BOOK REVIEW: Deep In My Heart by Patricia W. Fischer


 

Review by Ryder Islington, author of ULTIMATE JUSTICE, A Trey Fontaine Mystery

Oh my! This book begins with the heroine, a child, and a rattlesnake bite. What a hook!

This is one of those un-put-down-able romances. The heroine is a veterinarian, gone back to the town who supported her education to ‘do her time’, and the hero is a cowboy widower, and her high school sweetheart.

Ms. Fischer is great at characterization. These are real people, in a real small town. The gossip. The politics. The jealousies. Loved it. The romance fit right in with the lives of the characters, causing emotions to run in every direction as the histories of different characters ran into each other. The colliding histories were as important to the romance, as the romance was to those histories.

A wonderful read for lovers of romance. Set in Texas, for those who love reading Southern authors. I’d recommend it for the suspense, the romance, and the skillful way the author handles real life issues.

 

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Back Cover:   Dr. Jocelyn Promise had no long-term plans to stay in Tuscany, Texas, but she saved the daughter of Caleb Davis, her high school crush, and became a hero. Will she allow herself to fall for him again?
Widower and Air Force Veteran, Caleb Davis, never wanted to fall in love again… until he saw Jocelyn. Now someone from his past has arrived to even a score.  Can he protect his family, Jocelyn, and his heart? Things are about to get interesting in Tuscany, Texas

 

About this author

My strong desire to tell stories hit me early in life. At the young age of nine, I penned a play about Nessie from the monster’s point of view. Since then, I’ve written constantly, whether it was in a journal, diary, in my notebooks at school, or on my computer.
But I also came by story-telling naturally. My great-grandmothers and grand-parents, all had traveled extensively through the US and the world and told us all of their parents and grandparents immigrating to America and ending up in Texas.
Now factor in the numerous aunts and uncles, who were always amazing sources of information and incredible stories about everything from where exactly the tooth fairy puts all those teeth to Santa’s elf who hides in the air conditioning vents and watches us all year, to the mythological creatures that hang out under our beds, and I had a very well rounded education in how to spin a yarn.
In my adult years, I learned to be a waitress, bartender, bill collector, bank teller, Blockbuster Video clerk, and dishwasher all before I earned my degree in nursing. Then I spent the next ten years in the adult ICU’s and adult and pediatric trauma units. As if I didn’t have anything else to do, I went to massage therapy school to learn to better care for my ICU patients, many of whom suffered bed sores and back pain due to their extensive times in bed. (Yes, I’m coming up with a hero who’s a massage therapist.)
After that certification, I still didn’t think I had enough knowledge and in an attempt to educate myself right out of the general dating pool, I returned to school to earn my journalism degree. It was while I worked as a Level 1 pediatric trauma nurse, I met my husband while I worked at Children’s Medical Center of Dallas.
Now I hope to share my fiction and non-fiction story telling techniques with our children and with anyone who wants to read or hear it.

 

SHOWCASE: Hide and Seek by Amy Shojai


Hide and Seek

by Amy Shojai

on Tour June 1 – July 31, 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense/Thriller

Published by: Cool Gus Publishing

Publication Date: January 2014

Number of Pages: 254

ISBN: 978-1621251477

Purchase Links:

 

Synopsis:

A mysterious contagion will shatter countless lives unless a service dog and his trainer find a missing cat . . . in 24 hours.

A STALKER hides in plain sight.

A VICTIM faces her worst fear.

AND A DOG seeks the missing—and finds hope.

Eight years ago, animal behaviorist September Day escaped a sadistic captor who left her ashamed, terrified, and struggling with PTSD. She trusts no one—except her cat Macy and service dog Shadow.

Shadow also struggles with trust. A German Shepherd autism service dog who rescued his child partner only to lose his-boy forever, Shadow’s crippling fear of abandonment shakes his faith in humans.

They are each others’ only chance to survive the stalker’s vicious payback, but have only 24 hours to uncover the truth about Macy’s mysterious illness or pay the deadly consequences. When September learns to trust again, and a good-dog takes a chance on love, together they find hope in the midst of despair–and discover what family really means.

“Recommended for anyone who likes a ‘bite-your-nails, hold-your-breath’ kind of thriller.” — Dr. Lorie Huston, Cat Writers Association President

Read an excerpt:

HIDE AND SEEK

Prologue

Tommy Dietz grabbed the car door handle with one bloody fist, and braced his other hand against the roof, worried the carcasses in the back would buck out of the truck’s bed. Despite the precaution, his head thumped the muddy window. He glared at the driver who drove the truck like he rode a bronco, but BeeBo Benson’s full moon face sported the same toothless grin he’d worn for the past two weeks. Even BeeBo’s double chins smiled, including the rolls at the nape of his freckled neck.

The ferret thin guy in the middle snarled each time his Katy Railroad belt buckle chinked against the stick shift he straddled. Gray hair straggled from under his hat and brushed his shoulders. He had to slouch or he risked punching his head through the rust-eaten roof. Randy Felch’s snaky eyes gave Dietz the shivers even more than the freezing temperatures spitting through windows that refused to seal.

Three across the cramped seat would be a lark for high school buddies out on the town, but the men were decades beyond graduation. Dietz was in charge so Felch could either ride the hump or share the open truck bed with two carcasses, and the new Production Assistant.

Dietz stifled a laugh. Not so high-and-mighty now, was he? The man must really want the job. Vince Grady had turned green when he was told to climb into the back of the truck. Just wait till he got a load of the dump. Dietz remembered his first visit three years ago when he’d been out scouting locations. He wondered how the spit-and-polish Grady would react.

He’d hired locals for the rest of the crew. They needed the work, and didn’t blink at the SAG ultra-low pay scale, the shitty weather, or the stink. In this business, you took anything available when pickings were slim. Then the show got picked up and union fees grabbed him by the short hairs. Amateur talent screwing around and missing call times cost even more money, so he needed a Production Assistant—PA in the lingo—with more polish and bigger balls to keep the wheels greased. A go-to guy able to think on his feet, get the job done. No matter what.

If Grady wanted the PA job, he’d have to be willing to get his hands dirty, and stand up to BeeBo and his ilk. Riding in the open truck bed was illegal as hell, though here in North Texas even the cops turned a blind eye unless it was kids. This was an audition, and Grady knew it.

He had to give Grady props—he’d not blinked, but clenched his jaw and climbed right in when they collected him at his hotel. He’d been less enthusiastic after following the hunters most of the morning, tramping to hell and gone through rough country until his eyes threatened to freeze shut. Something drove the man, something more than a PA credit for piss-poor pay and worse conditions. Hell, something drove them all to work in this unforgiving business. Dietz didn’t care about anyone else’s demons as long as they let him feed his own.

Dietz craned to peer out the back to be sure the man hadn’t been tossed out the tailgate. Grady gave Dietz a thumbs-up. Probably wants to point a different finger, Dietz thought.

Grady wore the official Hog Hell blue work gloves and ski mask—dark blue background and DayGlo red star on the face—or he’d be picking his frostbit nose off the floor.

Prime time in the back woods. Dietz’s quick smile faded. Nothing about this trip was prime, not even the butchered Bambi in the back. Deer season ran November through early January, and it was always open season on hogs, so they were legal for any follow up film footage. The two deer hadn’t looked good even before BeeBo dropped them, but that’s what viewers wanted. Crocodile wrestlers, duck dynasties, and gold rush grabbers with crusty appeal and redder necks.

Nobody wanted actors anymore. Casting directors looked for “real people.” So he’d caught a clue, jumped off the thespian hamster wheel, moved to New York and reinvented himself as Tommy Dietz, Producer. He’d found his calling with a development company relatively quickly.

A movie star face didn’t hurt. Everyone these days had a little nip-and-tuck; it was part of the biz. He’d been selling his version of reality for years anyway, and always came out on top. He hit it out of the park on his third project. Hog Hell kicked off the next step with a Texas-size leap. He’d show them all, those who’d laughed at his dreams, calling him a loser. And he’d make them sorry.

The shabby pickup lurched down and back up again, and its engine growled and complained. Dietz was surprised the seat hadn’t fallen through the floor. The overgrown road the hunters called a pig path consisted of frozen ruts formed from previous tire treads. They damn well better not get stuck out here.

“Don’t worry, she’ll make it.” BeeBo talked around the stub of his unlit cigar. “This ol’ warhorse made the trip so often, she could drive herself. Ain’t that right, Felch?” BeeBo reached to downshift and Felch winced as the other man’s ham-size fist grabbed and jerked the stick between his knees.

Dietz sighed. Out the window, skeletal trees clawed the pregnant sky. Weird flocks of blackbirds moved in undulating clouds, exploding from one naked tree after another to clothe the next with feathered leaves. Spooky.

Thank God the icy weather stayed dry. Heartland, Texas had dug out of a record-breaking snowfall, and the locals hadn’t quite recovered. It put a kink in Hog Hell filming and they’d barely met the deadlines. Delay turned his balance book bloody with red ink.

Back home in Chicago they’d been hit with the same blizzard and so had NYC. But big cities knew how to manage winter weather. Apparently North Texas rolled up the sidewalks with even the hint of flurries. He wondered if BeeBo and Felch knew what to do in the snow, and didn’t want to find out. The thought of hunkering down overnight in the truck with these men turned his stomach.

Dietz adjusted his own ski mask. He’d folded it up off his face so the blue cap hugged his head while the red star painted a bull’s-eye on his forehead. He wore the official coat, too; dark blue and a bright hunter-safe star on the front and back, with the Hog Hell logo. The Gore-Tex fabric crackled with newness, and his blistered feet whimpered inside wet, dirt-caked boots. No way would he wear his new $300 Cabela’s, purchased for photo ops at the upcoming watch party. He had a gun, too. In Texas nobody cared if you carried. They expected it.

BeeBo’s preferred weapon, an ancient short barreled shotgun loaded with deer slugs, contrasted sharply with Felch’s double gun he’d had custom made last season. Felch shot 44 Magnums, and the cut down double barrel rifle boasted enough firepower to take out an elephant, or a charging feral boar hog.

They sleeved the guns in canvas cases stowed in the back of the truck, but the hunters cared far less about their own attire.

BeeBo and Felch would wear official Hog Hell gear at the watch party in five weeks, but not before. Dietz didn’t want them stinking up the outfits. Today they wore wash-faded coveralls, heavy work coats, earflap hats, clunky boots with thorn-tangled laces, and frayed gloves with fingertips cut out. A bit of peeling DayGlo tape formed an “X” on the back and front of each coat after Dietz insisted on the nod to safety, even though he knew the two hunters paid little mind to official start and end dates during hunting season.

That was the point of the original reality program Cutting Corners that focused on people forced to skirt the rules to make ends meet. The unlikely stars of a single episode, though, turned Felch and BeeBo into overnight sensations and birthed the new show after Cutting Corners tanked. The two hunters were experts at skirting rules. Dietz was no slouch, either.

In the truck bed, Grady swayed back and forth. He’d pushed up the ski mask enough to expose his mouth. White breath puffed out in a jerky tempo, and Dietz wondered if the man would pass out. If Grady took a header off the truck bed, the liability would kill the show. “Find a spot to stop, BeeBo. I think our new team member has had enough.”

Felch grunted. “No place to stop till we get there. Unless you want us to get stuck.” He grinned, but the expression never reached his eyes. “You don’t want us lugging that shit back to your hotel. The stink ain’t something you want close by.”

BeeBo guffawed. “Got that right. With all the hunters unloading, it’s what y’all might call a ‘renewable resource.’” He twisted the wheel and the truck bucked, jittering the decades old pine-shaped deodorizer suspended from the rear view mirror. “The critters take care of the stink pretty quick, though.” His hairless wide-eyed face was a ringer for the Gerber baby. “It’s around that next bend. You might even catch a whiff of Jiff by now.”

Dietz wrinkled his nose. The pungent aroma wasn’t assuaged by the air freshener that had probably come with the vehicle. He shielded his head from another thump, and squinted ahead through the crusty windshield. Wiper blades had torn loose on the passenger’s side and smeared the detritus rather than clearing the view. It didn’t bother BeeBo.

The trio remained silent during the final bump-and-grind through the trees. They pulled halfway into the clearing, and Dietz waited impatiently until BeeBo cranked the steering wheel, turned, and backed beneath a massive tree with pendulous clusters decorating the branches. Grady ducked, or he would have been scraped off by low limbs.

Several similar trees bordered the clearing, and another smaller truck squatted at the far end of the area. An elderly man stood in the truck bed and flailed tree branches with a long pole, while the woman dodged and weaved beneath to gather the resulting shower in a bucket.

“What’s that?” Grady wasted no time jumping off the truck bed. He gagged when the wind shifted.

“Nuts.” Felch unfolded himself from the cramped middle seat. “Pecan trees. They’re gleaning the nuts.”

Dietz’s stomach clenched. He pulled the ski mask over his lips and breathed through his mouth, imagining he could taste the odor that closed his throat. Neither Felch nor BeeBo seemed to notice the stench.

Grady wiped his watery eyes. The breeze paused and he gulped a less contaminated breath. “Pecans? To eat?”

The truck squeaked, rocked and grew two inches when BeeBo stepped out. “Back in town they’ll pay $8 to $10 per pound, once shelled. I got my daddy’s old commercial sheller—held together with baling twine and spit, but works okay. I only charge fifty-cents a pound to shell.” He shrugged. “Every little bit helps. It’s too early for most of the big-name commercial farms, but for the gleaners, if ya wait too long the squirrels get ‘em off the trees, or the pigs root ‘em off the ground. Pigs eat lots of the same stuff the deer and turkeys eat, acorns and suchlike. But they get ground-nesting bird eggs, too. Pigs’ll root up and eat damn near anything.” He jerked his chins at Felch. “Gimme a hand.” He lumbered toward the back of the truck and waited by the taillights.

Felch vaulted in the bed of the vehicle, and adjusted his gloves. He pointed. “Smorgasbord, y’all. Hey Slick, you might want to get video of this. Bet your big-city cronies never seen the like.” His yellow teeth gleamed. He bent low, and grunted as he pushed and tugged the black plastic bag to the tailgate, hopped down and joined BeeBo. Together they slung the truck’s cargo into the pit.

Yipping and growls erupted from below. Dietz stayed back, he’d seen it before. This stuff he wouldn’t put on the air. This’d be too much even for the hardcore viewers without the added value of aroma.

Grady covered his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. He edged closer to the deep trough, a natural ditch-like runoff that sat dry three-quarters of the year. Piles of gnawed and scattered bones mixed with carcasses in various stages of decomposition. A family of coyotes tried to claim BeeBo’s tossed deer remains, but was bluffed away by a feral boar.

Grady ripped off his ski mask, puked, wiped his mouth, and grabbed his camera with a shaking hand. He spit on the frozen ground and jutted his chin at Dietz. “So?”

Dietz smiled. “You got the gig.”

***

The damn ski mask dragged against his hair so much, the normally clear adhesive had turned chalky. Victor had removed the wig after dissolving the glue with a citrus-scented spray, a much more pleasant olfactory experience than the afternoon’s visit to the dump. A shower rinsed away any lingering miasma, but he gladly put up with the stink, the rednecks, and the sneers. The payoff would be worth it.

Until then, he couldn’t afford for anyone in Heartland to recognize him. His tool kit of fake teeth, makeup and assorted hairpieces kept him under the radar. For the price, nearly fifty bucks for a four-ounce bottle of adhesive, it damn well better hold the new wig in place for the promised six weeks. He rubbed his hands over his pale, bald head and grinned. Even without the wig, she’d be hard pressed to recognize him.

Muscles had replaced the beer gut, Lasik surgery fixed his eyes, a chin implant and caps brightened his smile. He’d done it all, one step at a time, over the eight years it took to track her down. He’d even changed his name and transformed himself into a man she couldn’t refuse.

He’d done it for her. Everything for her.

He dialed his phone. “I want to order flowers. Forget-Me-Nots, in a white box with a yellow ribbon. Got that? And deliver them December eighteenth. It’s our anniversary.” He listened. “Use red ink. The message is ‘payback.’ Got that? No signature, she’ll know it’s me.” He picked up a news clipping that listed the address, and admired the picture. She was lovely as ever. “Two-oh-five Rabbit Run Road, Heartland, Texas. Deliver to September Day. The name is just like the month.” He chuckled softly. “Yes, it will be a lovely holiday surprise.” He could hardly wait.

 

Author Bio:

Amy Shojai is a certified animal behavior consultant, and the award winning author of 26 bestselling pet books that cover furry babies to old fogies, first aid to natural healing, and behavior/training to Chicken Soupicity. She is the Puppies Expert at puppies.About.com, the cat behavior expert at cats.About.com, and has been featured as an expert in hundreds of print venues including The New York Times, Reader’s Digest, and Family Circle, as well as national radio and television networks such as CNN, Animal Planet’s DOGS 101 and CATS 101. Amy brings her unique pet-centric viewpoint to public appearances. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed dog viewpoint thriller LOST AND FOUND.

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants:

6/01 ~ Suspense Magazine Blog Talk Radio
6/02 ~ Interview @ Lauries Thoughts and Reviews
6/03 ~ Review & Giveaway @ 3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, MOmmy, & Sissy, Too!
6/05 ~ Guest Post @ Writers and Authors
6/10 ~ Review @ Vics Media Room
6/11 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Deal Sharing Aunt
6/16 ~ Showcase @ The Book Divas Reads
6/17 ~ Review @ Hotchpotch
6/18 ~ Interview & Showcase @ CMash Reads
6/20 ~ Guest Post & Showcase @ Thoughts in Progress
6/24 ~ Interview @ Mochas, Mysteries and More
6/25 ~ Review @ Hezzi-Ds Books and Cooks

7/8 ~   Showcase @Ryder Islingtons Blog
7/15 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Marys Cup of Tea
7/26 ~ Showcase @ Hott Books

 

BOOK REVIEW: Deadly Inheritance by Suzanne Rossi


Review by Ryder Islington, author of ULTIMATE JUSTICE, A Trey Fontaine Mystery

Take a romance, and wrap it in a cozy and you get Deadly Inheritance by Suzanne Rossi. This is one of those fun books, well, if murder can be fun, about a struggling actress who gets great news: she’s inherited a Caribbean Island estate.  Wooo-hooo! But then comes the bad news: there are terms, conditions, irate relatives. And then, murder. Not to mention a hunky lawyer in charge of the will.

Suzanne is excellent at creating characters who live and breathe. There are some to love, and some to hate, and some who just make you want to scream. She’s also great at plunking the reader right down into the scene, allowing you to enjoy the beauty of the island, the smell of the water, and the drama happening before your eyes. Overall, I’d rate this at the top of the list for cozies.

I’d recommend this book for all mystery lovers, as well as those who love romance. And I’ll be looking for Suzanne Rossi’s other books, including A TANGLED WEB and NEARLY DEPARTED.

Here’s a look at the cover, an a short blurb from the author.

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When aspiring actress Liza Channing inherits a Caribbean island estate, she’s sure it will solve her money problems. All she has to do is follow the terms of the will and deal with a few resentful relatives–no problem. But falling for the family attorney wasn’t part of her calculations. Especially when she learns he’s not quite what he seems.

Stephen Albright planned to keep his distance from the new heiress, but soon finds himself drwn to her. When she askes for advice, he can’t refuse. But it quickly becomes apparent Liza needs more than legal help. Somebody wants her dead.

 

 

 

 

AUTHOR BIO:

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I was born in Indianapolis and raised in the suburb of Carmel, Indiana. I’ve also had the pleasure of living in St. Louis, Missouri; Rockford, Illinois; and Memphis, Tennessee. Currently, I call Ft. Lauderdale, Florida home where I reside with my husband and two lively dogs.

In between books, I love to travel, especially to see my two sons, their wives, and my six grandchildren.

I love writing and hope readers enjoy the adventures of my fantasy world as much as I enjoy creating them. As an author of romantic suspense, I’m always looking for a new way to “bump off” a character, so if anyone has an unusual idea, let me know. I love going out of the box and bending the rules.