asked Van Gogh, but I didn’t. I liked to think Mom gave me—just me—one thing that she didn’t give both of us. Even if that wasn’t true, it could be my own personal truth.
“What do you remember about Mom?” I asked.
Although I might’ve been the only one who was told to “breathe deep and swim,” I knew that Van Gogh knew more about Mom overall—after all, he had two years more with her than I did.
My brother stared at the road as if he were lost in thought.
“In 100 feet, turn right on Cleveland Avenue and then keep left to continue onto US-41 North,” the feminine, robotic voice instructed. Although I was the one who’d plugged our destination into Google Maps, the sound of “her” voice still made me jump.
“I don’t know,” Van Gogh admitted, gripping the wheel, preparing for the turn. “She looked exactly the way she did in the picture you found. You know, you look a lot like her, actually. Same wavy, light-brown hair and light-blue eyes. I also remember her reading to us each night. I mean, that is until she left. Maybe that’s where you get it from. I had never seen her reading any books to herself, but I can’t recall a night when she wasn’t reading to us. She mostly read us the Golden Books. I’m not sure what happened to them. Anyway, that’s pretty much what I remember,” Van Gogh concluded, and we took a slight left onto US-41 North.
“Continue on US-41 North for 17 miles,” the female voice instructed.
“I don’t really remember anything,” I admitted. “That picture didn’t even trigger a memory.”
“Well, you were only a baby in that picture. Plus, Mom left when you were really young. It stands to reason that you don’t remember her.”
“I wish I did though,” I confessed. “It’s like a part of us is missing, you know?”
Van Gogh nodded as he concentrated on the road. “Yeah, I get what you mean—but hey, we are headed there now, so she can fill in the missing pieces,” he said encouragingly.
“Maybe,” I responded, playing with the strings of my N95 mask, wishing that I had more than one for the trip.
I hesitated before asking my next question. I knew my brother wouldn’t know the answer, but I was compelled to pose it anyway. I knew it was a question that he must have asked himself. However, I could’ve been wrong. Sometimes, my brother was easy to read. He didn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially from me. He was very upfront with his intentions and beliefs, especially with Dad, which was why they had such a turbulent relationship. However, every once in a while, Van Gogh seemed inaccessible. I didn’t know if this was deliberate or instinctual, but there were moments when he was pensive and withdrawn. Although these were rare moments, they felt isolating. I never admitted this to him—that I needed him to be accessible and open, that I needed to know that I could rely on someone, and that person would always be him for me. If not Van Gogh, then who? Our mom abandoned us. And to our dad, I was just a nuisance that he didn’t really understand. In any case, he was gone now, so it didn’t really matter. Whether or not we found our mom, Van Gogh would still be that person because, unlike our parents, he was always there. Even in those rare moments when he seemed to be living inside his head, I knew that eventually he would snap out of it.
“Why do you think Mom left?” I asked.
Van Gogh’s knuckles began to turn white as he gripped the wheel a little tighter. Even though we were moving, everything felt very still as I waited for his response. It felt like a good minute before he said anything.
“I wish I knew what to say,” he admitted. “I don’t know, Wolfgang. I just don’t know. She must’ve had her reasons, but they were always a mystery to me. I’d like to think she left a note, explaining why she chose to leave. It just never made any sense to me. But the fact of the matter is that she left, and if she did leave a note, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have changed anything. She still chose to leave. What’s worse is that she chose to leave us with Dad.” Van Gogh paused to take a deep breath. “But, in spite of all that, she’s our only chance.”
I nodded, knowing he was right about everything, especially about the fact that Mom not only left us, but that she left us with Dad.
Although we both loved Dad, it felt like an obligatory love. This may seem harsh, but I doubted either of us would associate with Dad if he weren’t related to us. Yes, he was our father, but to say that he raised us would be a lie. Van Gogh raised me and himself. Our dad provided us with a dwelling, food, and clothing—but that was pretty much it.
Some might argue that that was enough. He was a provider, even if what he provided wasn’t consistent. Although he was supposed to provide money for groceries, there were days when our refrigerator was bare. Even though he was supposed to pay the electric and gas bills, there were nights when Van Gogh and I huddled together underneath a blanket, when he held up a flashlight to a book that I was reading so that I could finish the chapter. Since we didn’t have a mortgage, we never feared losing our house, but I remember a few times when Dad almost forgot to pay the property taxes.
None of these actions were done out of spite. I just think Dad envisioned a life for himself where his wife took care of these tasks. I would’ve never said this to him, but I firmly believed that he wasn’t prepared to be a responsible adult, let alone a single father to two sons. But even though I would never criticize Dad to his face, Van Gogh was much more confrontational and open about his feelings. In fact, my brother had even told Dad that he was an unfit father.
It happened pretty recently after we first suspected Dad had COVID-19. His cough was so dry and persistent, we couldn’t help but wonder if it was from our dad’s irrational insistence on smoking one pack of cigarettes a day, or from something else. However, when his frequent coughing fits left him lightheaded and out of breath, Van Gogh and I began to suspect that he had the coronavirus.
Despite our suspicions, Dad had continued to go to his job at the construction site—until he was too tired to move, at least. At that point, Van Gogh called in sick for him. That was only a couple of days ago.
Dad never admitted that he was sick. Even before he got sick, he never wore a mask or socially distanced himself from others. Once it became impossible for Dad to take care of himself, my brother ensured he remained in his bedroom. It became a makeshift hospital room, without a ventilator or any monitoring system. It was the best we could do since neither of us could carry him to the car, and any time we even attempted to call 911, Dad forced all his energy into yelling at us, screaming to get off the phone. By the time he could no longer scream—or speak, for that matter—he was too far gone. Near the end, Van Gogh and I knew there was no point in taking him to the hospital.
However, before this point, Van Gogh had one final confrontation with our dad. It was essentially the last conversation they ever had.
“Face it, you have COVID-19!” Van Gogh had exclaimed as Dad doubled over from his latest coughing fit. “You need to go to the hospital.” Dad cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, trying to balance himself. “Look, Van, it’s just a damn cough,” Dad asserted, wiping the beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Mind your own business.”
“Mind my own business! Are you kidding me?” Van Gogh had screamed, clenching his fists while taking a step away from our dad, trying to keep his distance. “This is my business! We”—Van Gogh pointed to him and me—“are in this house with you! You are putting us in danger!”
“You don’t know what—” Dad was cut off by another coughing fit. He pressed his palm against the wall as he coughed into his fist, which barely covered his mouth. I slid deeper into the couch and raised the book I was reading up to my face, as though I could shield myself from his illness through the sheer force of literature.
“I don’t know what, Dad? I don’t know that you can’t get out a damn sentence because you are coughing up a lung!” Van Gogh raked his fingers through his hair as he scowled out our dad, who continued to cough. “I don’t know that you are endangering the guys on the site! I don’t know that you are endangering everyone in that damn bar who refuses to wear a mask! What don’t I understand, Dad?!”
After his coughing fit, Dad stared directly into Van Gogh’s matching lily-pad-green eyes. They were both so piercing, and so stubborn—firmly believing in their own opinions, deeming the other one as an adversary. But maybe that was appropriate. These fights had come to define their relationship. If they weren’t fighting, they weren’t interacting. They merely coexisted in this house; their relationship was marred by their refusal to try to understand one another.
Dad didn’t understand me either, but unlike Van Gogh, I never confronted him about his beliefs or conjectures. I just stayed out of his way, resigned to the fact that he would never try to understand me, so why bother to fight with him? Why waste my energy? While this attitude came naturally to me, Van Gogh had a hard time letting anything go. Unlike me, he was a fighter, but so was Dad.
When you put two fighters in a ring and do not expect a fight to break out, you are just a fool.
“You don’t know anything!” Dad had growled. “Just stay out of it.”
“Unbelievable! Stay out of it!” Van Gogh’s veins were prominently bulging from his neck as he continued. “You go on about how COVID-19 is nothing and talk about how ‘fake news’ sensationalizes this pandemic! But even when you catch it, you don’t believe in it! To you, it’s none of my business, but it is my damn business because you can give it to me–to Wolfgang! Don’t you care? Don’t you give a damn about yourself, about us?”
To that, Dad said nothing. He just continued to look Van Gogh straight in the eyes. I don’t know what he was trying to accomplish in doing so, but Van Gogh played the game and stared back. I don’t even know if he was waiting for an answer to his question, but Dad’s silence said it all.
“You know what?” Van Gogh scoffed, “You don’t. I mean, how could you? You’ve never been a damn father. You’re only related to us biologically, but you don’t have it in you to be a father.”
By this time, Dad was fuming. His face was as purplish red as a beet, which was caused by a mixture of coughing and rage.
“Get out,” Dad had growled.
Before he could say anything else, Van Gogh picked up his sketchpad and pencils from the coffee table and marched out of the house. As the door slammed shut, a flood of regret had poured over me. Why didn’t I go with you, Van Gogh? What if you don’t return? Why didn’t I follow you?
As I sat next to Van Gogh in the car now—looking down at Google Maps, watching us inch closer and closer to New York—I knew I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I knew I would follow Van Gogh wherever he led. It was the only way that we could survive.

Breezing
In the world of high-stakes horse racing, is it training, money, or luck that gets the win?
C.J. Jamieson is a young, gifted female jockey with a complicated past and a strong desire to break through in the competitive world of thoroughbred racing.
Trainer Ritchie Gallo, on the other hand, has spent half his life in the sport. He's at the top of his game, but he's never been lucky enough to train a world-class racehorse. Until now. He finally has the horse, but needs the perfect rider.
Call it luck or fate, but when Gallo comes across C.J., he knows he might finally have his ticket to the winners circle.
Follow Gallo and C.J. as they compete in the turbulent world of thoroughbred racing in a beautifully told, fast-paced story of triumph, tragedy, and perseverance. From the tracks of Saratoga to the famous Churchill Downs, their journey together teaches them that winning races on fragile legs isn't so different than winning at life with fragile hearts.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Ritchie Gallo sat on his track pony and watched the sun slowly rise. The mist and fog shrouding the Saratoga racetrack filtered the sun’s light and allowed him to look at the glowing orange ball without shading his eyes. This was his favorite time of day. The morning was still cool, so he could fully enjoy the muffled drumbeat of horses’ hooves hitting the dirt. Other trainers sat at the rail in front of the empty grandstands to watch their horses run. They measured speeds with stopwatches and made notes in their journals, detailing the progress their thoroughbreds were making in their exercise regime.
Gallo preferred to be mounted on a horse when his colts and fillies went through their paces. He was a horseman, and a horseman should be astride a horse.As he stared down the backstretch, a colt burst from the mist like an apparition charging down an apocalyptic battlefield. Backlit by the rising sun, the horse shot bolts of breath through its nostrils, creating contrails of vapor that streamed down its body. When the racer and its rider drew closer, the ghostly appearance faded, and the animal was once again a brilliant athlete sculpted for speed and endurance.
Gallo’s track pony, General Custer, stood perfectly still, even when the thoroughbred thundered by just a few feet away. The General was a gelding. The removal of his family jewels had done wonders for his personality, making him calm and docile around people and other animals. However, his bulk and strength prevented him from the speed desired in thoroughbred champions, so Gallo had purchased him eight years ago to be his mobile work platform. Together, they had spent countless hours observing some of the most expensive creatures in the world—thoroughbreds preparing themselves for the glory and riches that come with racing success.
Although Gallo now lived in Kentucky, he looked forward to these late summer races in his hometown of Saratoga. His family bred horses on a farm just a few miles from the track, so he’d been around thoroughbreds all his life, even dreamed of being a jockey as a child. His quest to develop the skills necessary to guide a twelve-hundred-pound animal around a one-mile oval at more than forty miles per hour began with a summer job working as an exercise rider. But those dreams were dashed when a growth spurt at age eighteen made a racing career impractical.With no prospects of earning a living in the saddle, Gallo decided to become a trainer. After graduating from college with a major in animal science, his father connected him with one of the nation’s top trainers at a farm in Kentucky. There, Gallo learned the art and science of developing racehorses.
He endured long hours, hard work, and low pay for thirteen racing seasons before he was asked to join the team at a small breeding and training farm near Lexington. They were looking for a young man with a great eye for horses and a willingness to use technology and science to create the ultimate methodology for turning a talented horse into a winning racehorse.
For four tough seasons, Gallo and his staff of grooms and horse attendants travelled across the country, winning races at regional tracks and then major venues like Belmont, Santa Anita, Saratoga, and Churchill Downs. He earned a reputation as a trainer who could design the right regimen for select thoroughbreds and ethically prepare them to compete and win. Gallo took on several horses that other trainers and breeding farms passed over and trained them to run in the money at good quality races. Over time, his compensation grew to six-figures—excellent pay in an industry notorious for its demanding schedules and low wages. Despite his success, Gallo knew he still hadn’t been lucky enough to train a world-class racehorse, one that could compete and win at the highest level.
At least, not until now.
Gallo pulled the reins to the right and walked General Custer down to the finish line. An exercise rider approached on a black colt that was covered in sweat and breathing heavily after a one-and-a-half-mile gallop. “How did he feel today, Hector?”
“Ah, he’s okay, Mister Gallo. He is a big, strong, fast horse, but el es un niño obstinado. He don’t want to do what he don’t want to do.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s giving me some sleepless nights. Okay, take him back to the stable and let the boys cool him down, give him a shower, and feed him breakfast.”The rider guided the colt to the northeast corner of the track, where security guards waited to halt Union Avenue traffic at the crossing to the stabling area. The drivers didn’t seem to mind the wait, and never honked. Why would they? It was a chance to see these magnificent athletes at close range. Some horses were moving from the stables to the track, fidgeting in anticipation of the activity for which they are bred. Others walked from the track to the stables, drenched in sweat, muscles quivering, and blood vessels popping through their skin. It seemed to Gallo that people were always a little overwhelmed by this sight. When did you ever see humans give 110 percent effort in their daily lives? These horses didn’t know any other way to live.Five of the six thoroughbreds Gallo had brought to Saratoga had now completed their daily workout. The black colt that had just left the track was Tackle Tim Tom. He held tremendous potential but was difficult to train. Only two years old, the horse had already run impressive split times in his last four races. Gallo didn’t want to geld the colt because he still felt he could train him to compete effectively. He hoped he could find a jockey that could connect with the horse and ride him to victory. If Tackle Tim Tom found success on the track, he would be worth a lot of money as a breeding stallion. Gallo also had a hunch that this thoroughbred was that one-in-a-million colt who could compete and win in the highest stakes races. To win a Derby, Preakness, Belmont, Travers, or Breeders’ Cup Classic was only a dream for most trainers. More than twenty thousand foals were born every year, but only a handful could win the biggest races.
As Tackle Tim Tom disappeared across Union Avenue and headed for the stable, Gallo’s other great hope moved across the street and stepped onto the track. Hit the Bid was one of the most beautiful horses Gallo had ever seen: a dark bay with white sox below her knees. Physically, she was the perfect horse—superb conformation from her head to her tail. She was big for a filly at 17.2 hands, and now that she was a three-year-old, she tipped the scales at 1,215 pounds. When she ran, she was what trainers referred to as an “A” mover: a low, smooth stride with no wasted energy. Her limbs moved forward and back on a straight line, and when she navigated the turns on a course, there was no lateral movement in her body. She carried herself with a sense of majesty and had a great personality—often playfully nudging the grooms that worked in the stable and entertaining the patrons at the racetrack with the prancing dance moves she made on her way to the starting gate. The only problem with this horse was that she loved to run too much. Unlike Tackle Tim Tom, who had to be in the right mood to run his fastest, Hit the Bid never wanted to do anything except breeze at top speed.
As soon as she stepped on the racetrack, she began to dance, moving her hindquarters left and then right. Her head bobbed up and down, and her ears stood upright as though searching for the roar of an adoring crowd in the gallery. In the saddle was Jacinto Robles, a jockey that had never ridden the filly before and was scheduled to be in the stirrups for her first race at Saratoga just eight days away. Gallo wanted Robles to put her through an exercise run to see how she handled and to get a feel for her ability.Hit the Bid had already achieved substantial success as a racehorse, having won several Grade Two and Grade One races. She was on the industry’s radar as an up-and-coming star, and Gallo’s goal was to prepare her to race on the biggest stages against not only other fillies and mares, but colts as well.
“Are you ready to go, Jacinto?”
“Sure, Mister Gallo. Boy, she is really a rambunctious filly. Is she always this excited when she gets to the track?”“Yeah, but it’s excited in a good way. Here’s what I want you to do: let her canter for a quarter-mile and then bring her up to a gallop. Don’t go faster than eighteen seconds per furlong. She doesn’t like to gallop—she wants to run, so she’ll fight it all the way. We have a heart monitor on her, and I don’t want her heart rate to get too high during the gallop. Once you’ve covered a quarter-mile at a gallop, back her up just before the three-eighth pole and let her breeze to the finish line. Make sure you get a running start at the three-eighth pole, because I want to see what her top speed is for the final three furlongs.”
“No problem, jefe. I got it!”
The jockey guided the horse away at a canter, moving in a clockwise direction around the outer periphery of the track where horses could walk, canter, or gallop. Once he had covered a quarter-mile at a canter, he eased up a little on the reins and stood in the stirrups, raising his butt off the saddle.
Just as Gallo had predicted, Hit the Bid wanted to run, and Robles had to use his hands, arms, and knees to hold her back. When the filly passed the finish line—where Ritchie Gallo and General Custer were standing—Robles let her gallop for another minute before turning her around and moving her down along the inside rail. He asked her to run just before the three-eighth pole. He didn’t have to ask twice; in a matter of five strides, Hit the Bid was at top speed, hurtling around the far turn and approaching the top of the stretch.
Gallo clicked his stopwatch when she was at the pole, watching her make the turn through his binoculars. Every time he watched her run, he was astounded by the athletic grace of this beautiful lady. As thoroughbreds run through a turn, they generate a force on their legs more than eight times their body weight. Despite this physical pressure, Hit the Bid maintained her line as she ran through the turn and kept a constant distance from the inside rail on her left. Her strides were straight, smooth, and powerful, and her head was in perfect alignment with her body.
As she transitioned from the turn to the straightaway, she made a lead change to her right front foot and accelerated toward the finish line. When the filly crossed the line, Ritchie hit the stopwatch and immediately looked at the time. He shook his head and shared the good news with General Custer. “We got us one hell of a horse here, big guy. Three furlongs in thirty-four seconds after a mile-and-a-quarter gallop. Damn, she’s good!”
It took a concerted effort by Robles to bring the filly to a trot after her breeze, but he finally got her to slow down and turn around, moving to the outside of the track. When he met up with Gallo, Ritchie bent over and hooked a rein to the filly’s bridal so he and General Custer could walk her slowly back to the stables, allowing the jockey to relax in the saddle.
Once they got back to her stall, Gallo checked her nose for any traces of blood and then took the wraps off her lower legs to examine her knees, cannon bones, ankles, and feet. Everything looked good, so he had his grooms unsaddle the horse and walk her around a paddock ring to slow down her heart rate. After that, she would be thoroughly washed down, brushed, and given a breakfast of oats, hay, and a small amount of other grains.
“So, what do you think, Jacinto?” asked the trainer.
“At first, I think she got a problem because she dances so much, but once you ask her to run, she does everything right. She’s got heart—un gran corazón. I think she can win against the boys.”
“Yeah, me too. Okay, she’s entered in the American Oaks on July 22. It’s a Grade One race for three-year-olds and up. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my rider. That work for you?”
“Yes sir, Mister Gallo. Just close the loop with my agent and we’re good to go. If we win that one, it’s a big payday for both of us!”
“Thanks, Jacinto.”
Satisfied that all six of his horses were being serviced by his grooms, Gallo made his way to a trailer that served as a temporary office for himself and several other trainers. Inside the trailer were a cluster of desks equally spaced throughout the interior with a couple of chairs at each station. It wasn’t an elegant workplace, but rather a functional one, where trainers could make phone calls to agents, racetrack officials, owners, and the farms where they each trained horses.
Now that the athletic activities for the day were done, Gallo spent the rest of the workday completing race entry paperwork, lining up jockeys, and giving upbeat progress reports to the owners of the horses he trained and to his partners at Stone Fence Farms in Kentucky. He enjoyed the business side of his job, but sometimes he felt it took too much time away from the horses, forcing him to rely on his chief groom to be sure the horses were safe, healthy, comfortable, and properly fed. As he had become more successful, the commercial aspects of being a winning trainer became more demanding. Keeping up with the increasing value of the horses, as well as the size of the purses in the major stakes races, was a lot of work—but his love for the horses and the competition made it all worthwhile.
At 4:30 p.m., he decided to call it quits. Since his workday began at five o’clock in the morning, he needed to be in bed early, which only left a couple of hours every evening to do something other than be a horse trainer. He liked to hit the gym several times each week, but tonight, he just didn’t have the energy for it and decided to enjoy a quiet dinner at one of his favorite restaurants in Saratoga Springs. After one last check on the horses, he got in his truck and began to drive towards the section of town where the eateries and nightclubs were located. Whether by accident or just drawn by nostalgia, he reached the street he considered to be his favorite in this small upstate New York town. Even though it was where he suffered the worst heartbreak of his life, he couldn’t resist its charm, so he made the left turn he had made so many times as a young man.
Both sides of the street boasted large, older homes that screamed “old Saratoga money” to anyone that knew the grand history of this neighborhood. His pickup truck was the only vehicle on the street, so he slowed down to give himself time to admire the handsome and exquisitely maintained houses. Halfway down the block, he pulled over to look at a home he remembered all too well from his days as an exercise rider—over twenty years ago, now. He turned off the ignition and found himself just sitting there, looking at the soaring grey-shingled house with green trim around the windows and thick columns framing a porch that wrapped around the width of the dwelling.
The porch swing he’d enjoyed on cool summer evenings was still there, right in the same place—just to the left of the large mahogany front door. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself laughing with Channing Mellon. They used to tease one another and kiss when they thought nobody was looking. Dark eyes, olive skin, and long black hair framed an amazing smile that wouldn’t let him forget he was with the sweetest girl in the world. Gallo was only five feet seven inches in height, but he would still think about how tall he felt when he placed his arms around her petite frame and held her close. He still thought about her a lot, actually, if he were being honest with himself.
Gallo had taken the time to stop in front of this house many times over the last two decades, whenever he returned to Saratoga for the racing season. And somehow, whenever he did, he always thought about the lyrics of a song entitled Summer of ‘69:
“Standing on your momma’s porch,
You told me that you’d wait forever,
Oh the way you held my hand,
I knew that it was now or never,
He’d had some great moments since the days of holding Channing Mellon’s hand on that porch swing—but he always wondered how his life might’ve looked if she’d been his partner through the years, rather than a memory. Life imitated art as the story of his love for this young woman unfolded. He was the farm boy and exercise rider who thought the greatest place in the world was on the backstretch of a racetrack among the horses, stables, and horsemen. She was the daughter of a Wall Street scion who truly believed that horse racing was the sport of kings, and he wasn’t about to let his princess commingle with the help.
Gallo kept his eyes on that porch swing. It swayed in the breeze, as though still pushed by the ghosts of his memories. He fought off a frown, thinking about how Channing’s father had felt he’d made a mistake allowing her to pursue her love for horses by working at the racetrack—even though it was only during the summertime, when they resided at their Saratoga home. Perhaps it had been a mistake, but not for Gallo. That’s when he’d met her.
She was mucking stalls, helping the grooms with the thoroughbreds, and walking the horses in the cooldown ring. It didn’t take long for him to find out she’d considered him handsome, funny, and a person whose work ethic and love for the racetrack had earned him the respect of everyone working behind the scenes. He’d introduced her to several trainers who paid her to exercise the horses. Her father was appalled when he’d found out about that. He didn’t mind her wearing riding britches, a black jacket, and a helmet with a visor if she was jumping over fences that were only three feet high and competing in equestrian dressage. Breezing racehorses, to him, just seemed so blue-collar. It was a job carried out by small men with foreign accents or white trash who couldn’t do anything else for a living.
This time, Gallo couldn’t fight off his frown. Channing’s father had eventually insisted she bring her relationship with him to an end and shipped her back to Manhattan as quickly as he could.
That was another thing he’d never forget: Channing tearfully telling him goodbye in their final moments together. She’d promised she would be back after graduation from Wellesley, as an independent woman who would take control of her life. He’d waited hopefully for that event, but over time it became clear that she wasn’t going to keep that promise. Whenever he drove by this house, he wondered if her family still owned it and if she continued to summer in Saratoga. He had never seen her or her father again. He guessed that she’d chosen to put a love affair that lasted two summers in her past, moving on toward a very different future—one without him.
Gallo started up his pickup truck and pulled away from the curb. As he drove to the downtown section of Saratoga Springs, he knew that in his future, he would always compare every horse he trained to Hit the Bid and, hopefully, Tackle Tim Tom. Trainers measured potential by comparing a colt or filly to a benchmark. He also knew that he had never married because when it came to women, Channing Mellon had always been his benchmark.

Bright Lights
Heading from San Francisco to Las Vegas, Milton's solo road trip takes an unexpected turn when he picks up Jessica Russo, a young woman in distress at the side of the road. She urgently needs a ride and he's happy to help her out. But what starts out as a simple favour quickly becomes something more sinister. Once they get to their destination, it's clear something isn't right. Working for the Vegas casinos has got Jessica's father wrapped up with the wrong people. A mistake that could prove fatal for him and his family. This is just the beginning of a dangerous journey that will take Milton from Sin City to Siena and beyond. As Milton goes deeper into a world of violence, ruthlessness and revenge, will he finally put his demons to rest? Or is he about to awaken the devil he's been trying to smother for so long? "Mark Dawson has all the skills. A great thriller writer on the top of his game." - Sunday Times bestselling author Steve Cavanagh

Bring Me Back
"For every woman who had a crush on a rockstar and still secretly wishes her fantasy would become reality. Smart, sexy and fun, with enough realism that it could be you." —USA Today bestselling author Louise Bay
Single mom Claire Abby is the glue that holds her dad and her college-bound daughter together, so when her journalism career takes a nosedive, she has to resuscitate it. Now the biggest interview of her life hinges on convincing a notoriously private man to spill his secrets. If only he wasn't one of the sexiest guys ever...
Tall, square-jawed Brit Christopher Penman was Claire's celebrity crush when she was a teen. In person, he's as she feared—unfairly handsome, utterly charming, and completely nerve wracking. Claire has no choice but to ask the tough questions, the ones he's avoided for a decade, but Chris isn't talking...he's flirting...
Before Claire can get her head straight, an improbable friendship forms. Then there's a kiss...and an invitation...and ultimately, nights Claire once only dreamed of. But as they grow closer, she learns that Chris's pain runs deep. When his heartbreaking history repeats itself, will Claire risk her future—and her heart—to save her love with the man she could never forget?
More Reviews:
“This had me gripped from the very first pages…I fell in love with all the characters in the book...This is an adult romance that I completely immersed myself in, and I highly recommend you do the same.” —Best Chick Lit (5 Stars)
“Karen Booth has crafted a compelling story about life, love, and second chances…Ms. Booth has hit a home run with this riveting story that's full of life, trials and tribulations, joy, but most of all, love." —Blackravens’ Reviews (5 Stars)
“Fast-paced, sexy and altogether irresistible, Bring Me Back is made all the more appealing by Karen Booth's inside knowledge of the music industry. A flat-out fabulous read!" —NYT bestselling author Celia Rivenbark
“ Bring Me Back is brilliant! It’s heart-wrenching, funny, sexy, and a dream come true for it’s heroine Claire and for the readers who get swept up into the romance and drama of this book. I loved it…If you are a fan of drama, humor and heart with a wonderful blend of bittersweet and delicious sensuality, then you need to read Bring Me Back. I've added it to my absolute favorites, the ones I curl up with when I'm down and need to remember to love and laugh and believe in magic." —The Book Tart (5 Stars)
"Bring Me Back is a story that will make you laugh, cry, blush and sigh...it is a story that will leave you wanting more." —Jersey Girl Book Reviews
"Hang on for an exciting, sexy, humorous and convincing dream-come-true read...It's one for my keeper shelf." —Manic Readers
"All I can do is gush over Bring Me Back.” —Talk Supe
"Full of humor, love, acceptance, compromises and raw sensuality, Karen Booth delivers an amazing read that is sure to land on your favorites list!" —Hesperia Loves Books
"Bring Me Back is a story every woman who has ever had a teenage crush on a band member can relate to." —Read Your Writes Book Reviews (5 Stars)
"Excellent. Full of swoon!" —Scandalicious Book Reviews
Author Bio:
Karen Booth is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on 80s music, Judy Blume, and the films of John Hughes. A former music-industry exec, Karen writes smart, steamy contemporary romance—big city loves stories and rock star romances. When Karen isn't creating fictional musicians, she's listening to everything from Otis Redding to Duran Duran to Tokyo Police Club with her kids, honing her Southern cooking skills (she makes some mean collard greens), or sweet-talking her astoundingly supportive husband into whipping up a batch of cocktails.

Broken Promises
2022 San Francisco Writer's Conference YA Fiction Writing Contest Winner
"Young Sparrow's dilemma had me wondering how she was going to make her way through such a tension-filled situation. I could almost see her growing up, finding unexpected allies, and using her mama's native skills as she faced the political firestorm of the 1840s in California." —Stephanie Foster, author of Take Action
In 1844, fifteen-year-old Sparrow fears what dilemmas her grown-up life will encounter. Sparrow's mother is from the Chumash nation whose territory borders the Pacific. Her father is an American trapper and trader sent by his government to explore the rich California land owned by Mexico.
Sparrow's difficulties are compounded when she learns her father also has an American wife and daughter. Then, she overhears him making plans to overthrow the Mexican Governor of Alta California and acquire the Mexican lands for the United States.
Sparrow's tribal family and indigenous customs are threatened. She must decide if she will keep her father's secret and lose her homeland, or warn her mother and the Mexican authorities but suffer the loss of her father's love.
Author Bio:
Dr. Perez Ferguson is a cross-cultural educator and consultant. Her fiction brings to life the voices of California inhabitants living 200 years ago. Her non-fiction promotes the voices of under-represented communities in the twenty-first century. This earned her the 2014 Lacayo Lifetime Achievement Award from the United States Hispanic Leadership Institute. She is an Advisor and Former Chair for the InterAmerican Foundation and a Visiting Lecturer for the Council for Independent Colleges. She enjoys living and writing on the Pacific coast.

Brooklyn Monroe Wants It All
Love, career, kids-Brooklyn Monroe wants it all. Her beauty company? A triumph. Her love life? Total fail. At 42, that makes motherhood her top priority. With no man in her life, she's prepared to fly solo, but her plan is derailed when a mailing list mishap turns Brooklyn into a someone-get-me-pregnant internet meme. Making her PR nightmare go away entails a soul-baring interview on national TV. And the guy asking the questions? Her all-too sexy ex.
Talk show host Alec Trakas is the king of bad timing. Case in point, his heartbreaking romance with Brooklyn. Alec was all about commitment but Brooklyn was launching her start-up, and forever wasn't in the cards. Now a shot at his ultimate dream job depends on convincing Brooklyn to spill the secrets leading to her viral celebrity. It sets Alec's star rising, but puts Brooklyn in a sea of flirty men. Fate has thrown them back together. Sparks are flying. But is the timing finally right? Because having it all might not be worth the risk of losing each other again.
Brooklyn Monroe Wants It All will be released October 25, 2021. It's set in the beauty circles of Manhattan, just like Gray Hair Don't Care, and includes appearances from Lela and Donovan. Happy ending guaranteed!
"With this funny, surprising novel, Booth might just have written the definitive Gen-X romance." -Publishers Weekly starred review for Gray Hair Don't Care.

Brown Skin Girl: An Indian-American Woman's Magical Journey from Broken to Beautiful
When sixteen-year-old Mytrae Meliana and her family emigrate from India to the U.S., she is determined to avoid the arranged marriage her family expects her to have, and to create her own destiny. But when she falls in love with an American man, her family drags the talented graduate student back to India and keeps her hostage.
Mytrae suddenly finds herself heartbroken and trapped in her homeland, where women's fates are decided for them. But that isn't her only challenge. She must decide: live a lie and keep the secret she'd rather forget, or dare to break with centuries-old tradition and forge a path of her own.
This multicultural inspirational memoir by an award-winning writer is about how family loves and wounds each other, about how immigrants are torn between cultures, and about leaving everything to find yourself. At times heartbreaking, at times triumphant, Brown Skin Girl is a testament to freedom, love, and the magic that finds you when you follow your heart.
Author Bio:
Mytrae Meliana (pronounced my-thray-yee) is an award-winning writer, spiritual teacher, speaker, and holistic psychotherapist. She leads workshops for women who desire to heal from trauma, liberate themselves from patriarchy, connect with the Divine Feminine, and create true, bold, inspired lives. Her own life experience and 15-year career as a psychotherapist shaped Mytrae's professional approach. She increasingly sought ways her clients with trauma could heal quickly so they could live their dreams. When she had a miracle healing from Lyme disease, she was ushered into a paradigm of Spirit and vibration where change can happen at the speed of light. Mytrae is Founder of Temple of Sound Healing and teaches individuals and organizations the practice of sound, story, and Spirit medicine for trauma. She channels healing music transmissions on the piano and has recorded two CDs. She is also a spiritual channel. When she isn't working, you might find Mytrae hiking by the ocean and on hillside trails, traveling, or discovering restaurants with friends in the San Francisco Bay Area. Connect with her at www.mytraemeliana.com.

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Buckaroo Chuck: Cowboy For Reals
2020 Mom's Choice Award Winner
"...wholesome... beautiful... I would certainly recommend Buckaroo Chuck: Cowboy For Reals as a great starter picture book for rodeo fans and little buckaroos everywhere." —Kirkus
"...inspiring children to never give up on their goals." —Children's Bookwatch, Midwest Book Review
Ride along with Buckaroo Chuck as he goes from hopeful youngster to accomplished bull rider. This action-filled story takes the reader through the motions, tumbles and falls of a young buckaroo as he becomes a confident rodeo man. No matter how many times Chuck falls off, he never loses sight of his dream.
The author's purpose is two-fold: promoting the use of helmets and vests when riding in the arena, and inspiring both children and adults to give it their all and never give up.
Author Bio:
Most comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots, Lexi Kinney is an LA city girl with a cowgirl's heart. Lexi has 10 siblings, and is mother to 5 and granny to 5. As the author of 4 picture books—Buckaroo Chuck, Little Rosie Rodeo, Animal Jax, and Little Joe Smileyhead—she draws from her many life experiences to inspire children everywhere."

Bungalow by the Bay
Maybe there's time for one last wish at Lighthouse Point...
Courtney Davis is perfectly content with the new life she's found for herself and her son on Belle Island. They are finally safe from her past.
AJ Hamilton can't shake his past. He finished trying to prove to his family, the media, or anyone else that he's anything more than the black sheep of the wealthy Hamilton family.
When AJ arrives to hide out at the island, the oh-so-responsible Courtney falls for the footloose playboy. And AJ might just have found the one woman he wants to convince he's not really the person everyone believes he is.
But when AJ's choices accidentally put Courtney's son in danger, there's no escaping the past for either AJ or Courtney.
Maybe everyone is right about AJ.
Maybe Courtney will never truly be safe.
Or maybe, just maybe, one last wish at Lighthouse Point will change everything...

Bungalow on Pelican Way
The dramatic continuation of the Emerald Cove saga from a USA Today Bestselling Author.
Moving to the Cove gave Rebecca De Vries a place to hide from her abusive ex. Now that he's in jail, she can get back to living her life as a police officer in her adopted hometown working alongside her intractable but very attractive boss, Franklin.
When Franklin's ex-fiancee comes back to town it will disrupt everything developing between the two of them.
Cindy's ex-husband has returned to the Cove as well, along with the woman he left her for. And it isn't long before his presence disrupts Cindy's burgeoning relationship with the town doctor, his former best friend. A face-off with the girlfriend throws Cindy into a tailspin, but in the end she'll have to make a decision about what, or who, is more important to her.
Meg and Brad get some good news, but with his paraplegia they'll learn once again that nothing is as easy now as they'd hoped it would be.
Please note: This book is the third instalment in the ongoing Emerald Cove saga.

Buried in Secrets: Carly Moore #4

Burn the Ashes

Buy-Sell Agreements: The Last Will & Testament for Your Business
"Paul's book is written in plain language that even a client can understand, yet it still manages to cover virtually all of the key issues that a business owner needs to address.... Buy this book." -Howard M. Zaritsky, Esq., co-author, Structuring Buy-Sell Agreements: Analysis with Forms, Second Edition.
"Paul is extremely knowledgeable about buy-sell agreements, valuation and estate planning for the business owner. He clearly has a passion for the topic and depth of experience that shows throughout the breadth of the work." -Edwin P. Morrow III, J.D., LL.M., CFP(R), Huntington National Bank, co-author, The Tools & Techniques of Estate Planning (19th Ed.)
A buy-sell agreement (BSA) must set the rules of transition for a closely-held business. Author L. Paul Hood, Jr. shares 30+ years of experience writing BSAs to help business owners avoid the ugly consequences of a poorly drafted BSA. You'll learn about:
- Types of BSA agreements
- BSA trigger events
- Tax consequences of BSAs
- Best practices for best outcomes
Filled with expert information, handy checklists, and useful templates, Buy-Sell Agreements: The Last Will & Testament for Your Business will help you prepare a quality BSA as well as be the lifeline for your business in times of transition.
About the Author
Hood, L. Paul, Jr.: - A native of Louisiana (and a double LSU Tiger), Paul Hood obtained his undergraduate and law degrees from Louisiana State University and an LL.M. in taxation from Georgetown University Law Center before settling down to practice tax and estate planning law in the New Orleans area. Paul has taught at the University of New Orleans, Northeastern University, The University of Toledo College of Law and Ohio Northern University Pettit College of Law. The proud father of two Eagle Scouts and LSU Tigers, Paul has authored or co-authored seven books and over 500 professional articles on estate, charitable and tax planning and business valuation. He was with The University of Toledo Foundation for over four years as Director of Planned Giving, leaving in January 2018. Today, Paul is an author, speaker and consultant on tax, estate and charitable planning. He also is a Vice-President with Thompson & Associates, a charitable estate planning firm.

California Roll: A Paranormal Journey
"Hard-edged truck-driving thriller faces American racism with killer prose." -BookLife
"The suspense kept me on the edge of my seat. There was always a surprise waiting around the corner, and I could never predict what would happen." -Readers' Favorite
"Amos expertly builds the tension and delivers a variety of plot twists that keep the reader engaged." -City Book Review
"...a unique and intriguing story helmed by a blue-collar Everyman who transforms into an action hero (and possibly a pawn in a demonic game)." -Rob Errera, IndieReader
"A dialogue-heavy adventure that offers some clever twists and an unlikely underdog hero." -Kirkus
A dark energy has followed Noah Sowles since he was a child. As he hammers his big rig alone over the backroads and highways of the country, it's only getting worse.
In the wilderness of the Northern California redwoods, he's highjacked and brutally abducted by two seedy, racist men. They deliver him to their boss, an enigmatic owner of a thriving marijuana farm. After days of struggling for his life, he accepts a dangerous, non-negotiable deal: to drive the rig loaded with seventeen tons of high potency weed to El Paso, Texas, while accompanied by one of his abductors.
Trucking with his armed captor takes a twisted turn when Noah glimpses into the dark underbelly of drug smuggling and human trafficking-he knows there is an ominously familiar evil pushing them toward their destination.
As he finally reaches the crossroads, he discovers a more nefarious, sinister and far-reaching criminal network than he could have imagined. With his own eternal fate hanging in the balance, the aging trucker uses his best wit, humor, and inner strength to survive, but realizes that nothing is as it seems when the devil is in control.