Today im participating in a blog tour for the book Thunder and Ashes: The Morningstar Strain by Z.A. Recht.
Book Info:
(from publisher Simon & Schuster)
A LOT CAN CHANGE IN THREE MONTHS: Wars can be decided, nations can be forged . . . or entire species can be brought to the brink of annihilation. The Morningstar virus has swept the face of the planet, infecting billions. Its hosts rampage; its victims don't die, but are reborn as cannibalistic shamblers.
SCATTERED ACROSS THE WORLD, EMBATTLED GROUPS HAVE PERSEVERED. For some, survival is the pinnacle of achievement. Others hoard goods and weapons. And still others leverage power over the remnants of humanity with a mysterious cure. Francis Sherman and Anna Demilio want only a vaccine, but to find it they must cross a ravaged landscape of the infected and the lawless living.
THE BULK OF THE STORM HAS PASSED, leaving echoing thunder and softly drifting ashes. But for the survivors, the peril remains, and the search for a cure is just beginning. . . .
Returning to the terrifying vision of his "awesome zombie novel" (David Moody) Plague of the Dead, Z.A. Recht "will once again make you turn your lights on" (J.L. Bourne) with this chilling apocalyptic thriller.
My Review:
This book was ok. The writting was good but I just wasnt a big fan of this book. Which really dispointed me because I liked his other book. I think however I would still recomend this book for anyone who likes zombie or postapocalyptic novels.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Nobodies Album
The Nobodies Album by Carolyn Parkhurst
This book was great! Parkhurst is an beautiful witer! I really like how this book incroporate the fictional stories her main character in the novel has written and how her main character decides to rewrite all the endings. I think that is what makes this book unique and a great read! I highly recomend this novel!
I would like to thank Judy from Doubleday for letting me read and review this novel!
This book was great! Parkhurst is an beautiful witer! I really like how this book incroporate the fictional stories her main character in the novel has written and how her main character decides to rewrite all the endings. I think that is what makes this book unique and a great read! I highly recomend this novel!
I would like to thank Judy from Doubleday for letting me read and review this novel!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Seduced by a Highlander
Seduced by a Highlander by Paula Quinn
This was a very well written Historical Romance novel. I enjoyed this book very much! There was alot of wit throughout the book. This is the second book that I have read which was written by Pauka Quinn and I cant wait to see what she writes next because I have enjoyed both of her books that I have read so far! I would recomend this book for everyone!
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for letting me read and review this novel!
This was a very well written Historical Romance novel. I enjoyed this book very much! There was alot of wit throughout the book. This is the second book that I have read which was written by Pauka Quinn and I cant wait to see what she writes next because I have enjoyed both of her books that I have read so far! I would recomend this book for everyone!
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for letting me read and review this novel!
One Night in Scotland
Today im participating in a blog tour for the book One Night in scotland by Karen Hawkins.
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
New York Times bestselling author Karen Hawkins begins a sparkling new series with this thrilling tale of a desperate beauty on an urgent quest, a dark earl scarred by his beastly past—and the ancient treasure that binds their fates.
A mysterious abductor . . . Someone is holding her brother prisoner in exchange for a gold-and-onyx box covered in mysterious runes, so Mary Hurst boldly sets out from the family vicarage to find the priceless artifact. But the man who possesses it, Angus Hay, the Earl of Erroll, is less than sympathetic to her plight.
A forbidding stranger . . . Himself a prisoner of his dark past, Angus refuses to yield the box—or allow Mary to leave! Suspicious of the alluring lass's mission, he vows to wrest a confession from her, but unearths a fiery temper and a will as strong as his own.
An unbreakable curse . . . Passion flares between them, but now there is more at stake: an unknown enemy is hunting down the precious box, and will stop at nothing. Risking all for love, Angus must solve the mystery behind the runes . . . and trust the only woman who can awaken his forgotten heart.
Chapter except
(from publisher Simon & Schuster and Karen Hawkins)
Chapter 1
Aberdeenshire, Scotland
May 12, 1822
The inn's wide oak door slammed open, the icy wind swirling snow across the uneven, rough plank floor. Almost as one, the inhabitants of the room looked at the newcomer, a heavily bundled-up young lady obviously offended by the dire weather.
Shivering from head to toe, Mary Hurst grabbed the door with both gloved hands and struggled to close it. Her maid appeared and they finally secured the door, both panting from the effort. "Thank you, Abigail."
"Ye're welcome, miss." Abigail rubbed her arms and looked around the room with interest. "Gor', miss, there do be a lot o' folks in this establishment."
Mary undid the scarf that covered her chin and ears from the harsh elements and blinked at the gazes locked upon her. The harsh weather had driven all other travelers inside the only available inn on this particular stretch of long and lonely Scottish roadway.
Mary stepped through the wide arch that led to the common room. "I've never been so cold in all of my life."
Abigail rubbed her gloved hands together. "Aye, 'tis as cold as a witch's teat!"
Mary's face warmed to a hot burn as the two farmers and a well-bundled tradesman who sat around a table by the window guffawed. A clergyman who sat at the long buffet table sent Abigail a hard stare before he hunkered down over his plate. Meanwhile, in the far corner, two rough-looking laborers chuckled boisterously, winking when Mary sent a reprimanding glance their way.
"Abigail, please watch your language."
Unabashed, Abigail grinned. "Aye, miss."
She unwound her muffler and looked about the room with interest, her broad face brightening with an even broader smile.
"Gor', miss, do look at all the gentlemans!"
Mary turned a stern stare on her enthusiastic maid. "Abigail, ladies do not stare in admiration at strangers. So let's not look at all of the gentlemen."
Abigail's smile dimmed. "Very well, miss, but—"
"No 'buts.'" Mary removed her scarf, shaking off the melting snow. As she did so, she caught the gaze of the final occupant of the taproom. Dressed head to toe in unrelenting black, the man sat in the only chair beside the crackling fireplace. Larger than any other man in the room, he had broad shoulders and long legs that made even the heavy chair seem too small.
He was still wrapped in his coat and a heavy muffler partially concealed his face. That was a pity, for he had a most striking appearance: dark hair that fell over a noble brow; a strong, acquiline nose; and pale green eyes that caught and held her gaze.
Abigail said in an audible whisper, "Miss, I thought we wasn't supposed to stare at the gentlemans."
Mary's face burned, certain that the man had heard her maid's unwelcome comment, but he merely favored them both with an indifferent glance before turning his gaze back to the snapping fire, his face a study of disdainful boredom.
Piqued by such an obvious dismissal, Mary turned her back on the stranger and yanked off her wool-lined gloves.
It was a most inhospitable welcome. There were no available chairs and not one of the male occupants had stood when she and her maid entered, much less offered up their seats.
But she could endure this and more for her brother. This is for Michael. I cannot let him down.
She had a special place in her heart for her youngest brother. He had been sickly from the time of his birth until well into his teens, when, miraculously, he had ceased catching every illness that came through their village. Within a year, he'd lost his worrisome cough, gained a golden tan, and grown four inches.
Though he'd recovered fully, the long years he'd been ill had shaped him in many ways. The hours he'd been forced to lie upon the couch had left him with little to do but devour book after book. When his health had improved enough that he could attend school, he found he was far ahead of his classmates and, somewhere along the way, had become a scholar.
To his family's surprise, he'd taken his fluent Greek and Latin, his advanced knowledge of sciences and histories, and had become the one thing none of them had expected… an Egyptologist.
Mary said the word in her mind, savoring it. It was a new term, come to usage only since Napoleon's Nile campaign. His troops had ravaged the Nile valley, and after Napoleon's defeat, their acquisition of a large number of ancient Egyptian treasures had enriched the coffers of the British Museum. Michael was a member of Britain's Royal Society, an organization founded in 1660 and comprised of energetic scientists who valued empirical evidence over everything else. The members took their role as the leading experts in the study of Egyptian artifacts very seriously indeed.
But Michael hadn't joined the society just to search for Egyptian artifacts. He was on a special quest that only the family knew about: to recover the Hurst Amulet, which had been stolen from an ancestor and gifted to Queen Elizabeth I. History suggested that the intrepid queen came to fear the amulet, thinking it possessed magical qualities, and had passed it on to a courier from a foreign land.
The problem was, no one knew which land. Over the years, Michael had become convinced that the amulet had ended up in Egypt, and he was determined to find it.
Mary was eager to hear what new clue Michael had unearthed. His life was so exciting, she thought wistfully. He was doing the very things she wished she could do—adventuring, exploring, finding and purchasing historical artifacts for private and public collections. She, meanwhile, was the sole child left at home, and the care of their parents had fallen on her.
Not that she regretted it. She loved her parents and the vicarage, but sometimes her soul longed for excitement.
Right now, though, she could do with a lot less adventure, and a lot more warmth. Her hands and feet were freezing; she couldn't feel her toes at all.
She straightened her shoulders and gazed about the inn's common room in the way she imagined Michael would, coolly and without fear, meeting the gaze of every man present.
The farmers and tradesman in the corner lost their grins immediately, dropping their heads and muttering to one another under their breath. The clergyman turned bright red, then sniffed and returned to reading his well-worn Bible. The rough laborers stopped guffawing and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Only the darkly garbed man by the fireplace didn't acknowledge her, but continued contemplating the flames as if searching the glow for the last book of Ramesses.
Fortunately, she didn't need him to pay attention to her. She'd tamed the common room with just one look. "Come, Abigail. Let's bespeak a hot meal and see to hiring an escort to New Slains Castle."
The clergyman's head snapped in their direction. "New Slains?" Thin and slight, he was almost swallowed by his frock coat and slouched muffler.
"Yes, New Slains Castle."
"Och, ye canno' wish to go there."
"But I do. I must speak with the Earl of Erroll."
"But—" His gaze flickered past her, then back. "The road is impassable. No one will take ye there."
"Someone will have to, for I've very important business to conduct with the earl. Besides, the roads cannot be that bad; the ostler said it had only been snowing an hour or less."
"Yes, but before that it was raining, so there's sure to be ice. The road is very steep in places and treacherous."
Abigail made a distressed noise. "Miss, mayhap we'd best bespeak a room fer a night or two until—"
"No." She'd come so far to fetch the item Michael needed to win his freedom, and she wasn't about to give up.
"But, miss, ye'd have t' have yer head up yer arse to—"
"Abigail!" This is what came of traveling with a companion one had barely met.
Normally when Mary traveled, she took one of the serving girls who helped clean the vicarage, both well trained and genteel. Unfortunately, influenza had raced through their small hamlet just before Michael's urgent letter had arrived and both maids were ill. Mary had been left with no choice but to accept the only available female willing to travel to Scotland on such short notice, her groom's niece.
Abigail blinked in mild surprise. "What's toward, miss?"
"That phrase is vulgar."
"Th' one about stickin' yer head up—"
"Yes. It's not an appropriate expression."
"Nay? Even when 'tis the truth?"
One of the farmers snickered loudly. Mary glared at him until he covered his mouth, though his shoulders still shook.
"It's not proper ever." She tucked her gloves into her pocket. "Now, we must find the landlord and—"
The outer door opened and a short, squat man came into the entry hall behind them. He was swaddled in a huge coat, a prodigious number of mufflers, and a thick woolen cap. Stomping his boots upon the floor, he paused on seeing Mary and her maid standing in the common room. "G'day. Can I help ye? I be Mr. MacEllis." The thick Scottish brogue was barely understandable.
Mary dipped a curtsy. "I am Mary Hurst and this is my maid, Abigail. We would like to bespeak a private parlor, if one is available."
He tsked. "Och, miss, we dinna have such a thing. 'Tis the common room or none."
Mary forced a smile. "Fine, then. We'll find some chairs here. We'd like some dinner as well. We haven't eaten since this morning."
"I'll bring ye out some Cullen Skink." At Mary's blank look, he explained, "'Tis stew made of finnan haddock, potatoes, onions, and whatnot."
"Ah! That would be lovely." It sounded appetizing and she loved stew, especially on cold days. "All we need is a seat, then."
The innkeeper went into the common room and looked around. His gaze flickered over the farmers and tradesmen and fell upon the gentleman by the fire. "Why, 'tis—"
"MacEllis, there you are," the man said in a deep, rumbling voice. "I came to try your whiskey, if you've any left."
The innkeeper shot a side-glance at Mary and her maid. "O' course we do, er—"
"Mr. Hay."
"Mr. Hay, then. I'll bring ye a good tipple."
"Thank you. After, of course, you've seated your new guests."
"Aye." The innkeeper turned toward the wide bench by the buffet table. "Vicar Turnbill, would ye mind scootin' yerself down a wee bit? We've guests, as ye can see."
The vicar looked as if he did indeed mind, but he gathered his Bible and plate and slid to the far end of the table, where he sat stiff-backed as if afraid his very air might be tainted by their presence.
The innkeeper gestured to the plank bench. "There ye go, miss! I'll fetch yer stew and some bread." With that he hurried off, leaving them alone with the men in the common room once again.
"Oh, I do hope there is a lot of stew, fer I'm hungry enough to eat a hog's head all by meself." Abigail swung her cape from her shoulders and hung it on a peg by the door.
If every eye had been fastened upon them before, they were glued now, for Abigail's plain gray gown accentuated her astounding figure.
Abigail smoothed down her gown as she cast a winsome glance at the clergyman. The scrawny man gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he turned bright red. With a sputtered deprecation, he ducked his head into his Bible.
Abigail grinned as she took her seat, making certain she was facing the men in the room, whom she now favored with a simper.
Mary clutched her pelisse tighter and wished she could toss a muffler over Abigail. Never had there been such an attention-seeking maid. Resigning herself to the inevitable comments and stares, Mary took her seat at the end of the table.
As she did so, she found herself meeting the sardonic gaze of the stranger by the fire, his green eyes glinting with mockery. Her face heated and she resolutely looked away.
Mary wished she could teach Abigail a bit of decorum, but the girl was addicted to the attention her figure solicited, and Mary couldn't completely blame her.
Mary wouldn't mind being so blessed herself. She had the ample breasts, but the rest of her was ample as well.
It wasn't that she was fat, but she was healthy. She lacked both the slender, willowy figure favored by fashion and the hourglass figure that Abigail enjoyed. Mary's shape was more… squarish, a shape enhanced very little by the current style of gowns with their tiny puffed sleeves and waistlines directly beneath the breasts.
Stop thinking about such silly things! You need to focus on your mission.
Her throat tightened at the thought of her brother. His letter had assured them that he was well, but she knew from experience that his letters were often carefully edited for their parents' eyes. Later on, when it was just him and Mary, he would tell her the real tales of danger and deception, excitement and—sometimes—tedium.
She knew more than any of their other siblings just how far some of Michael's letters were from the real truth, and it frightened her now in a way it never had before.
He was not doing well; she could feel it in her heart.
It would be a relief when they finally reached their destination, recovered the artifact from the earl, and met up with William, who should be sailing from France now to meet them at the dock in Whitby. William had gone to collect one of Michael's best friends and compatriots, Jean-Francois Champollion, to serve as a guide for the delivery of the artifact to Michael's captor. No one knew Egypt like Champollion.
If everything went as planned, Michael would be free within the next six weeks—which was far too long to be a captive, but the best they could do.
The innkeeper returned carrying two bowls of steaming stew and a hunk of thick bread already buttered. Despite her worry for her brother, Mary's rumbling stomach welcomed the lovely stew.
As she ate, the travails of the last few weeks seemed to melt into insignificance. She was truly blessed to be able to make such a journey. Had either of her other brothers been home, it would have fallen to William or Robert to make the trip. Fortunately, Mary had been the only one available. Eager to go, she had overridden her parents' objections with a calm assuredness that she hadn't always felt once the journey had begun.
Their travels had been far more difficult than she'd expected. They'd suffered a broken wheel on their third day, and then faced two days of slogging rain that had left the roads treacherously muddy and travel painfully slow. There were times she'd thought it would be faster to walk than remain in the creeping carriage.
Then, as they'd passed through Aberdeen, the rain had turned into snow, which had made traveling impossible until it eased up and the road became visible once more.
Abigail hadn't helped, either. The woman had chattered nonstop about things Mary had never done or thought to do—lies she'd told, men she'd allowed to kiss her, and how she'd once stolen a penny from a man who hadn't bought her a big-enough present.
Mary was certain Abigail had a good heart but wished the maid possessed more moral refinement. Oh no, I'm beginning to sound just like Father. That will never do. What I should do is focus on solving the latest dilemma of our travels.
Mary pushed her empty bowl away and collected her courage. "Excuse me, please." Her crisp voice interrupted the low murmured conversation of the others in the common room.
She waited until all except the dark stranger by the fireplace turned her way.
She cleared her throat. "Excuse me."
He slowly turned his head and regarded her with a cool stare.
Much better. "I beg your pardon, but my maid and I need a guide to the castle."
Silence settled upon the company, an odd, heavy sort of stilted air.
The innkeeper, who'd been brushing the coats hanging on pegs by the door, blinked. His gaze flickered past Mary and then back. "And why do ye wish to go to the castle?"
"I must speak to the earl."
"I dinna know aboot that. The earl dinna take well to visitors."
"Aye," said a man by the window. "He's a recluse."
His friend added, "He ne'er comes to Aberdeen, neither. Not seen 'im there once't."
That was disheartening.
Abigail put down her spoon. "Why's that? He ain't maimed, is he?"
An awkward silence followed this.
MacEllis cleared his throat nervously. "O' course the earl ain't maimed. He's—"
"Scarred," came the deep and rich voice of the dark stranger. "He was injured in a fire many years ago. He does not like being seen."
Abigail wrinkled her nose. "Disfigured, is he? Pity, that."
"It doesn't matter," Mary said impatiently. "I mustspeak with him. 'Tis a matter of grave import. My brother's life depends upon it."
A cold smile flickered across the man's face. "That is certainly dramatic."
She met his gaze evenly. "It's true, too."
"Does the earl know this brother of yours?"
"Yes. My brother is Michael Hurst."
The innkeeper started. "Michael Hurst? The adventurer as writes them articles in the Morning Post?"
"You've heard of him, then."
"Aye," MacEllis said in a reverent tone. "The vicar borrows the paper from Lord Erroll and reads us Hurst's adventures e'ery time one is in the paper."
The vicar fairly beamed. "The columns are very well written. Hurst is a modern-day hero."
Several of the men nodded.
Mary smiled, feeling proud. Only she and Michael knew the truth about his columns: that she had written every one of them.
As Michael's exploits became more well-known, the editor of the Morning Post had approached Michael at a meeting of the Royal Society and requested that he submit to the newspaper a personal account of one of his trips to acquire an historical artifact. Between trips at the time, Michael had agreed to do so, but within two days was offered the opportunity to embark on yet another adventure.
As a result, the story was never written, but the editor refused to allow the matter to die. He wrote constantly asking for the promised article.
On a whim, Mary offered to pen it to quiet the editor's clamor. Michael had encouraged her, saying she could keep the profits if she promised to write him taller than his mere six feet one inch. Laughing, she'd agreed. She'd not only made him taller, but she'd used her fertile imagination to push the story far beyond the boundaries of reality.
The resulting article was a huge success and the editor had demanded more stories. With a bank check for an astonishing five pounds in her hand and Michael's encouragement, Mary had done so.
The innkeeper cleared his throat, doubt plain on his broad face. "Miss, meanin' no disrespect, but ye canno' be Michael Hurst's sister. He dinna have any."
Her smile faded. "He does, too. He has three, in fact."
One of the men by the window said in a voice of authority, "He dinna mention a sister in his columns."
She narrowed her gaze and said in a sharp tone, "He doesn't mention his mother or father, either, yet I can assure you he was not found as a fully formed babe beneath a cabbage leaf."
This caused some snorts of amusement. But it was the quick, appreciative glance from the dark stranger that made her smile.
"Hurst has had some amazin' adventures." MacEllis rubbed his chin and eyed her thoughtfully. "Did he really wrestle a python wit' his bare hands?"
"Yes." But Mother didn't know about that one; Michael had hidden the newspaper when it arrived.
The vicar leaned forward, his thin face alight. "If—when ye see Mr. Hurst, pray tell him that we here in Aberdeen are faithful followers of his."
"I'll mention it to him the next time I see him." Please God, let that soon. What if he doesn't come home—ever?
She had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could speak again. "It's because of my brother that I must see the Earl of Erroll."
The innkeeper shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, his gaze flickering past her and then back. "Miss, ye canno' just—"
"I will take you," said a deep voice, husky with a Scottish accent.
Mary turned toward the dark stranger. "You?"
He stood and she realized how truly large he was. He was larger than any other man in the room, even larger than her brother William, who stood at six feet three inches.
Abigail let out her breath in a whoosh and said in a whisper that was no whisper at all, "Whooo, missus, but he's a fine un, ain't he?"
There was no disguising the admiration in her tone, and Mary had to agree.
The emerald eyes glinted at her; his hard, fine mouth was firm above his scarf; his black hair was a stark contrast to his golden skin. "I happen to be traveling up the cliff road and I can take you directly to the castle." One brow lifted. "If you wish."
Mary collected herself. There was something about the man's husky dark voice that sent a shiver of almost recognition through her. "How much will you charge for the assistance?"
"How much do you have to pay?" he answered without hesitation.
Abigail giggled. "Gor', but ye do be a cheeky one!"
The man's gaze flicked across Abigail but seemed to find nothing of interest, for it returned immediately to Mary. "We shall have to leave immediately. I've no wish to arrive at my own destination late."
Mary was relieved that he wasn't impressed with Abigail's busty charms; that could have made their trip even less comfortable.
She gripped her hands together. It was a bit of a risk to allow this stranger to escort them, but what choice did she have? It was either pay this man to assist them, or stay here and perhaps be snowed in for days. And Michael was counting on her.
Green eyes narrowed in impatience. "Well? Do you wish to go to New Slains or not? I don't have all day to stand here whilst you make up your mind."
"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Hay. I will pay you two shillings to drive us to the castle."
"Fine." He strode to the door, moving with an easy grace.
Mary stepped forward. "But—we can't leave this very second."
He stopped and pinned her with a hard look. "Why not?"
"Our horses have not yet rested and—"
"I shall have your things transferred to my carriage. My horses are rested and ready to go."
"But I don't think we should—"
The door closed behind him.
"There ye go, miss," Mr. MacEllis said, looking satisfied. "I'll pack ye a wee mite t' eat upon the road. It'll take ye three hours at least to reach the castle, maybe more in this weather."
Mary supposed there was little she could do; she just wished she didn't get such an ominous shivery feeling from the stranger. There was something about him—the way his eyes rested upon her, the manner in which he moved… He was a man's man, bold and hard, with little time for the frivolities or warmth of life. Her only reassurance was that his voice was more cultured than those of the other men here. Yet his clothes were too common for him to be the earl's social equal. Perhaps he was a landowner who lived near the earl? That was possible. Still…
She turned to the clergyman and moved closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "Excuse me, sir."
He looked up, his gaze suspicious. "Yes, miss?"
"I hate to bother you, but… the gentleman who is taking us to the castle. I—I don't know him and I was hoping you—" She could see from the man's confused expression that she was muddying the waters with her hesitation. "Sir, would you vouch for him? Will I and my maid be safe?"
He looked astounded. "God bless ye, o' course ye'll be safe! Why, he's—" The clergyman nodded his head. "Ye need have no fear. He's a good mon, he is."
Her fears calmed, Mary dipped a curtsy. "So I thought, too, but I wished to be certain. Thank you, sir."
She hurried back to the door, where Abigail was shaking out her damp cloak. Mary realized that her unease with the stranger was merely because of her own fears and worries, not because of the stranger's character.
"Well, miss, this worked out well." Abigail tugged her cloak about her shoulders. "I wish we could sleep here a mite before we pressed on. I'm powerful tired, I am."
"So am I, but at least we're not hungry. We must be grateful for what we have." As Michael was fond of saying, Excitement is never comfortable. When it comes, you just hang on and hope you don't fall off.
"Come, Abigail." Mary gripped her cloak closed and shoved open the heavy door. "I wish to make certain our trunks are transferred and not set in the snow where they might get wet." She stepped out into the windy, icy snow, which stung her face.
"Lor', miss! 'Tis horrible weather."
So it was, but one did what one could. Michael, just hold on. I will not let you down. Head down, she trudged toward the large coach that sat on the other side of the inn yard, noting with surprise that her trunks were already lashed to the back. Their rescuer was nowhere in sight, but a small, spry fellow in a heavy black wool coat opened the door and gestured for them to enter.
Mary hesitated, staring at the darkened interior for a second. Then, putting her head down against the weather, she climbed in.
Letter from Michael to his sister Mary, from a caravan heading for the Sahara Desert:
I can't thank you enough for sending the books I left beside the bed when I was visiting at Michaelmas. What would I do without you looking after me?
Mary, I know you feel that you are tied down with Mother and Father growing older, but you forget that they themselves have always been travelers. If they had the chance to go somewhere, they would take it and they would expect the same of you. Traveling is a family affliction and we all have it.
One day, when I've finished my search for the elusive Hurst Amulet, I want to take you to see pyramids so high your neck will hurt for trying to see the top, rivers so black and deep that you would believe in the River Styx, and verdant fields set among miles of desert sand as if magically transported there.
One day, Mary, we shall see all of that and more.
© 2010 Karen Hawkins
Author Info:
(from Publisher Simon & Schuster)
Karen Hawkins is the USA Today bestselling author of a dozen historical romance novels. When not stalking hot Australian actors, getting kicked out of West Virginia (thanks to the antics of her extended family), and adding to her considerable shoe collection, Karen spends her time warming her feet on her narcoleptic golden retriever while writing her next book. She lives in Florida.
Karen welcomes fan mail and can be reached at P. O. Box 149924, Orlando, FL 32814. Please visit her website at http://www.karenhawkins.com/.
My review:
I thought this book was very good! I liked the characters alot. This series is going to be very exciting! I enjoyed this book alot. It was a historical romace which is probably one of the reasons why I liked it. Also this was the second book that I have read and reviewed that Karen Hawkins had wrote so I liked the first novel I read by her so I cant wait to read the rest of her books! I recomend this book to everyone!
I would like to thank the people from gallery books for giving me a chance to read and review this novel!
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
New York Times bestselling author Karen Hawkins begins a sparkling new series with this thrilling tale of a desperate beauty on an urgent quest, a dark earl scarred by his beastly past—and the ancient treasure that binds their fates.
A mysterious abductor . . . Someone is holding her brother prisoner in exchange for a gold-and-onyx box covered in mysterious runes, so Mary Hurst boldly sets out from the family vicarage to find the priceless artifact. But the man who possesses it, Angus Hay, the Earl of Erroll, is less than sympathetic to her plight.
A forbidding stranger . . . Himself a prisoner of his dark past, Angus refuses to yield the box—or allow Mary to leave! Suspicious of the alluring lass's mission, he vows to wrest a confession from her, but unearths a fiery temper and a will as strong as his own.
An unbreakable curse . . . Passion flares between them, but now there is more at stake: an unknown enemy is hunting down the precious box, and will stop at nothing. Risking all for love, Angus must solve the mystery behind the runes . . . and trust the only woman who can awaken his forgotten heart.
Chapter except
(from publisher Simon & Schuster and Karen Hawkins)
Chapter 1
Aberdeenshire, Scotland
May 12, 1822
The inn's wide oak door slammed open, the icy wind swirling snow across the uneven, rough plank floor. Almost as one, the inhabitants of the room looked at the newcomer, a heavily bundled-up young lady obviously offended by the dire weather.
Shivering from head to toe, Mary Hurst grabbed the door with both gloved hands and struggled to close it. Her maid appeared and they finally secured the door, both panting from the effort. "Thank you, Abigail."
"Ye're welcome, miss." Abigail rubbed her arms and looked around the room with interest. "Gor', miss, there do be a lot o' folks in this establishment."
Mary undid the scarf that covered her chin and ears from the harsh elements and blinked at the gazes locked upon her. The harsh weather had driven all other travelers inside the only available inn on this particular stretch of long and lonely Scottish roadway.
Mary stepped through the wide arch that led to the common room. "I've never been so cold in all of my life."
Abigail rubbed her gloved hands together. "Aye, 'tis as cold as a witch's teat!"
Mary's face warmed to a hot burn as the two farmers and a well-bundled tradesman who sat around a table by the window guffawed. A clergyman who sat at the long buffet table sent Abigail a hard stare before he hunkered down over his plate. Meanwhile, in the far corner, two rough-looking laborers chuckled boisterously, winking when Mary sent a reprimanding glance their way.
"Abigail, please watch your language."
Unabashed, Abigail grinned. "Aye, miss."
She unwound her muffler and looked about the room with interest, her broad face brightening with an even broader smile.
"Gor', miss, do look at all the gentlemans!"
Mary turned a stern stare on her enthusiastic maid. "Abigail, ladies do not stare in admiration at strangers. So let's not look at all of the gentlemen."
Abigail's smile dimmed. "Very well, miss, but—"
"No 'buts.'" Mary removed her scarf, shaking off the melting snow. As she did so, she caught the gaze of the final occupant of the taproom. Dressed head to toe in unrelenting black, the man sat in the only chair beside the crackling fireplace. Larger than any other man in the room, he had broad shoulders and long legs that made even the heavy chair seem too small.
He was still wrapped in his coat and a heavy muffler partially concealed his face. That was a pity, for he had a most striking appearance: dark hair that fell over a noble brow; a strong, acquiline nose; and pale green eyes that caught and held her gaze.
Abigail said in an audible whisper, "Miss, I thought we wasn't supposed to stare at the gentlemans."
Mary's face burned, certain that the man had heard her maid's unwelcome comment, but he merely favored them both with an indifferent glance before turning his gaze back to the snapping fire, his face a study of disdainful boredom.
Piqued by such an obvious dismissal, Mary turned her back on the stranger and yanked off her wool-lined gloves.
It was a most inhospitable welcome. There were no available chairs and not one of the male occupants had stood when she and her maid entered, much less offered up their seats.
But she could endure this and more for her brother. This is for Michael. I cannot let him down.
She had a special place in her heart for her youngest brother. He had been sickly from the time of his birth until well into his teens, when, miraculously, he had ceased catching every illness that came through their village. Within a year, he'd lost his worrisome cough, gained a golden tan, and grown four inches.
Though he'd recovered fully, the long years he'd been ill had shaped him in many ways. The hours he'd been forced to lie upon the couch had left him with little to do but devour book after book. When his health had improved enough that he could attend school, he found he was far ahead of his classmates and, somewhere along the way, had become a scholar.
To his family's surprise, he'd taken his fluent Greek and Latin, his advanced knowledge of sciences and histories, and had become the one thing none of them had expected… an Egyptologist.
Mary said the word in her mind, savoring it. It was a new term, come to usage only since Napoleon's Nile campaign. His troops had ravaged the Nile valley, and after Napoleon's defeat, their acquisition of a large number of ancient Egyptian treasures had enriched the coffers of the British Museum. Michael was a member of Britain's Royal Society, an organization founded in 1660 and comprised of energetic scientists who valued empirical evidence over everything else. The members took their role as the leading experts in the study of Egyptian artifacts very seriously indeed.
But Michael hadn't joined the society just to search for Egyptian artifacts. He was on a special quest that only the family knew about: to recover the Hurst Amulet, which had been stolen from an ancestor and gifted to Queen Elizabeth I. History suggested that the intrepid queen came to fear the amulet, thinking it possessed magical qualities, and had passed it on to a courier from a foreign land.
The problem was, no one knew which land. Over the years, Michael had become convinced that the amulet had ended up in Egypt, and he was determined to find it.
Mary was eager to hear what new clue Michael had unearthed. His life was so exciting, she thought wistfully. He was doing the very things she wished she could do—adventuring, exploring, finding and purchasing historical artifacts for private and public collections. She, meanwhile, was the sole child left at home, and the care of their parents had fallen on her.
Not that she regretted it. She loved her parents and the vicarage, but sometimes her soul longed for excitement.
Right now, though, she could do with a lot less adventure, and a lot more warmth. Her hands and feet were freezing; she couldn't feel her toes at all.
She straightened her shoulders and gazed about the inn's common room in the way she imagined Michael would, coolly and without fear, meeting the gaze of every man present.
The farmers and tradesman in the corner lost their grins immediately, dropping their heads and muttering to one another under their breath. The clergyman turned bright red, then sniffed and returned to reading his well-worn Bible. The rough laborers stopped guffawing and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Only the darkly garbed man by the fireplace didn't acknowledge her, but continued contemplating the flames as if searching the glow for the last book of Ramesses.
Fortunately, she didn't need him to pay attention to her. She'd tamed the common room with just one look. "Come, Abigail. Let's bespeak a hot meal and see to hiring an escort to New Slains Castle."
The clergyman's head snapped in their direction. "New Slains?" Thin and slight, he was almost swallowed by his frock coat and slouched muffler.
"Yes, New Slains Castle."
"Och, ye canno' wish to go there."
"But I do. I must speak with the Earl of Erroll."
"But—" His gaze flickered past her, then back. "The road is impassable. No one will take ye there."
"Someone will have to, for I've very important business to conduct with the earl. Besides, the roads cannot be that bad; the ostler said it had only been snowing an hour or less."
"Yes, but before that it was raining, so there's sure to be ice. The road is very steep in places and treacherous."
Abigail made a distressed noise. "Miss, mayhap we'd best bespeak a room fer a night or two until—"
"No." She'd come so far to fetch the item Michael needed to win his freedom, and she wasn't about to give up.
"But, miss, ye'd have t' have yer head up yer arse to—"
"Abigail!" This is what came of traveling with a companion one had barely met.
Normally when Mary traveled, she took one of the serving girls who helped clean the vicarage, both well trained and genteel. Unfortunately, influenza had raced through their small hamlet just before Michael's urgent letter had arrived and both maids were ill. Mary had been left with no choice but to accept the only available female willing to travel to Scotland on such short notice, her groom's niece.
Abigail blinked in mild surprise. "What's toward, miss?"
"That phrase is vulgar."
"Th' one about stickin' yer head up—"
"Yes. It's not an appropriate expression."
"Nay? Even when 'tis the truth?"
One of the farmers snickered loudly. Mary glared at him until he covered his mouth, though his shoulders still shook.
"It's not proper ever." She tucked her gloves into her pocket. "Now, we must find the landlord and—"
The outer door opened and a short, squat man came into the entry hall behind them. He was swaddled in a huge coat, a prodigious number of mufflers, and a thick woolen cap. Stomping his boots upon the floor, he paused on seeing Mary and her maid standing in the common room. "G'day. Can I help ye? I be Mr. MacEllis." The thick Scottish brogue was barely understandable.
Mary dipped a curtsy. "I am Mary Hurst and this is my maid, Abigail. We would like to bespeak a private parlor, if one is available."
He tsked. "Och, miss, we dinna have such a thing. 'Tis the common room or none."
Mary forced a smile. "Fine, then. We'll find some chairs here. We'd like some dinner as well. We haven't eaten since this morning."
"I'll bring ye out some Cullen Skink." At Mary's blank look, he explained, "'Tis stew made of finnan haddock, potatoes, onions, and whatnot."
"Ah! That would be lovely." It sounded appetizing and she loved stew, especially on cold days. "All we need is a seat, then."
The innkeeper went into the common room and looked around. His gaze flickered over the farmers and tradesmen and fell upon the gentleman by the fire. "Why, 'tis—"
"MacEllis, there you are," the man said in a deep, rumbling voice. "I came to try your whiskey, if you've any left."
The innkeeper shot a side-glance at Mary and her maid. "O' course we do, er—"
"Mr. Hay."
"Mr. Hay, then. I'll bring ye a good tipple."
"Thank you. After, of course, you've seated your new guests."
"Aye." The innkeeper turned toward the wide bench by the buffet table. "Vicar Turnbill, would ye mind scootin' yerself down a wee bit? We've guests, as ye can see."
The vicar looked as if he did indeed mind, but he gathered his Bible and plate and slid to the far end of the table, where he sat stiff-backed as if afraid his very air might be tainted by their presence.
The innkeeper gestured to the plank bench. "There ye go, miss! I'll fetch yer stew and some bread." With that he hurried off, leaving them alone with the men in the common room once again.
"Oh, I do hope there is a lot of stew, fer I'm hungry enough to eat a hog's head all by meself." Abigail swung her cape from her shoulders and hung it on a peg by the door.
If every eye had been fastened upon them before, they were glued now, for Abigail's plain gray gown accentuated her astounding figure.
Abigail smoothed down her gown as she cast a winsome glance at the clergyman. The scrawny man gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he turned bright red. With a sputtered deprecation, he ducked his head into his Bible.
Abigail grinned as she took her seat, making certain she was facing the men in the room, whom she now favored with a simper.
Mary clutched her pelisse tighter and wished she could toss a muffler over Abigail. Never had there been such an attention-seeking maid. Resigning herself to the inevitable comments and stares, Mary took her seat at the end of the table.
As she did so, she found herself meeting the sardonic gaze of the stranger by the fire, his green eyes glinting with mockery. Her face heated and she resolutely looked away.
Mary wished she could teach Abigail a bit of decorum, but the girl was addicted to the attention her figure solicited, and Mary couldn't completely blame her.
Mary wouldn't mind being so blessed herself. She had the ample breasts, but the rest of her was ample as well.
It wasn't that she was fat, but she was healthy. She lacked both the slender, willowy figure favored by fashion and the hourglass figure that Abigail enjoyed. Mary's shape was more… squarish, a shape enhanced very little by the current style of gowns with their tiny puffed sleeves and waistlines directly beneath the breasts.
Stop thinking about such silly things! You need to focus on your mission.
Her throat tightened at the thought of her brother. His letter had assured them that he was well, but she knew from experience that his letters were often carefully edited for their parents' eyes. Later on, when it was just him and Mary, he would tell her the real tales of danger and deception, excitement and—sometimes—tedium.
She knew more than any of their other siblings just how far some of Michael's letters were from the real truth, and it frightened her now in a way it never had before.
He was not doing well; she could feel it in her heart.
It would be a relief when they finally reached their destination, recovered the artifact from the earl, and met up with William, who should be sailing from France now to meet them at the dock in Whitby. William had gone to collect one of Michael's best friends and compatriots, Jean-Francois Champollion, to serve as a guide for the delivery of the artifact to Michael's captor. No one knew Egypt like Champollion.
If everything went as planned, Michael would be free within the next six weeks—which was far too long to be a captive, but the best they could do.
The innkeeper returned carrying two bowls of steaming stew and a hunk of thick bread already buttered. Despite her worry for her brother, Mary's rumbling stomach welcomed the lovely stew.
As she ate, the travails of the last few weeks seemed to melt into insignificance. She was truly blessed to be able to make such a journey. Had either of her other brothers been home, it would have fallen to William or Robert to make the trip. Fortunately, Mary had been the only one available. Eager to go, she had overridden her parents' objections with a calm assuredness that she hadn't always felt once the journey had begun.
Their travels had been far more difficult than she'd expected. They'd suffered a broken wheel on their third day, and then faced two days of slogging rain that had left the roads treacherously muddy and travel painfully slow. There were times she'd thought it would be faster to walk than remain in the creeping carriage.
Then, as they'd passed through Aberdeen, the rain had turned into snow, which had made traveling impossible until it eased up and the road became visible once more.
Abigail hadn't helped, either. The woman had chattered nonstop about things Mary had never done or thought to do—lies she'd told, men she'd allowed to kiss her, and how she'd once stolen a penny from a man who hadn't bought her a big-enough present.
Mary was certain Abigail had a good heart but wished the maid possessed more moral refinement. Oh no, I'm beginning to sound just like Father. That will never do. What I should do is focus on solving the latest dilemma of our travels.
Mary pushed her empty bowl away and collected her courage. "Excuse me, please." Her crisp voice interrupted the low murmured conversation of the others in the common room.
She waited until all except the dark stranger by the fireplace turned her way.
She cleared her throat. "Excuse me."
He slowly turned his head and regarded her with a cool stare.
Much better. "I beg your pardon, but my maid and I need a guide to the castle."
Silence settled upon the company, an odd, heavy sort of stilted air.
The innkeeper, who'd been brushing the coats hanging on pegs by the door, blinked. His gaze flickered past Mary and then back. "And why do ye wish to go to the castle?"
"I must speak to the earl."
"I dinna know aboot that. The earl dinna take well to visitors."
"Aye," said a man by the window. "He's a recluse."
His friend added, "He ne'er comes to Aberdeen, neither. Not seen 'im there once't."
That was disheartening.
Abigail put down her spoon. "Why's that? He ain't maimed, is he?"
An awkward silence followed this.
MacEllis cleared his throat nervously. "O' course the earl ain't maimed. He's—"
"Scarred," came the deep and rich voice of the dark stranger. "He was injured in a fire many years ago. He does not like being seen."
Abigail wrinkled her nose. "Disfigured, is he? Pity, that."
"It doesn't matter," Mary said impatiently. "I mustspeak with him. 'Tis a matter of grave import. My brother's life depends upon it."
A cold smile flickered across the man's face. "That is certainly dramatic."
She met his gaze evenly. "It's true, too."
"Does the earl know this brother of yours?"
"Yes. My brother is Michael Hurst."
The innkeeper started. "Michael Hurst? The adventurer as writes them articles in the Morning Post?"
"You've heard of him, then."
"Aye," MacEllis said in a reverent tone. "The vicar borrows the paper from Lord Erroll and reads us Hurst's adventures e'ery time one is in the paper."
The vicar fairly beamed. "The columns are very well written. Hurst is a modern-day hero."
Several of the men nodded.
Mary smiled, feeling proud. Only she and Michael knew the truth about his columns: that she had written every one of them.
As Michael's exploits became more well-known, the editor of the Morning Post had approached Michael at a meeting of the Royal Society and requested that he submit to the newspaper a personal account of one of his trips to acquire an historical artifact. Between trips at the time, Michael had agreed to do so, but within two days was offered the opportunity to embark on yet another adventure.
As a result, the story was never written, but the editor refused to allow the matter to die. He wrote constantly asking for the promised article.
On a whim, Mary offered to pen it to quiet the editor's clamor. Michael had encouraged her, saying she could keep the profits if she promised to write him taller than his mere six feet one inch. Laughing, she'd agreed. She'd not only made him taller, but she'd used her fertile imagination to push the story far beyond the boundaries of reality.
The resulting article was a huge success and the editor had demanded more stories. With a bank check for an astonishing five pounds in her hand and Michael's encouragement, Mary had done so.
The innkeeper cleared his throat, doubt plain on his broad face. "Miss, meanin' no disrespect, but ye canno' be Michael Hurst's sister. He dinna have any."
Her smile faded. "He does, too. He has three, in fact."
One of the men by the window said in a voice of authority, "He dinna mention a sister in his columns."
She narrowed her gaze and said in a sharp tone, "He doesn't mention his mother or father, either, yet I can assure you he was not found as a fully formed babe beneath a cabbage leaf."
This caused some snorts of amusement. But it was the quick, appreciative glance from the dark stranger that made her smile.
"Hurst has had some amazin' adventures." MacEllis rubbed his chin and eyed her thoughtfully. "Did he really wrestle a python wit' his bare hands?"
"Yes." But Mother didn't know about that one; Michael had hidden the newspaper when it arrived.
The vicar leaned forward, his thin face alight. "If—when ye see Mr. Hurst, pray tell him that we here in Aberdeen are faithful followers of his."
"I'll mention it to him the next time I see him." Please God, let that soon. What if he doesn't come home—ever?
She had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could speak again. "It's because of my brother that I must see the Earl of Erroll."
The innkeeper shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, his gaze flickering past her and then back. "Miss, ye canno' just—"
"I will take you," said a deep voice, husky with a Scottish accent.
Mary turned toward the dark stranger. "You?"
He stood and she realized how truly large he was. He was larger than any other man in the room, even larger than her brother William, who stood at six feet three inches.
Abigail let out her breath in a whoosh and said in a whisper that was no whisper at all, "Whooo, missus, but he's a fine un, ain't he?"
There was no disguising the admiration in her tone, and Mary had to agree.
The emerald eyes glinted at her; his hard, fine mouth was firm above his scarf; his black hair was a stark contrast to his golden skin. "I happen to be traveling up the cliff road and I can take you directly to the castle." One brow lifted. "If you wish."
Mary collected herself. There was something about the man's husky dark voice that sent a shiver of almost recognition through her. "How much will you charge for the assistance?"
"How much do you have to pay?" he answered without hesitation.
Abigail giggled. "Gor', but ye do be a cheeky one!"
The man's gaze flicked across Abigail but seemed to find nothing of interest, for it returned immediately to Mary. "We shall have to leave immediately. I've no wish to arrive at my own destination late."
Mary was relieved that he wasn't impressed with Abigail's busty charms; that could have made their trip even less comfortable.
She gripped her hands together. It was a bit of a risk to allow this stranger to escort them, but what choice did she have? It was either pay this man to assist them, or stay here and perhaps be snowed in for days. And Michael was counting on her.
Green eyes narrowed in impatience. "Well? Do you wish to go to New Slains or not? I don't have all day to stand here whilst you make up your mind."
"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Hay. I will pay you two shillings to drive us to the castle."
"Fine." He strode to the door, moving with an easy grace.
Mary stepped forward. "But—we can't leave this very second."
He stopped and pinned her with a hard look. "Why not?"
"Our horses have not yet rested and—"
"I shall have your things transferred to my carriage. My horses are rested and ready to go."
"But I don't think we should—"
The door closed behind him.
"There ye go, miss," Mr. MacEllis said, looking satisfied. "I'll pack ye a wee mite t' eat upon the road. It'll take ye three hours at least to reach the castle, maybe more in this weather."
Mary supposed there was little she could do; she just wished she didn't get such an ominous shivery feeling from the stranger. There was something about him—the way his eyes rested upon her, the manner in which he moved… He was a man's man, bold and hard, with little time for the frivolities or warmth of life. Her only reassurance was that his voice was more cultured than those of the other men here. Yet his clothes were too common for him to be the earl's social equal. Perhaps he was a landowner who lived near the earl? That was possible. Still…
She turned to the clergyman and moved closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "Excuse me, sir."
He looked up, his gaze suspicious. "Yes, miss?"
"I hate to bother you, but… the gentleman who is taking us to the castle. I—I don't know him and I was hoping you—" She could see from the man's confused expression that she was muddying the waters with her hesitation. "Sir, would you vouch for him? Will I and my maid be safe?"
He looked astounded. "God bless ye, o' course ye'll be safe! Why, he's—" The clergyman nodded his head. "Ye need have no fear. He's a good mon, he is."
Her fears calmed, Mary dipped a curtsy. "So I thought, too, but I wished to be certain. Thank you, sir."
She hurried back to the door, where Abigail was shaking out her damp cloak. Mary realized that her unease with the stranger was merely because of her own fears and worries, not because of the stranger's character.
"Well, miss, this worked out well." Abigail tugged her cloak about her shoulders. "I wish we could sleep here a mite before we pressed on. I'm powerful tired, I am."
"So am I, but at least we're not hungry. We must be grateful for what we have." As Michael was fond of saying, Excitement is never comfortable. When it comes, you just hang on and hope you don't fall off.
"Come, Abigail." Mary gripped her cloak closed and shoved open the heavy door. "I wish to make certain our trunks are transferred and not set in the snow where they might get wet." She stepped out into the windy, icy snow, which stung her face.
"Lor', miss! 'Tis horrible weather."
So it was, but one did what one could. Michael, just hold on. I will not let you down. Head down, she trudged toward the large coach that sat on the other side of the inn yard, noting with surprise that her trunks were already lashed to the back. Their rescuer was nowhere in sight, but a small, spry fellow in a heavy black wool coat opened the door and gestured for them to enter.
Mary hesitated, staring at the darkened interior for a second. Then, putting her head down against the weather, she climbed in.
Letter from Michael to his sister Mary, from a caravan heading for the Sahara Desert:
I can't thank you enough for sending the books I left beside the bed when I was visiting at Michaelmas. What would I do without you looking after me?
Mary, I know you feel that you are tied down with Mother and Father growing older, but you forget that they themselves have always been travelers. If they had the chance to go somewhere, they would take it and they would expect the same of you. Traveling is a family affliction and we all have it.
One day, when I've finished my search for the elusive Hurst Amulet, I want to take you to see pyramids so high your neck will hurt for trying to see the top, rivers so black and deep that you would believe in the River Styx, and verdant fields set among miles of desert sand as if magically transported there.
One day, Mary, we shall see all of that and more.
© 2010 Karen Hawkins
Author Info:
(from Publisher Simon & Schuster)
Karen Hawkins is the USA Today bestselling author of a dozen historical romance novels. When not stalking hot Australian actors, getting kicked out of West Virginia (thanks to the antics of her extended family), and adding to her considerable shoe collection, Karen spends her time warming her feet on her narcoleptic golden retriever while writing her next book. She lives in Florida.
Karen welcomes fan mail and can be reached at P. O. Box 149924, Orlando, FL 32814. Please visit her website at http://www.karenhawkins.com/.
My review:
I thought this book was very good! I liked the characters alot. This series is going to be very exciting! I enjoyed this book alot. It was a historical romace which is probably one of the reasons why I liked it. Also this was the second book that I have read and reviewed that Karen Hawkins had wrote so I liked the first novel I read by her so I cant wait to read the rest of her books! I recomend this book to everyone!
I would like to thank the people from gallery books for giving me a chance to read and review this novel!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Running The Books
Running The Books by Avi Steinberg
This book was fantastic! It was a memoir about a man who went to Harvard, became an obit. writer and then still at a crossroads in his life winds up becoming a prison librarian. As Avi goes through the ups and downs of working here, he meets many colorful characters the the readers will like as well. I also found myself caring about Avi journey through the novel and I think other readers will as well. I thought this book was great! It had lots of wit and humour in it and it is a very unique memoir! This genre isnt a type of book that I always get the chance to read but im glad I got to read this book! This book is wonderful and any bookworm should love this book!
I would like to thank Judy from Doubleday for allowing me to read and review this novel!
This book was fantastic! It was a memoir about a man who went to Harvard, became an obit. writer and then still at a crossroads in his life winds up becoming a prison librarian. As Avi goes through the ups and downs of working here, he meets many colorful characters the the readers will like as well. I also found myself caring about Avi journey through the novel and I think other readers will as well. I thought this book was great! It had lots of wit and humour in it and it is a very unique memoir! This genre isnt a type of book that I always get the chance to read but im glad I got to read this book! This book is wonderful and any bookworm should love this book!
I would like to thank Judy from Doubleday for allowing me to read and review this novel!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Songs of Love & Death
Today Im participating in a blog tour for the book Songs of Love & Death edited by George R.R. Martin and Gardner Dozois.
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
IN this star-studded cross-genre anthology, seventeen of the greatest modern authors of fantasy, science fiction, and romance explore the borderlands of their genres with brand-new tales of ill-fated love. From zombie-infested woods in a postapocalyptic America to faery-haunted rural fields in eighteenth- century England, from the kingdoms of high fantasy to the alien world of a galaxy-spanning empire, these are stories of lovers who must struggle against the forces of magic and fate.
Award-winning, bestselling author Neil Gaiman demonstrates why he's one of the hottest stars in literature today with "The Thing About Cassandra," a subtle but chilling story of a man who meets an old girlfriend he had never expected to see.
International blockbuster bestselling author Diana Gabaldon sends a World War II RAF pilot through a stone circle to the time of her Outlander series in "A Leaf on the Winds of All Hallows." Torn from all he knows, Jerry MacKenzie determinedly survives hardship and danger, intent on his goal of returning home to his wife and baby—no matter the cost.
New York Times bestselling author Jim Butcher presents "Love Hurts," in which Harry Dresden takes on one of his deadliest adversaries and in the process is forced to confront the secret desires of his own heart.
Just the smallest sampling promises unearthly delights, but look also for stories by New York Times bestselling romance authors Jo Beverley and Mary Jo Putney, and by such legends of the fantasy genre as Peter S. Beagle and Tanith Lee, as well as many other popular and beloved writers, including Marjorie M. Liu, Jacqueline Carey, Carrie Vaughn, and Robin Hobb. This exquisite anthology, crafted by the peerless editing team of George R. R. Martin and Gardner Dozois, is sure to leave you under its spell.
Discover the many realms of the heart with this extraordinary cast of acclaimed authors:
PETER S. BEAGLE
JO BEVERLEY
JIM BUTCHER
JACQUELINE CAREY
DIANA GABALDON
NEIL GAIMAN
YASMINE GALENORN
M.L.N. HANOVER
ROBIN HOBB
CECELIA HOLLAND
TANITH LEE
MARJORIE M. LIU
MARY JO PUTNEY
LINNEA SINCLAIR
MELINDA SNODGRASS
LISA TUTTLE
CARRIE VAUGHN
My Review:
This anthology has a very interesting mix of love stories in it I beleive. The book wasnt bad but it wasnt great. There were some stories in here that I liked alot and some that I didnt like at all. Overall though I would say the book was good and I think I would recomend it because there are many different genres of love stories in here to please everyones tases.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery books for allowing me to read and review this anthology!
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
IN this star-studded cross-genre anthology, seventeen of the greatest modern authors of fantasy, science fiction, and romance explore the borderlands of their genres with brand-new tales of ill-fated love. From zombie-infested woods in a postapocalyptic America to faery-haunted rural fields in eighteenth- century England, from the kingdoms of high fantasy to the alien world of a galaxy-spanning empire, these are stories of lovers who must struggle against the forces of magic and fate.
Award-winning, bestselling author Neil Gaiman demonstrates why he's one of the hottest stars in literature today with "The Thing About Cassandra," a subtle but chilling story of a man who meets an old girlfriend he had never expected to see.
International blockbuster bestselling author Diana Gabaldon sends a World War II RAF pilot through a stone circle to the time of her Outlander series in "A Leaf on the Winds of All Hallows." Torn from all he knows, Jerry MacKenzie determinedly survives hardship and danger, intent on his goal of returning home to his wife and baby—no matter the cost.
New York Times bestselling author Jim Butcher presents "Love Hurts," in which Harry Dresden takes on one of his deadliest adversaries and in the process is forced to confront the secret desires of his own heart.
Just the smallest sampling promises unearthly delights, but look also for stories by New York Times bestselling romance authors Jo Beverley and Mary Jo Putney, and by such legends of the fantasy genre as Peter S. Beagle and Tanith Lee, as well as many other popular and beloved writers, including Marjorie M. Liu, Jacqueline Carey, Carrie Vaughn, and Robin Hobb. This exquisite anthology, crafted by the peerless editing team of George R. R. Martin and Gardner Dozois, is sure to leave you under its spell.
Discover the many realms of the heart with this extraordinary cast of acclaimed authors:
PETER S. BEAGLE
JO BEVERLEY
JIM BUTCHER
JACQUELINE CAREY
DIANA GABALDON
NEIL GAIMAN
YASMINE GALENORN
M.L.N. HANOVER
ROBIN HOBB
CECELIA HOLLAND
TANITH LEE
MARJORIE M. LIU
MARY JO PUTNEY
LINNEA SINCLAIR
MELINDA SNODGRASS
LISA TUTTLE
CARRIE VAUGHN
My Review:
This anthology has a very interesting mix of love stories in it I beleive. The book wasnt bad but it wasnt great. There were some stories in here that I liked alot and some that I didnt like at all. Overall though I would say the book was good and I think I would recomend it because there are many different genres of love stories in here to please everyones tases.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery books for allowing me to read and review this anthology!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sin Undone
Sine Undone by Larissa Ione
This book was good it was well written and it has a creative and different plot. This was a parnormal romance so I dont read that genre that often, so I was pleased that this book was not a disappointment. I enjoyed this book alot and I think any person who enjoys romance novels would. I would recomend this book highly!
I thought this would be fun to include in my review as well Five Fun Facts about the book! (from the publisher Grand Central Publishing and author Larissa Ione)
1. Snow is prominent in Sin Undone, and it’s no coincidence that I love snow. The freak snowstorm that takes place in a few scenes is based on my military time spent in Montana, where I experienced a freak snowstorm on the 4th of July, just two days after 70 degree temperatures.
2. In another snow scene, skiing is the focus… one of my favorite pastimes.
3. Though Sin and her brother, Lore, are both half-breeds who have no personal symbol on their throats the way their purebred brothers do, Sin does have a tattoo on the back of her neck. And yes, she put it there for a reason…
4. The “gun safe escape scene” comes right out of the book of my life. I actually knew — okay, went on one date with — a guy who had done the same thing Con did. Never know when you need to make a quick escape, apparently…
5. Sin Undone sets up the spinoff series coming in March, introducing both the villain and the hero of the first book, Eternal Rider. I had a lot of fun taking Sin, who Eidolon has referred to as basically “chaos on legs,” and making sure the word “chaos” applies to her in every way. Seeing how she sets of a series of events that could lead to the end of the world, I think Eidolon had it right!
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for giving me the oppurtunity to read and review this novel!
This book was good it was well written and it has a creative and different plot. This was a parnormal romance so I dont read that genre that often, so I was pleased that this book was not a disappointment. I enjoyed this book alot and I think any person who enjoys romance novels would. I would recomend this book highly!
I thought this would be fun to include in my review as well Five Fun Facts about the book! (from the publisher Grand Central Publishing and author Larissa Ione)
1. Snow is prominent in Sin Undone, and it’s no coincidence that I love snow. The freak snowstorm that takes place in a few scenes is based on my military time spent in Montana, where I experienced a freak snowstorm on the 4th of July, just two days after 70 degree temperatures.
2. In another snow scene, skiing is the focus… one of my favorite pastimes.
3. Though Sin and her brother, Lore, are both half-breeds who have no personal symbol on their throats the way their purebred brothers do, Sin does have a tattoo on the back of her neck. And yes, she put it there for a reason…
4. The “gun safe escape scene” comes right out of the book of my life. I actually knew — okay, went on one date with — a guy who had done the same thing Con did. Never know when you need to make a quick escape, apparently…
5. Sin Undone sets up the spinoff series coming in March, introducing both the villain and the hero of the first book, Eternal Rider. I had a lot of fun taking Sin, who Eidolon has referred to as basically “chaos on legs,” and making sure the word “chaos” applies to her in every way. Seeing how she sets of a series of events that could lead to the end of the world, I think Eidolon had it right!
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for giving me the oppurtunity to read and review this novel!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Two Lethal Lies
Two Lethal Lies by Annie Solomon
Book Info:
(from the Publisher Grand Central Publishing)
A love to die for... On the run since his daughter was born, Mitch Turner has concealed a truth so dangerous, its discovery could jeopardize both their lives. But when a series of shocking murders hits their newfound home, the trail leads straight to Mitch. With the police out for blood and his daughter ripped from his arms, he has nowhere to turn--until a beautiful stranger offers her help. Neesy Brown has made mistakes in her life, yet she refuses to believe this mysterious man is a killer. There's a strength in his broad shoulders that draws her to him and a weariness in his eyes that she longs to ease.
Author Info:
(from the Publisher Grand Central Publishing)
A native New Yorker, RITA-winning author Annie Solomon has been dreaming up stories since she was ten. After a twelve-year career in advertising, where she rose to Vice President and Head Writer at a mid-size agency, she abandoned the air conditioners, furnaces and heat pumps of her professional life for her first love—romance. An avid knitter, she now lives in Nashville with her husband and daughter.
My Review:
I really didnt like this book that much. Solomon is a good writer but I dont know I guess I just couldnt get into this book. I wanted to read it because it was a romantic supense novel which was a different genre for me to read but like I said I didnt enjoy it. I wouldnt recomend this book.
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for letting me read and review this book!
Book Info:
(from the Publisher Grand Central Publishing)
A love to die for... On the run since his daughter was born, Mitch Turner has concealed a truth so dangerous, its discovery could jeopardize both their lives. But when a series of shocking murders hits their newfound home, the trail leads straight to Mitch. With the police out for blood and his daughter ripped from his arms, he has nowhere to turn--until a beautiful stranger offers her help. Neesy Brown has made mistakes in her life, yet she refuses to believe this mysterious man is a killer. There's a strength in his broad shoulders that draws her to him and a weariness in his eyes that she longs to ease.
Author Info:
(from the Publisher Grand Central Publishing)
A native New Yorker, RITA-winning author Annie Solomon has been dreaming up stories since she was ten. After a twelve-year career in advertising, where she rose to Vice President and Head Writer at a mid-size agency, she abandoned the air conditioners, furnaces and heat pumps of her professional life for her first love—romance. An avid knitter, she now lives in Nashville with her husband and daughter.
My Review:
I really didnt like this book that much. Solomon is a good writer but I dont know I guess I just couldnt get into this book. I wanted to read it because it was a romantic supense novel which was a different genre for me to read but like I said I didnt enjoy it. I wouldnt recomend this book.
I would like to thank Anna from Hachette for letting me read and review this book!
Prisoners in the Palace
Prisoners in the Palace: a Novel of Intrigue and Romance by Michaela MacColl
I really like this book! I thought it was well written and I thought the titles of each of the chapters were cute. I thought this was an enjoyable Young Adult Historical Fiction novel it was interesting and I really cared about the characters. I thought the cover was really cool too and I liked the newspaper style that was used in this book as well. I would recomend this book!
I would like to thank Laura from Chronicle Books for letting me read and review this book!
I really like this book! I thought it was well written and I thought the titles of each of the chapters were cute. I thought this was an enjoyable Young Adult Historical Fiction novel it was interesting and I really cared about the characters. I thought the cover was really cool too and I liked the newspaper style that was used in this book as well. I would recomend this book!
I would like to thank Laura from Chronicle Books for letting me read and review this book!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Into the Beautiful North
Into the Beautiful North by Luis Alberto Urrea
I was really dissapointed in this book! I thought it would be a great and enjoyable read, Instead I found myself bored with this book. I couldnt relate to it which I not sure if this was because its about people form another culture that I dont know much about (Mexican Culture) but I couldnt relate like I said. I didnt like any of the characters either. The only thing I liked about this book was the cover. I would not recomend this book.
I would like to thank Valerie from Hachette book Group for giving the oppurtunity to read and review this book!
I was really dissapointed in this book! I thought it would be a great and enjoyable read, Instead I found myself bored with this book. I couldnt relate to it which I not sure if this was because its about people form another culture that I dont know much about (Mexican Culture) but I couldnt relate like I said. I didnt like any of the characters either. The only thing I liked about this book was the cover. I would not recomend this book.
I would like to thank Valerie from Hachette book Group for giving the oppurtunity to read and review this book!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Lipstick in Afghanistan
Today Im participating in a blog tour for the book Lipstick in Afghanistan by Roberta Gately.
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
Roberta Gately's lyrical and authentic debut novel—inspired by her own experiences as a nurse in third world war zones—is one woman's moving story of offering help and finding hope in the last place she expected.
Gripped by haunting magazine images of starving refugees, Elsa has dreamed of becoming a nurse since she was a teenager. Of leaving her humble working-class Boston neighborhood to help people whose lives are far more difficult than her own. No one in her family has ever escaped poverty, but Elsa has a secret weapon: a tube of lipstick she found in her older sister's bureau. Wearing it never fails to raise her spirits and cement her determination. With lipstick on, she can do anything—even travel alone to war-torn Afghanistan in the wake of 9/11.
But violent nights as an ER nurse in South Boston could not prepare Elsa for the devastation she witnesses at the small medical clinic she runs in Bamiyan. As she struggles to prove herself to the Afghan doctors and local villagers, she begins a forbidden romance with her only confidant, a charming Special Forces soldier. Then, a tube of lipstick she finds in the aftermath of a tragic bus bombing leads her to another life-changing friendship. In her neighbor Parween, Elsa finds a kindred spirit, fiery and generous. Together, the two women risk their lives to save friends and family from the worst excesses of the Taliban. But when the war waging around them threatens their own survival, Elsa discovers her only hope is to unveil the warrior within. Roberta Gately's raw, intimate novel is an unforgettable tribute to the power of friendship and a poignant reminder of the tragic cost of war.
Author Info:
(from the Publisher Simon & Schuster)
A nurse, humanitarian aid worker, and writer, Roberta Gately has served in third-world war zones ranging from Africa to Afghanistan. She has written extensively on the subject of refugees for the Journal of Emergency Nursing, as well as a series of articles for the BBC Worlds News Online. She speaks regularly on the plight of the world's refugees and displaced.
My Review:
This book was ok, when I started reading it I found it interesting but as the novel progressed I lost intrest and got bored with it. I did not connect with the characters at all. I thought the writting was ok and it might be a book for someone else but it wasnt a book for me and I would not read it again.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery Books for giving me the oppurtunity to read and review this book!
Book Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
Roberta Gately's lyrical and authentic debut novel—inspired by her own experiences as a nurse in third world war zones—is one woman's moving story of offering help and finding hope in the last place she expected.
Gripped by haunting magazine images of starving refugees, Elsa has dreamed of becoming a nurse since she was a teenager. Of leaving her humble working-class Boston neighborhood to help people whose lives are far more difficult than her own. No one in her family has ever escaped poverty, but Elsa has a secret weapon: a tube of lipstick she found in her older sister's bureau. Wearing it never fails to raise her spirits and cement her determination. With lipstick on, she can do anything—even travel alone to war-torn Afghanistan in the wake of 9/11.
But violent nights as an ER nurse in South Boston could not prepare Elsa for the devastation she witnesses at the small medical clinic she runs in Bamiyan. As she struggles to prove herself to the Afghan doctors and local villagers, she begins a forbidden romance with her only confidant, a charming Special Forces soldier. Then, a tube of lipstick she finds in the aftermath of a tragic bus bombing leads her to another life-changing friendship. In her neighbor Parween, Elsa finds a kindred spirit, fiery and generous. Together, the two women risk their lives to save friends and family from the worst excesses of the Taliban. But when the war waging around them threatens their own survival, Elsa discovers her only hope is to unveil the warrior within. Roberta Gately's raw, intimate novel is an unforgettable tribute to the power of friendship and a poignant reminder of the tragic cost of war.
Author Info:
(from the Publisher Simon & Schuster)
A nurse, humanitarian aid worker, and writer, Roberta Gately has served in third-world war zones ranging from Africa to Afghanistan. She has written extensively on the subject of refugees for the Journal of Emergency Nursing, as well as a series of articles for the BBC Worlds News Online. She speaks regularly on the plight of the world's refugees and displaced.
My Review:
This book was ok, when I started reading it I found it interesting but as the novel progressed I lost intrest and got bored with it. I did not connect with the characters at all. I thought the writting was ok and it might be a book for someone else but it wasnt a book for me and I would not read it again.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery Books for giving me the oppurtunity to read and review this book!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Love Goddess' Cooking School
Today Im participating in a blog tour for the book The Love Goddess' Cooking School by Melissa Senate.
Book Info:
(from publisher Simon & Schuster)
Camilla's Cucinotta: Italian Cooking Classes. Fresh take-home pastas & sauces dailyBenvenuti! (Welcome!)
Holly Maguire's grandmother Camilla was the Love Goddess of Blue Crab Island, Maine—a Milanese fortune-teller who could predict the right man for you, and whose Italian cooking was rumored to save marriages. Holly has been waiting years for her unlikely fortune: her true love will like sa cordula, an unappetizing old-world delicacy. But Holly can't make a decent marinara sauce, let alone sa cordula. Maybe that's why the man she hopes to marry breaks her heart. So when Holly inherits Camilla's Cucinotta, she's determined to forget about fortunes and love and become an Italian cooking teacher worthy of her grandmother's legacy.
But Holly's four students are seeking much more than how to make Camilla's chicken alla Milanese. Simon, a single father, hopes to cook his way back into his daughter's heart. Juliet, Holly's childhood friend, hides a painful secret. Tamara, a serial dater, can't find the love she longs for. And twelve-year-old Mia thinks learning to cook will stop her dad, Liam, from marrying his phony lasagna-queen girlfriend. As the class gathers each week, adding Camilla's essential ingredients of wishes and memories in every pot and pan, unexpected friendships and romances are formed—and tested. Especially when Holly falls hard for Liam . . . and learns a thing or two about finding her own recipe for happiness.
Chapter 1
One
According to Holly Maguire's late grandmother, revered on Blue Crab Island, Maine, for her fortune-telling as much as her cooking, the great love of Holly's life would be one of the few people on earth to like sa cordula, an Italian delicacy. It was made of lamb intestines and stewed with onions, tomatoes, and peas in a savory butter sauce that did little to hide the fact that it looked exactly like what it was.
"So I'll know if someone is 'the one' if he likes stewed lamb guts?" Holly had asked repeatedly over the years. "That's it? That's my entire fortune?" She'd kept hoping her grandmother would say, Just kidding! Of course that's not it, bella. Your true fortune is this: you will be very happy.
Holly would be satisfied with that.
Not that Camilla Constantina would ever say just kidding. Or kid, for that matter.
"That is it," was her grandmother's response, every time, her gleaming black eyes giving nothing away. "The stones have spoken."
A month ago, her hand trembling, her heart hoping, Holly had set a plate of sa cordula in front of John Reardon, the man she loved. As she'd been living in California, thousands of miles away from her grandmother in an attic apartment with no oven, she'd paid the Italian butcher's eighty-six-year-old great-aunt to prepare the dish. Holly and John had been a couple for almost two years. She was practically a stepmother to his four-year-old daughter Lizzie. And more than anything, Holly wanted to become part of their family.
Why had her grandmother saddled her with this fortune? Who could possibly like sa cordula? Holly had tasted it three times before, and it was so . . . slimily awful that even Holly's grandfather, who, per legend, ate even more reviled "delicacies," had hated it. But the love of Camilla's life wasn't supposed to like it. Her Great Love was to have blond hair and blue eyes, and when in 1957 twenty-two-year-old single Camilla had turned down another eligible, dark-eyed, dark-haired man in her small village near Milan, everyone worried she was crazy like her spinster aunt Marcella, who muttered in a back room. But some months later, the dashing Armando Constantina, with his butter-colored hair and Adriatic blue eyes, had come to town and swept her off her feet all the way to America, and Camilla's reputation as a fortune-teller had been restored.
Holly's father, Bud Maguire, had taken one bite of sa cordula during Thanksgiving dinner in 1982 and forever refused to taste anything his mother-in-law cooked unless he recognized it and knew what it was. Bud liked plain old spaghetti doused with jarred Ragu and a piece of garlic bread, which was just fine with Holly's mother, Luciana Maguire, who went by Lucy and had no interest in her heritage or cooking. Or fortune-telling. Especially because Camilla Constantina's supposed source of knowledge was a trio of small, smooth stones she'd chosen from the banks of the Po River as a three-year-old. "I'd sooner believe in a crystal ball from the clearance aisle in Walmart," Holly's mother had often said with her usual disdain.
It had taken Camilla Constantina until Holly was sixteen to tell her granddaughter her fortune. As an adolescent, Holly had asked her grandmother over and over to sit her down with the stones and tell Holly what she was desperate to know—would Mike Overstill ever ask her out? Would she do okay on the American history test worth 85 percent of her final grade? Would her mother ever stop being such a killjoy? Camilla would just take both her hands and tell her all would be well. But finally, on Holly's sixteenth birthday, when Mike Overstill had not shown up at six thirty to escort her to the junior prom (he had called twenty minutes later to say, "Sorry, um, I forgot I asked someone else"), her grandmother, who was visiting, reached for her white satin pouch (out of eyesight of Holly's mother, of course) and said si, it was time. Camilla took the three smooth stones from the pouch and closed her hands around them. As Holly held her breath in anticipation, her grandmother held Holly's hand with her free one and closed her eyes for a good half minute.
And the long-awaited revelation was that the great love of Holly's life would like lamb intestines tossed with peas. In butter sauce.
This, from a woman who'd rightly foretold the fates of hundreds of year-rounders and summer tourists on Blue Crab Island and the nearby mainland towns, who'd drive over the bridge to pay twenty-five dollars to sit in the breakfast nook of Camilla Constantina's famed kitchen and have their fortunes told.
Holly had said she was sure there was something else. Perhaps her grandmother could close her eyes a bit longer? Or just do it all over again? Camilla would only say that sometimes the fortune could not be understood readily, that it held hidden meaning. To the day Camilla Constantina had died, just two weeks ago, the fortune had not changed. Nor had the meaning become clear. Holly had been taking it literally from the first time she'd fallen in love. At nineteen. Then again at twenty-four. And yet again two years ago, at twenty-eight, when she fell in love with John Reardon.
Because she couldn't, wouldn't serve lamb intestines to a guy she was crazy about, she'd wait until she knew she was losing him, knew from the way he stopped holding her gaze, started being impatient, started being unavailable. And unkind.
And so to console herself that this man was not her Great Love, she would serve him the sa cordula as an appetizer—a small portion so as not to tip the scales in her favor (who would like a big portion of sheep guts?). And each time, bittersweet success. The love she was losing was not her Great Love. He was just a guy who didn't like sa cordula—and didn't love her. It made it easier when he broke up with her.
This time, though, this love, was different. Despite John's pulling away. Despite his impatience. Despite the way he stopped calling her at midnight to tell her he loved her and wish her sweet dreams. She loved John Reardon. She wanted to marry John Reardon, this man she'd fallen for on a solo vacation to San Francisco, where she'd gone to get over a lesser love. This man she'd stayed for, uprooting herself from Boston, hoping to finally find her . . . destiny, what she was meant to do with her life. And she thought she'd found it in this mini family of two. She wanted to spend the rest of her life baking cookies with Lizzie every other weekend during the child's visitation with her father; she wanted to shampoo those golden curls, push her on swings, and watch her grow. Everyone, namely her mother, had told her she was crazy for dating a newly divorced man with a kid. But Holly adored Lizzie, loved almost-stepmotherhood. And she loved John enough to wait. Though the past few months, he'd stopped referring to "some day" altogether.
And the past few weeks, he was more distant than ever. They always got together on Wednesday nights, so there Holly was, changing Lizzie into her favorite Curious George pajamas after her bath while John avoided Holly. He was on his cell phone (first with his brother, then with his boss), texting a client, emailing a file, looking for Lizze's favorite Hello Kitty cup. He was everywhere but next to Holly.
She sat on the brown leather sofa in the living room, Lizzie cross-legged next to her as Holly combed her long, damp, honey-colored curls and sang the ABC song. Lizzie knew all her letters except for LMNOP, which she combined into "ellopy." Usually when Holly gave Lizzie her bath before dinner and brushed out her beautiful hair and sang silly nursery rhymes that made Lizzie giggle or they got to the "ellopy," John would stand there with that expression, the one that always assured Holly he loved her, that he was deeply touched at how close she and his daughter were. That one day, some day, maybe soon, he would ask her to marry him. And that this wish she walked around with, slept with every night and woke up with every morning would come true.
This wasn't a fairy tale, though, and Holly knew in her heart that John wasn't going to propose. Not in the near future and probably not ever. She knew this with 95 percent certainty, even though she wasn't psychic like her grandmother.
But how was she supposed to give up on John? Give up on what she wanted so badly? To marry this man, be this child's stepmother, and start a new life here in this little pale blue house on a San Francisco hill? Yes, things were strained between her and John, though she wasn't sure why. But that didn't mean things could not be unstrained. A long-term relationship went through lulls. This was a lull, perhaps.
There was only one way to know.
And so, when Lizzie was occupied with her coloring book and a new pack of Crayolas, Holly went heavy-hearted into the kitchen to make the dinner she'd promised Lizzie, cheeseburgers in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head (the only food she cooked really well) and to heat up the Great Love test. With the cheeseburgers in front of them all, a side of linguini for Lizzie in butter sauce with peas (which looked a bit like the sa cordula) and two small plates of sa cordula before her and John, Holly sat down beside this pair she loved so much—and waited.
If John liked the sa cordula, she could relax, accept what he said, that he was just "tired, distracted by work." Etcetera, etcetera. He was her Great Love. If he didn't like it, then what? No, she wouldn't let herself go there. Her breath caught somewhere in her body as John placed his napkin on his lap and picked up his fork, eyeing the sa cordula. In one moment, everything between them would change because of hope or lack thereof, and yet John looked exactly the same as he always did, sitting there at the dinner table in front of the bay window, so handsome, his thick sandy-blond hair hand-swept back from his face, the slight crinkles at the edges of his hazel eyes, the chiseled jawline with its slight darkening of five o'clock shadow.
Holly sucked in a quiet breath and took the quickest bite, keeping her expression neutral—despite the gritty, slimy texture of the sa cordula. The intestines of a lamb did not taste "just like chicken." Did not taste like anything but what it looked like. Savory butter sauce or not. And as if the peas could help.
John forked a bite and stared at it for a moment. "What is this again?" he asked.
"An old-world Italian dish my nonna sometimes makes," Holly said, trying not to stare at his fork.
Lizzie twirled her fork in her linguini the way Holly had taught her. "I wish I had a nonna."
"You do, pumpkin," Holly said, treasuring the idea of Camilla Constantina showing Lizzie how to roll out pasta with a tiny rolling pin. "You have two. Your mom's mother and your dad's mother."
"But if you and Daddy get married, then I'll have a nonna Holly too."
Out of the mouths of babes. Holly smiled. John stiffened. Lizzie twirled her linguini.
And then, as if in slow motion, John slid the fork of lamb intestines, topped with one pea, into his mouth. He paled a bit, his entire face contorting. He spit it out into his napkin. "I'm sorry, Holly, but this is the most disgusting thing I ever ate. No offense to your grandmother."
Or me, she thought, her heart breaking.
Maybe her grandmother was wrong.
But forty minutes later, after Holly had helped Lizzie brush her teeth, pulled the comforter up over her chest, read half of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" and then kissed the sleeping girl's green-apple-scented head, John had come right out and said it. That he was sorry, it-wasn't-her-it-was-him, that despite not meaning to, he'd fallen in love with his administrative assistant, and she had a young son, so they really understood each other. And no, he didn't think it was a good idea if Holly continued to see Lizzie, even once a month for a trip to the playground or for ice cream. "She's four, Holl. She'll forget about you in a couple of weeks. Let's not complicate anything, okay?"
Holly wanted to complicate things. She wanted to complicate this whole breakup. And so she pleaded her case, reminded him of their two years together, of Lizzie's attachment to her, of the plans they'd made for the future. Which, Holly had had to concede, had dwindled to maybe going to the San Francisco Zoo the weekend after next. And when he just stood there, not saying anything and taking a sideways glance at the clock, she realized he was waiting for her to leave so he could call his new girlfriend and tell her he'd finally done it, he'd dumped Holly.
As if in slow motion, Holly went into the bathroom, afraid to look at him, afraid to look at anything, lest she start screaming like a lunatic. She closed the door and slid down against the back of it, covering her face with her hands as she cried. She sucked in a deep breath, then forced herself up to splash water on her face. She looked in the mirror over the sink, at the dark brown eyes, the dark brown hair, and the fair skin, so like her grandmother's, and told herself, He's not your great love. He's not meant to be. It was little consolation.
And what if he had liked the sa cordula? Then what? How could she fight for a great love with someone who'd said he didn't love her as easily as he'd said the sa cordula was disgusting?
After a gentle yet impatient, "Holly, you can't stay in there all night," she came out of the bathroom. He handed her a shopping bag of her possessions he'd clearly packed earlier that day in anticipation of dumping her—a few articles of clothing and her toothbrush, and again said he was sorry, that he never wanted to hurt her. And then she stood in the doorway of Lizzie's room, watching the girl's slight body rise and fall with each sleeping breath.
"Good-bye, sweet girl," she whispered. "I'll bet if I'd given you a taste of the sa cordula, you would have asked for another."
© 2010 melissa senate
Author Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
Melissa Senate is the author of eight novels, including the bestselling See Jane Date, which was made into an ABC Family TV movie and has sold over 200,000 copies worldwide. She's published short pieces in Everything I've Always Wanted to Know About Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume, It's a Wonderful Lie, Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, and American Girls About Town. A former romance and young adult editor from New York, she now lives on the southern coast of Maine with her son.
My Review:
This book was just ok for me. I got bored with it and just didnt like it at some parts. Its a good story and it would be perfect for any "foodie" but I just didnt enjoy. I would recomend this book to any foodie.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery for letting me read and review this novel!
Book Info:
(from publisher Simon & Schuster)
Camilla's Cucinotta: Italian Cooking Classes. Fresh take-home pastas & sauces dailyBenvenuti! (Welcome!)
Holly Maguire's grandmother Camilla was the Love Goddess of Blue Crab Island, Maine—a Milanese fortune-teller who could predict the right man for you, and whose Italian cooking was rumored to save marriages. Holly has been waiting years for her unlikely fortune: her true love will like sa cordula, an unappetizing old-world delicacy. But Holly can't make a decent marinara sauce, let alone sa cordula. Maybe that's why the man she hopes to marry breaks her heart. So when Holly inherits Camilla's Cucinotta, she's determined to forget about fortunes and love and become an Italian cooking teacher worthy of her grandmother's legacy.
But Holly's four students are seeking much more than how to make Camilla's chicken alla Milanese. Simon, a single father, hopes to cook his way back into his daughter's heart. Juliet, Holly's childhood friend, hides a painful secret. Tamara, a serial dater, can't find the love she longs for. And twelve-year-old Mia thinks learning to cook will stop her dad, Liam, from marrying his phony lasagna-queen girlfriend. As the class gathers each week, adding Camilla's essential ingredients of wishes and memories in every pot and pan, unexpected friendships and romances are formed—and tested. Especially when Holly falls hard for Liam . . . and learns a thing or two about finding her own recipe for happiness.
Chapter 1
One
According to Holly Maguire's late grandmother, revered on Blue Crab Island, Maine, for her fortune-telling as much as her cooking, the great love of Holly's life would be one of the few people on earth to like sa cordula, an Italian delicacy. It was made of lamb intestines and stewed with onions, tomatoes, and peas in a savory butter sauce that did little to hide the fact that it looked exactly like what it was.
"So I'll know if someone is 'the one' if he likes stewed lamb guts?" Holly had asked repeatedly over the years. "That's it? That's my entire fortune?" She'd kept hoping her grandmother would say, Just kidding! Of course that's not it, bella. Your true fortune is this: you will be very happy.
Holly would be satisfied with that.
Not that Camilla Constantina would ever say just kidding. Or kid, for that matter.
"That is it," was her grandmother's response, every time, her gleaming black eyes giving nothing away. "The stones have spoken."
A month ago, her hand trembling, her heart hoping, Holly had set a plate of sa cordula in front of John Reardon, the man she loved. As she'd been living in California, thousands of miles away from her grandmother in an attic apartment with no oven, she'd paid the Italian butcher's eighty-six-year-old great-aunt to prepare the dish. Holly and John had been a couple for almost two years. She was practically a stepmother to his four-year-old daughter Lizzie. And more than anything, Holly wanted to become part of their family.
Why had her grandmother saddled her with this fortune? Who could possibly like sa cordula? Holly had tasted it three times before, and it was so . . . slimily awful that even Holly's grandfather, who, per legend, ate even more reviled "delicacies," had hated it. But the love of Camilla's life wasn't supposed to like it. Her Great Love was to have blond hair and blue eyes, and when in 1957 twenty-two-year-old single Camilla had turned down another eligible, dark-eyed, dark-haired man in her small village near Milan, everyone worried she was crazy like her spinster aunt Marcella, who muttered in a back room. But some months later, the dashing Armando Constantina, with his butter-colored hair and Adriatic blue eyes, had come to town and swept her off her feet all the way to America, and Camilla's reputation as a fortune-teller had been restored.
Holly's father, Bud Maguire, had taken one bite of sa cordula during Thanksgiving dinner in 1982 and forever refused to taste anything his mother-in-law cooked unless he recognized it and knew what it was. Bud liked plain old spaghetti doused with jarred Ragu and a piece of garlic bread, which was just fine with Holly's mother, Luciana Maguire, who went by Lucy and had no interest in her heritage or cooking. Or fortune-telling. Especially because Camilla Constantina's supposed source of knowledge was a trio of small, smooth stones she'd chosen from the banks of the Po River as a three-year-old. "I'd sooner believe in a crystal ball from the clearance aisle in Walmart," Holly's mother had often said with her usual disdain.
It had taken Camilla Constantina until Holly was sixteen to tell her granddaughter her fortune. As an adolescent, Holly had asked her grandmother over and over to sit her down with the stones and tell Holly what she was desperate to know—would Mike Overstill ever ask her out? Would she do okay on the American history test worth 85 percent of her final grade? Would her mother ever stop being such a killjoy? Camilla would just take both her hands and tell her all would be well. But finally, on Holly's sixteenth birthday, when Mike Overstill had not shown up at six thirty to escort her to the junior prom (he had called twenty minutes later to say, "Sorry, um, I forgot I asked someone else"), her grandmother, who was visiting, reached for her white satin pouch (out of eyesight of Holly's mother, of course) and said si, it was time. Camilla took the three smooth stones from the pouch and closed her hands around them. As Holly held her breath in anticipation, her grandmother held Holly's hand with her free one and closed her eyes for a good half minute.
And the long-awaited revelation was that the great love of Holly's life would like lamb intestines tossed with peas. In butter sauce.
This, from a woman who'd rightly foretold the fates of hundreds of year-rounders and summer tourists on Blue Crab Island and the nearby mainland towns, who'd drive over the bridge to pay twenty-five dollars to sit in the breakfast nook of Camilla Constantina's famed kitchen and have their fortunes told.
Holly had said she was sure there was something else. Perhaps her grandmother could close her eyes a bit longer? Or just do it all over again? Camilla would only say that sometimes the fortune could not be understood readily, that it held hidden meaning. To the day Camilla Constantina had died, just two weeks ago, the fortune had not changed. Nor had the meaning become clear. Holly had been taking it literally from the first time she'd fallen in love. At nineteen. Then again at twenty-four. And yet again two years ago, at twenty-eight, when she fell in love with John Reardon.
Because she couldn't, wouldn't serve lamb intestines to a guy she was crazy about, she'd wait until she knew she was losing him, knew from the way he stopped holding her gaze, started being impatient, started being unavailable. And unkind.
And so to console herself that this man was not her Great Love, she would serve him the sa cordula as an appetizer—a small portion so as not to tip the scales in her favor (who would like a big portion of sheep guts?). And each time, bittersweet success. The love she was losing was not her Great Love. He was just a guy who didn't like sa cordula—and didn't love her. It made it easier when he broke up with her.
This time, though, this love, was different. Despite John's pulling away. Despite his impatience. Despite the way he stopped calling her at midnight to tell her he loved her and wish her sweet dreams. She loved John Reardon. She wanted to marry John Reardon, this man she'd fallen for on a solo vacation to San Francisco, where she'd gone to get over a lesser love. This man she'd stayed for, uprooting herself from Boston, hoping to finally find her . . . destiny, what she was meant to do with her life. And she thought she'd found it in this mini family of two. She wanted to spend the rest of her life baking cookies with Lizzie every other weekend during the child's visitation with her father; she wanted to shampoo those golden curls, push her on swings, and watch her grow. Everyone, namely her mother, had told her she was crazy for dating a newly divorced man with a kid. But Holly adored Lizzie, loved almost-stepmotherhood. And she loved John enough to wait. Though the past few months, he'd stopped referring to "some day" altogether.
And the past few weeks, he was more distant than ever. They always got together on Wednesday nights, so there Holly was, changing Lizzie into her favorite Curious George pajamas after her bath while John avoided Holly. He was on his cell phone (first with his brother, then with his boss), texting a client, emailing a file, looking for Lizze's favorite Hello Kitty cup. He was everywhere but next to Holly.
She sat on the brown leather sofa in the living room, Lizzie cross-legged next to her as Holly combed her long, damp, honey-colored curls and sang the ABC song. Lizzie knew all her letters except for LMNOP, which she combined into "ellopy." Usually when Holly gave Lizzie her bath before dinner and brushed out her beautiful hair and sang silly nursery rhymes that made Lizzie giggle or they got to the "ellopy," John would stand there with that expression, the one that always assured Holly he loved her, that he was deeply touched at how close she and his daughter were. That one day, some day, maybe soon, he would ask her to marry him. And that this wish she walked around with, slept with every night and woke up with every morning would come true.
This wasn't a fairy tale, though, and Holly knew in her heart that John wasn't going to propose. Not in the near future and probably not ever. She knew this with 95 percent certainty, even though she wasn't psychic like her grandmother.
But how was she supposed to give up on John? Give up on what she wanted so badly? To marry this man, be this child's stepmother, and start a new life here in this little pale blue house on a San Francisco hill? Yes, things were strained between her and John, though she wasn't sure why. But that didn't mean things could not be unstrained. A long-term relationship went through lulls. This was a lull, perhaps.
There was only one way to know.
And so, when Lizzie was occupied with her coloring book and a new pack of Crayolas, Holly went heavy-hearted into the kitchen to make the dinner she'd promised Lizzie, cheeseburgers in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head (the only food she cooked really well) and to heat up the Great Love test. With the cheeseburgers in front of them all, a side of linguini for Lizzie in butter sauce with peas (which looked a bit like the sa cordula) and two small plates of sa cordula before her and John, Holly sat down beside this pair she loved so much—and waited.
If John liked the sa cordula, she could relax, accept what he said, that he was just "tired, distracted by work." Etcetera, etcetera. He was her Great Love. If he didn't like it, then what? No, she wouldn't let herself go there. Her breath caught somewhere in her body as John placed his napkin on his lap and picked up his fork, eyeing the sa cordula. In one moment, everything between them would change because of hope or lack thereof, and yet John looked exactly the same as he always did, sitting there at the dinner table in front of the bay window, so handsome, his thick sandy-blond hair hand-swept back from his face, the slight crinkles at the edges of his hazel eyes, the chiseled jawline with its slight darkening of five o'clock shadow.
Holly sucked in a quiet breath and took the quickest bite, keeping her expression neutral—despite the gritty, slimy texture of the sa cordula. The intestines of a lamb did not taste "just like chicken." Did not taste like anything but what it looked like. Savory butter sauce or not. And as if the peas could help.
John forked a bite and stared at it for a moment. "What is this again?" he asked.
"An old-world Italian dish my nonna sometimes makes," Holly said, trying not to stare at his fork.
Lizzie twirled her fork in her linguini the way Holly had taught her. "I wish I had a nonna."
"You do, pumpkin," Holly said, treasuring the idea of Camilla Constantina showing Lizzie how to roll out pasta with a tiny rolling pin. "You have two. Your mom's mother and your dad's mother."
"But if you and Daddy get married, then I'll have a nonna Holly too."
Out of the mouths of babes. Holly smiled. John stiffened. Lizzie twirled her linguini.
And then, as if in slow motion, John slid the fork of lamb intestines, topped with one pea, into his mouth. He paled a bit, his entire face contorting. He spit it out into his napkin. "I'm sorry, Holly, but this is the most disgusting thing I ever ate. No offense to your grandmother."
Or me, she thought, her heart breaking.
Maybe her grandmother was wrong.
But forty minutes later, after Holly had helped Lizzie brush her teeth, pulled the comforter up over her chest, read half of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" and then kissed the sleeping girl's green-apple-scented head, John had come right out and said it. That he was sorry, it-wasn't-her-it-was-him, that despite not meaning to, he'd fallen in love with his administrative assistant, and she had a young son, so they really understood each other. And no, he didn't think it was a good idea if Holly continued to see Lizzie, even once a month for a trip to the playground or for ice cream. "She's four, Holl. She'll forget about you in a couple of weeks. Let's not complicate anything, okay?"
Holly wanted to complicate things. She wanted to complicate this whole breakup. And so she pleaded her case, reminded him of their two years together, of Lizzie's attachment to her, of the plans they'd made for the future. Which, Holly had had to concede, had dwindled to maybe going to the San Francisco Zoo the weekend after next. And when he just stood there, not saying anything and taking a sideways glance at the clock, she realized he was waiting for her to leave so he could call his new girlfriend and tell her he'd finally done it, he'd dumped Holly.
As if in slow motion, Holly went into the bathroom, afraid to look at him, afraid to look at anything, lest she start screaming like a lunatic. She closed the door and slid down against the back of it, covering her face with her hands as she cried. She sucked in a deep breath, then forced herself up to splash water on her face. She looked in the mirror over the sink, at the dark brown eyes, the dark brown hair, and the fair skin, so like her grandmother's, and told herself, He's not your great love. He's not meant to be. It was little consolation.
And what if he had liked the sa cordula? Then what? How could she fight for a great love with someone who'd said he didn't love her as easily as he'd said the sa cordula was disgusting?
After a gentle yet impatient, "Holly, you can't stay in there all night," she came out of the bathroom. He handed her a shopping bag of her possessions he'd clearly packed earlier that day in anticipation of dumping her—a few articles of clothing and her toothbrush, and again said he was sorry, that he never wanted to hurt her. And then she stood in the doorway of Lizzie's room, watching the girl's slight body rise and fall with each sleeping breath.
"Good-bye, sweet girl," she whispered. "I'll bet if I'd given you a taste of the sa cordula, you would have asked for another."
© 2010 melissa senate
Author Info:
(from the publisher Simon & Schuster)
Melissa Senate is the author of eight novels, including the bestselling See Jane Date, which was made into an ABC Family TV movie and has sold over 200,000 copies worldwide. She's published short pieces in Everything I've Always Wanted to Know About Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume, It's a Wonderful Lie, Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, and American Girls About Town. A former romance and young adult editor from New York, she now lives on the southern coast of Maine with her son.
My Review:
This book was just ok for me. I got bored with it and just didnt like it at some parts. Its a good story and it would be perfect for any "foodie" but I just didnt enjoy. I would recomend this book to any foodie.
I would like to thank the people at Gallery for letting me read and review this novel!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Winter Bloom
Today I am participating in a blog tour for the book Winter Bloom by Tara Heavey.
Book Info:
(form Publisher Simon & Schuster)
There would be tunnels of roses, beds of strawberries, fountains of overflowing herbs. And there might even be love. . . .
In the heart of bustling modern Dublin is a littered, overgrown garden of tangled weeds and a stagnant, hidden pond. Belonging to an iron-willed elderly lady named Mrs. Prendergast, who is rumored to have murdered and buried her husband there, the garden draws Eva Madigan, a young mother struggling to move on from the pain of her past. Eva is joined by Emily, a beautiful but withdrawn college dropout; Uri, an old-world immigrant; Seth, his all-too-handsome son; and occasionally even Mrs. Prendergast herself. But what drives Eva to transform the neglected urban wilderness? What makes the others want to help her? Even as Mrs. Prendergast puts the land up for sale, the thorny lives of all the gardeners are revealed and slowly start to untangle. Overgrown secrets are dug up and shared. Choices are made; a little pruning is in order. Now Eva is about to discover that every garden is a story of growth toward a final harvest....
Author Info:
(from publisher Simon & Schuster)
Book Info:
(form Publisher Simon & Schuster)
There would be tunnels of roses, beds of strawberries, fountains of overflowing herbs. And there might even be love. . . .
In the heart of bustling modern Dublin is a littered, overgrown garden of tangled weeds and a stagnant, hidden pond. Belonging to an iron-willed elderly lady named Mrs. Prendergast, who is rumored to have murdered and buried her husband there, the garden draws Eva Madigan, a young mother struggling to move on from the pain of her past. Eva is joined by Emily, a beautiful but withdrawn college dropout; Uri, an old-world immigrant; Seth, his all-too-handsome son; and occasionally even Mrs. Prendergast herself. But what drives Eva to transform the neglected urban wilderness? What makes the others want to help her? Even as Mrs. Prendergast puts the land up for sale, the thorny lives of all the gardeners are revealed and slowly start to untangle. Overgrown secrets are dug up and shared. Choices are made; a little pruning is in order. Now Eva is about to discover that every garden is a story of growth toward a final harvest....
Author Info:
(from publisher Simon & Schuster)
Tara Heavey was born in London, where she was raised until moving to Dublin at the age of 12. A former lawyer, she is currently a full-time author who lives in Dublin with her family.
My Review:
I loved this book! It was so elegantly written! I really cared about the characters and I laughed and cried while reading this book it was so good! I was amazed to find out that this was the authors first novel! I know I will be reading lots of Tara Heavey novels in the future! I would highly recomend this book!
I would like to thank the people at Gallery Books for letting me read and review this novel!
I would like to thank the people at Gallery Books for letting me read and review this novel!
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