Monday, June 14, 2010

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!





Today's Wild Card author is:





and the book:



Love on a Dime

Thomas Nelson (June 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Katie Bond of Thomas Nelson for sending me a review copy.***



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:






Cara Lynn James is a debut writer who has received numerous contest awards from Romance Writers of America chapters and the American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in northwest Florida with her husband Jim. They have two grown children, Justin and Alicia; a grandson, Damian; and Papillion named Sparky.





Visit the author's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $14.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: Thomas Nelson (June 1, 2010)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1595546790

ISBN-13: 978-1595546791



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:





P rolo g u e



N e w Y o r k C i t y , M ay 1 8 9 3



Jack slowed his pace, his courage once more waning at



the sight of the Westbrook home across the way. Anxiety



twisted his stomach in a knot. But in the dusky light,



Lilly’s glow of confidence reignited his own flame. She



understood her parents far better than he did. Since she believed her father



would agree to the marriage, why should he hesitate?



Arm-in-arm they strolled across the road. Among the row of



fine brick townhouses facing them, the Westbrook house stood



three stories tall like all the rest, with long, paned windows overlooking



Washington Park.



Mr. Ames, the ancient butler, opened the front door. Jack and



Lilly entered the dimly lit foyer.



“Where is my father this evening?” Lilly asked the butler.



“In the back parlor, miss.”



“Shall I go with you, Jack?”



“No,” he whispered, squeezing her hand, “I’d rather do this



on my own. Say a prayer all will go well.”



Jack strode toward the parlor, determined to plead his case.



Every nerve ending in his body fired with life—and more than



a few with apprehension. He’d calm himself and then ask Mr.



Westbrook for Lilly’s hand in a respectful tone, solicitous, but



not fawning. He’d restrain his usual brash attitude and hope Mr.



Westbrook would consent to a marriage most would deem unsuitable.



If he weighed the odds of success, he wouldn’t even try.



Jack inhaled a steadying breath and increased his pace down



the narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. Gas sconces



threw a pale light along the Persian runner that muffled his footsteps



to a soft shuffle. The house lay silent except for the noise of



a sledge hammer beating against his chest.



Lord, I need a large dose of Your strength. Don’t allow me to cower.



I’ve never been a quitter and I don’t want to start now.



He hadn’t asked God for much in the past, but this was too



important to rely on his own untested powers.



Jack paused before he came to the door of the back parlor,



straightened his bow tie, and squared his shoulders. Voices stopped



him before he moved forward. He recognized Mrs. Westbrook’s



high, girlish tone. He’d wait for a lull in the conversation, excuse



his entry, and then ask to speak to Mr. Westbrook. Jack waited for



several minutes before he heard his name.



“Thomas, I noticed Jackson Grail seems especially fond of



Lilly. You don’t suppose he wants to marry her, do you?”



Jack winced at the worry in her voice. With his back to the



wall he stepped closer to the parlor.



Mr. Westbrook chuckled. “No, my dear, he’s George ’s friend,



not Lilly’s. She ’s hardly more than a child.”



“For goodness’ sake. Lilly’s nineteen, certainly old enough to



catch the eye of a young man.”



“All right, she ’s not my little girl anymore. But ready for marriage?



No, Nessie, I don’t believe so. She has lots of time to choose



a mate. There ’s no rush.”



“Hmm. I wouldn’t want her to delay too long. I’ve given considerable



thought to her future.”



“I’m sure you have,” Mr. Westbrook murmured. Jack pictured



his wry smile.



“Well, it’s my duty as her mother to guide her. Oliver Cross



or Pelham Mills come to mind as possible suitors. Maybe Harlan



Santerre. He’s such a polite young man and his mother and I have



been friends since childhood. Yes, he’s most definitely my first



choice.”



Jack let out the breath he’d been holding, knowing he should



break away, cease his eavesdropping—



“They’re all acceptable to me. But what about young Grail?



You say he might be interested in her. He’s got a good head on his



shoulders.”



“But no money in his pocket. Need I say more?”



Jack frowned and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.



Mr. Westbrook sighed. “No, my dear. You’re absolutely right.



He’s not suitable, though I do like him.”



“I do as well. And now he’s as finely educated as our own



George. But he would have to strike it rich quickly in order to court



Lilly,” Mrs. Westbrook added. “And that’s highly unlikely.”



“Nearly impossible, I’m afraid. So I hope you’re wrong and



young Grail hasn’t set his heart on Lilly.” Her father sighed. “He’s



an intelligent boy. I’m sure he’d know better. Especially when she



has an ambitious mama anxious to make her the perfect match.”



Mrs. Westbrook laughed. “Thomas, do stop your teasing.”



Jack bumped his shoulder against the curlicues of a large gilt



picture frame. Turning to give it a hard shove, he stopped himself.



He wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him. Leaving the oil



painting crooked, he stumbled down the patterned runner, away



from the awful voices. When he came to the foyer he dropped into



a rosewood chair and ignored the curious stare from Mr. Ames.



Jack buried his head in his hands and tried to gather his wits



before he had to face Lilly. But the Westbrooks’ conversation



resounded through his mind. Poor. Unsuitable. Why had he ever



thought they’d accept him as a son-in-law? His love for Lilly had



banished all reason. He’d lived in a fog of hope these last several



months, but now it cleared.



At the sound of light footsteps he looked up. “What did Papa



say?” Lilly asked, grasping his hands.



He glanced at her without speaking and then saw his own



anguish reflected in her eyes. He so wished his answer could bring



her joy. She gently pulled him into the dimly lit sitting room. The



sheers and heavy velvet curtains blocked all but the final rays of



daylight from seeping through the windows overlooking the park.



They faced each other in front of the unlit marble fireplace, his arms



tight around her slim waist, her hands lightly touching his vest.



“Tell me,” she said in a rasping voice, barely audible.



“I never had the chance to ask, Lilly. When I got to the back



parlor your parents were already discussing appropriate husbands.



And my name wasn’t on the list.”



“That’s because they don’t know we love each other. Papa



has never refused me anything. It might take some persuasion, but



you can do it. We can approach him together.”



Lovely, pampered Lilly, who owned her father’s heart—



except when it came to marriage partners. And marriage among



the rich was certainly a business transaction. Their kind never



married Jack’s kind. He’d gone to St. Luke ’s and Yale with the



wealthy, but as a scholarship student, he didn’t belong to their set



no matter how hard he tried to fit in. Maybe he would’ve accepted



the impenetrable barrier if Lilly hadn’t swept into his life.



He gazed at her, drinking in her passion, memorizing her



large, expressive eyes and flawless skin, her tall, slender form and



thick brown hair framing her face.



Her eyes blazed like blue fire. “Come. We ’ll speak to Papa.



Right now.”



Jack caught her wrists. “No, I can’t. I’m so sorry. He won’t change



his mind. It’s pointless to even ask.” Save me the humiliation.



Her strangled cry pierced his heart. “You won’t even try? We



love each other. Isn’t that worth fighting for?” Lilly’s voice rose



with disbelief.



How could he explain he couldn’t abide her father’s rejection?



He refused to hear again that he wasn’t good enough to court



Lilly—once was enough. And he didn’t want her to elope with



him without her parents’ approval. Jack groaned. As much as he



adored Lilly, he wasn’t acceptable to the family. The daughter of



a prosperous banker, Lilly couldn’t marry a man without a family



fortune.



“We can marry without their consent. You’ll find a good job.



I know you will. Don’t you see, Jack, we don’t need my parents’



permission.”



“But I want their respect.” And he’d never gain their esteem



by stealing their daughter away. He turned from her, running a



hand through his hair. He ’d been fooling himself. How could



he provide for Lilly, care for her in a manner in which she was



accustomed? What could he promise her? A one room apartment



in a dingy part of town while he made his way in the world,



if he ever made it at all. How long before his beautiful, young



and idealistic bride would realize she ’d sacrificed too much for



an improbable dream? He ’d harm her if he stole her from her



family.



He glanced at her and could see in her face the stubborn, naïve



hope that lingered there. But he understood reality as she never



would. He ’d let his love blossom before he should have.



Jack slowly moved away, steeling himself for the hurt yet



to come. “Your parents are right. I’m in no position to marry. I



should never have proposed, because I have nothing to offer.”



Lilly rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck, tears



spilling down her cheeks. “What about our love? Why do you



need more than that?”



“Lilly, we can’t exist on dreams. I have to earn a living. And I



can’t support you on a clerk’s salary. You’d miss your old life.”



Her lovely, soft features hardened. “You must think my love



is too weak to withstand hardship. It’s strong enough to survive



anything. Why do you doubt me so?”



Jack shook his head. “I doubt myself, not you.” What if her



confidence in his abilities weren’t warranted? What if he never



rose above petty clerk, despite his fancy education? A girl from a



society family, proud and successful for generations, could never



be content washing laundry, cooking meals, and scrubbing floors



on her hands and knees. She ’d grow bitter and resentful.



“I can adapt to less. I don’t care about a beautiful home. I only



want you,” she said, her voice rising with frustration.



He wouldn’t argue about the effects of poverty and how it



wore on a person. She wouldn’t understand. “If we came from



the same background, I wouldn’t hesitate to speak to your father.



But we didn’t.”



“But you will. I know it. I’ll wait until you feel ready to marry



me. There’s no hurry. I’m patient. I can wait forever.” She pleaded



with beautiful eyes glistening with tears.



“No, please don’t wait for me.” Jack’s voice cracked like ice.



He wanted her to wait, but he couldn’t ruin her chances of



making a suitable, maybe even a happy marriage. The odds of



succeeding in the business world without connections were small.



If and when he’d proven himself, he’d return and hope she ’d still



want him. And forgive him. But he couldn’t ask her to wait.



He blotted her tears with his handkerchief, but they kept



streaming down her face. Her slender shoulders heaved with soft



sobs. He kissed her again gently and then retreated to his bedroom



before he was tempted to crush her in his arms and beg her to



elope. He’d planned to stay for the week as George ’s guest, but



now he needed to leave quickly.



Within ten minutes he was gone.



Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs. The past two weeks had



been a misery. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. Go back, go back!



his mind and heart screamed. You’ve made a terrible mistake!



His stomach roiling, Jack fought to keep a dignified pace and



not run all the way to Washington Square. At last, he stood before



the Westbrook home and tapped the front door knocker against



the heavy wood.



He’d explain he couldn’t manage without her and his infernal



pride had blocked his common sense and their tender love. Would



she accept his apology? They’d work something out. He didn’t



know how exactly, but they would. He knew their union was sanctioned,



indeed designed, by God.



Mr. Ames pulled the heavy door open. “May I help you, sir?”



“Yes. Is Miss Westbrook at home?”



The hunched-over butler shook his head. “They’ve all gone



abroad. They sailed yesterday.”



Jack’s cautious optimism collapsed in a heap of despair. “And



when will they return?”



“Next spring.”



Next spring. Jack groaned. “G-Good day,” he mumbled, turning



from the door.



I’m too late. I’ve lost her.





On e



N e w p o rt , R h o d e I s l a n d — J u ly 1 8 9 9



Six years later



With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Lilly Westbrook



whipped the last page of her manuscript out of



the Underwood typewriter. Carefully she shredded



the carbon and threw the messy strips into the wastebasket. No



meddlesome



maid could possibly reconstruct her work and tattle



to Mama.



For a moment, a wave of sadness overshadowed the pleasure



she felt at finishing another story. How she longed to share her



secret with her mother, but as much as Lilly hated deception, she



knew Mama would never understand. Mama was proud of her for



dabbling in poetry, but this?



No. It was best to stay behind closed doors to write her dime



novels.



Lilly shuddered to think of the disgrace she ’d bring upon herself



and, even worse, upon her family, if her secret was revealed.



The very notion of social ostracism weakened her knees and left



her legs wobbly. A twinge of guilt pinched her conscience as it



often did when she considered her concealment. Yet why look for



trouble when her work was progressing so well?





Lilly scrubbed her hands until all evidence of the carbon paper



and inky ribbon disappeared into the washbasin near her bed, then



covered the typewriter Mama had given her as a birthday gift a



few years before. Mama thought a typing machine unnecessary



for a poet, but she wasn’t one to begrudge her children anything



within reason.



Lilly withdrew a letter from her skirt pocket and smiled as she



re-read the last lines.



My dear Lilly,



I want to again express my thanks for all you’ve contributed to



the Christian Settlement House of New York. We so value the time



and effort you have devoted to assisting our young ladies with their



sundry life skills and English fluency. Your exceptional generosity



and financial support have enabled us to continue our work in accordance



with the Lord’s purposes.



Sincerely,



Phoebe Diller, Director



Miss Diller’s kind words sent a rush of warmth to Lilly’s heart



and strengthened her resolve to continue writing. For without the



profits from her novels, she couldn’t afford to donate more than



a few dollars to her favorite charity. How could she possibly quit



writing when her romance novels provided so many blessings to



others?



Lilly locked the final chapter in the rolltop desk by the bay



window and hid the key beneath the lining of her keepsake box.



Time for a well-deserved walk by the sea. She removed her reading



spectacles and placed her straw hat decorated with bright



poppies squarely on top of her upswept hair. After a last furtive



glance toward the desk, she left her bedroom to the morning sunshine



that splashed across the shiny oak floor and floral carpet.





All the way down the staircase she congratulated herself for



typing “The End” of her story, though it was only a few days



before deadline. That was much too close for comfort. She sighed.



Too many social events had disrupted her normal writing routine



this summer. But she had no choice but to force a smile and



attend the functions, even though most of them bored her to



distraction.



She wouldn’t think of that now. At least she’d finished the manuscript



before the deadline and for that she’d treat herself to a few



minutes out of her room. With a light heart, she strolled through



the deserted foyer, past Mr. Ames, the butler, and out the front



door. A beautiful day greeted her with its sun-blessed smile.



As she crossed the veranda, her sister-in-law Irene Westbrook,



seated at the end of the porch, peered over a small, familiar book.



The lurid cover of Lilly’s latest novel, Dorothea’s Dilemma,



popped out in garish color. Lilly stopped short and pressed her



palm over her gyrating heart.



“Oh my,” she murmured. She’d never expected to see one of



her novels in her own home, let alone in the hands of her brother’s



wife.



Irene smoothed her halo of silky blonde curls caught up in a



loose pompadour. She laid the slim paperback on her lap, her eyes



gleaming with curiosity. “Why hello, Lilly. Where have you been



on this beautiful afternoon? Cooped up in your bedroom again?



My goodness, what do you do in there all day?”



“Sometimes I enjoy a few hours of solitude.” Lilly’s nerves



seized control of her voice and it rose like the screech of a seagull.



“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading.” Heat crept into her skin as



Irene watched her, face aglow with interest.



“Do sit down, Lilly.”



She slipped into a wicker chair opposite Irene. A gust of



salty air, typical of Newport’s summer weather, blew in from the



Atlantic and brushed its cool breath across her cheeks. She prayed



it would fade the red splotches that came so easily when embarrassment



struck.



Irene cocked her head. “Is something wrong? You look positively



ill.”



“No, I’m fine.” Though every fiber of her body continued to



quiver, Lilly steadied her breathing. She folded her hands in the



lap of her charcoal-gray skirt and willed them not to shake.



“You aren’t shocked by my novel, are you?” Irene smirked.



“Of course not.” Lilly squirmed around on the soft chintz



cushion and avoided Irene ’s skeptical stare. “Why should I be



shocked?”



Irene leaned forward. “Some people claim dime novels are



trash, and from your reaction I thought you might be one of those



faultfinders. Of course they’re wrong. These books are filled with



adventure and I love adventure.” She rolled the last word around



her tongue like a stream of honey.



Irene, the niece of Quentin Kirby, one of San Francisco’s



silver kings, fancied herself an adventuress, but Lilly inwardly



disagreed. Irene merely appreciated fun and frivolity more than



most. That hardly made her a woman like the heroines of Lilly’s



books. “I’m so sorry, Irene. I didn’t mean to criticize your choice



of books. I just wondered where you obtained your copy.”



“I discovered it in the kitchen while I was searching for a



blueberry tart.” Irene grinned as if Lilly ought to admire her



cleverness.



“One of the scullery maids must have left it there.”



“You took it without asking permission?” Lilly could scarcely



believe Irene had wandered downstairs to the basement kitchen,



the domain of servants who strongly disapproved of visitors,



even the family.



“Why yes. Well no, not exactly. I borrowed it. As soon as I finish



reading, I’ll give it back. Of course.”



Irene tapped the big, red letters spelling out the author’s name



across the cover. “Fannie Cole. She’s a splendid writer, the very



best. Have you ever read any of her books? I devour them like



chocolate.”



Lilly’s heart lurched. “Naturally I’ve heard of her. I believe



her stories are rather popular.”



“They’re enthralling.”



At the sound of the front door squeaking open, Lilly looked



away with relief.



Mama bustled onto the veranda, a frown knitting her eyebrows.



“What’s that about Fannie Cole? She’s quite infamous, I



hear.” Glancing from Lilly to Irene, Mama’s eyelashes fluttered, a



sure sign of agitation. “Oh, I see you have one of her books . . .”



Lilly knew her mother couldn’t let this breach of propriety



pass without comment. On the other hand, the kind and ever



tactful Vanessa Westbrook would hate to offend her new daughter-in-



law.



“Mama, Fannie Cole writes harmless fiction. You needn’t



worry.” Lilly smiled her assurance, hoping she’d veer off to



another topic.



Her mother sunk into a wicker chair beside Irene. “Perhaps,



my dear, but you must admit, there are so many more uplifting



novels.” She patted Irene ’s arm, which was robed in a cream silk



blouse that matched the lace of her skirt. “Lillian is a poet, you



know. Her work is delightful. You must read it. I’ll go fetch you



a copy.”



Lilly cringed. “No, Mama. I wrote those poems years ago. She



wouldn’t be interested in the meanderings of an eighteen-yearold



ninny. It’s sentimental tripe.”



“Nonsense, my dear. You’ve always been much too critical of



yourself.”



“Nevertheless, I’m sure Irene would prefer Fannie Cole.”



Who wouldn’t? Lilly thought. Still, she appreciated her mother’s



enthusiasm for her meager literary efforts.



Irene tossed her a wide, grateful smile. “There, that’s settled.”



Mama’s round, girlish face tightened with distaste. “I wish



you wouldn’t read dime novels because . . .” She looked toward



Lilly for support.



“Really, Mama.” Lilly softened her voice, not meaning to



scold. “While some of the dime novels are sensational, others are



written to help working girls avoid the pitfalls of city life. They’re



moralistic tales that encourage virtue. Nothing to be ashamed of



reading.” Or writing.



“Exactly.” Irene beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.



Of course, I read for the story, not the moral lesson, but I’m sure



it’s beneficial for those who enjoy a good sermon.”



Lilly suppressed a sigh of resignation. “No doubt Miss Cole



hopes and prays her words touch the hearts of her readers and



bring them closer to the Lord.” Lilly looked at Mama and Irene,



hoping they’d somehow understand her purpose and approve.



But both looked puzzled over her words.



Irene ’s gaze narrowed. “An odd way to spread the gospel,



don’t you think?”



“Not at all. The Lord is more creative than we are.” Lilly



bristled and then glanced away when she found her mother and



sister-in-law still staring at her.



She’d spoken up much more forcefully than she intended.



With a sinking heart, Lilly realized Mama would never accept her



viewpoint; it flew in the face of beliefs and opinions ingrained



since childhood.



Irene picked up a sheet of paper resting on a small table between



two pots of ferns and waved it like a flag on the Fourth of July. Lilly



immediately recognized Talk of the Town, a gossip rag published



by that scandalmonger, Colonel MacIntyre, the bane of Newport



society. He shot fear into the hearts of all upstanding people and



others who weren’t quite so virtuous. Lilly swallowed hard.



Mama gasped. Her pale skin whitened. “Oh my dear, that’s



hardly appropriate for a respectable home.”



Irene shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if you don’t mind my saying



so, it’s great fun to read. I’m learning the crème de la crème



of Newport are up to all kinds of mischief.” She laughed with



pleasure.



“Listen to this.” Irene leaned forward. “One hears that Miss



Fannie Cole, author of wildly popular dime novels, has taken up residence



at one of the ocean villas for the season. The talk about town



claims this writer of sensational—some might even say salacious—



stories, belongs to the New York and Newport aristocracy. Which of our



fine debutantes or matrons writes under the nom de plume, Fannie Cole?



Speculation runs rampant. Would the talented but mysterious author of



Dorothea’s Dilemma, Hearts in Tune, and several other delectable



novels please come forward and identify herself for her public?”



Lilly’s throat closed. She clamped her hands down on her lap,



but they shook like a hummingbird’s wings. Had a maid or a footman



stumbled across her secret and sold the information? Colonel



Rufus MacIntyre of Talk of the Town paid handsomely for gossip.



No one was safe from his long, grasping tentacles, including some



of the most prominent people in society.



“The colonel has mentioned Miss Cole in his column for the



last two weeks, so I expect we’ll hear more about her during the



summer.” Irene grinned as she studied the sheet. “I wonder who



she is. I’d love to meet her.”



Mama’s mouth puckered into a small circle. “Undoubtedly



someone from the wrong side of the tracks. No one we’d know.”



She punctuated her words with a firm nod.



Irene persisted. “You must have an idea, Lilly. You seem to



know everything that’s going on in society.”



Lilly turned away, sure that a red stain had again spilled across



her pale skin. Her sister-in-law was right. She did listen to all the



tittle-tattle, but she prided herself on her discretion. The foibles



of her set provided grist for her novels, not for spreading rumors



and innuendo.



“You give me far too much credit, Irene.” She hated to dodge



questions to keep from lying, but what was her option short of



confessing? She twisted the cameo at the neck of her tailored



shirtwaist.



Mama wagged her finger. “Mark my words. By the end of



the summer someone will discover Fannie Cole’s true name and



announce it to the entire town. Oh, my. What humiliation she ’ll



bring upon her family. They’ll be mortified.”



“How delicious,” Irene murmured.



Lilly groaned inwardly. Her subterfuge gnawed at her conscience,



worsening day by day, but she couldn’t turn back the



clock and reconsider her decision to write in secret.



She rose. “Will you excuse me? I need to take my walk now.”



With her head held high and as much poise as she could muster,



Lilly descended the veranda’s shallow steps. She strode across



the wide, sloping lawn that surrounded Summerhill, the old



twenty-two-room mansion the Westbrooks rented for the season.



Once she reached the giant rocks that separated the grounds



from the ocean, she picked her way over to a smooth boulder that



doubled for a bench. As she ’d done every day since her arrival



three weeks ago, Lilly settled onto its cold surface. Instead of



watching the breakers pound against the coast and absorb the majesty



of nature ’s rhythm, she rested her head in her hands and let



the breeze brush against her face.



What would happen if her beau, Harlan Santerre, discovered



that she and Fannie Cole were the same person? The wealthy railroad



heir, a guest of the family for the eight weeks of summer,



miraculously seemed ripe to propose. Her mother kept reminding



her how grateful she should be that such a solid, upstanding man



as Harlan Santerre had shown interest in a twenty-five-year-old



spinster with no grand fortune and no great beauty. Mama and the



entire family would be humiliated if her writing became public



knowledge and Harlan turned his attention elsewhere.



Yet the Holy Ghost had urged her to compose her simple stories,



and as she wrote, her melancholy gradually faded. Her enthusiasm



never waned thanks to the joy she received from doing the Lord’s



work.



Why would He allow someone to ruin her and end the good



deeds she accomplished? He should smite her enemies instead. All



her life she ’d trusted the Lord to guide her and protect her, but



never had she needed His help more than now. But would He continue



to shield her?



Trembling, Lilly tossed a stone into the roiling surf and



watched it sink into the foamy white waves. What if the surge



of curiosity aroused by Colonel MacIntyre didn’t fade away and



everything she held dear was threatened?


TAILOR MADE

This week, the



Christian Fiction Blog Alliance



is introducing



A Tailor-Made Bride



Bethany House (June 1, 2010)



by



Karen Witemeyer






ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




Karen Witemeyer is a deacon's wife and mother of three who believes the world needs more happily-ever-afters. To that end, she combines her love of bygone eras with her passion for helping women mature in Christ to craft historical romance novels that lift the spirit and nurture the soul.



After growing up in California, Karen moved to Texas to attend Abilene Christian University where she earned bachelor and master's degrees in Psychology. It was also there that she met and married her own Texas hero. He roped her in good, for she has lived in Texas ever since. In fact, she fell so in love with this rugged land of sweeping sunsets and enduring pioneer spirit, that she incorporates it into the pages of her novels, setting her stories in the small towns of a state that burgeoned into greatness in the mid-to-late 1800s.



In January, 2009, Karen signed a contract with Bethany House Publishers for three inspirational historical romance novels, and she is thrilled to announce that her first book, A TAILOR-MADE BRIDE has released this month. For an inside look into the background and quirks of some of the major players in this upcoming story, click over to Character Corner





ABOUT THE BOOK








When a dressmaker who values beauty tangles with a liveryman who condemns vanity, the sparks begin to fly!



Jericho "J.T." Tucker wants nothing to do with the new dressmaker in Coventry, Texas. He's all too familiar with her kind--shallow women more devoted to fashion than true beauty. Yet, except for her well-tailored clothes, this seamstress is not at all what he expected.



Hannah Richards is confounded by the man who runs the livery. The unsmiling fellow riles her with his arrogant assumptions and gruff manner, while at the same time stirring her heart with unexpected acts of kindness. Which side of Jericho Tucker reflects the real man?



When Hannah decides to help Jericho's sister catch a beau--leading to consequences neither could have foreseen--will Jericho and Hannah find a way to bridge the gap between them?



If you would like to read the first chapter of A Tailor-Made Bride , go HERE.

My Review: Take a livery man who wants a piece of property in the town he has lived in, enter a dressmaker who inherits the property from her former employer. Add to it that he thinks all dress finery is nothing but a way for people to try and be better than each other in church. The sparks, and humor fly as Hannah begins her business in Coventry, especially when J.T.'s sister comes to Hannah for a dress. Don't miss this one it is a perfect summer read! I highly recommend it! I also give this book a lighthouse and shine a light on it for pointing a path to God

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!


Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:


Seeds of Summer

Zondervan (May 21, 2010)

***Special thanks to Londa Alderink of Zondervan for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Deborah Vogts and her husband have three daughters and make their home in Southeast Kansas where they raise and train American Quarter Horses. As a student at Emporia State University studying English and journalism, Deborah developed a love for the Flint Hills that has never faded. In writing this series, she hopes to share her passion for one of the last tallgrass prairie regions in the world, showing that God’s great beauty rests on the prairie and in the hearts of those who live there.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $10.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (May 21, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 031029276X
ISBN-13: 978-0310292760

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Five Months Later

Metal scraped against metal, waking Natalie from a restless sleep. Again, the screech came from outside. With a reluctant groan, she forced herself from her cotton sheets and fumbled in the dark to find her boots.

What was out there? And why wasn't Jessie barking?

She slipped her bare feet into leather ropers, then hurried from the bedroom down the stairs, hoping she wouldn't rouse her younger siblings. An instant foreboding caused her to grab the shotgun her dad always kept behind the back door. Natalie loaded it with a couple of shells before heading to the porch -- just in case. As her eyes adjusted to the outside darkness, she distinguished the faint outline of a truck backed up to the barn entrance. She crept through the barnyard.

“Who's there?” Her voice wavered as she clutched the wooden forearm of the aged Winchester, prepared to fire a warning shot at the moon if necessary.

A small beam of light darted inside the old limestone barn, then disappeared.

“Tom, is that you?” Natalie eased her finger closer to the trigger.

Silence. Then the hollow clamor of feed buckets knocked to the ground as though someone had tripped over them.

Natalie held her breath. Her heart thumped wildly against her chest as she thought about the recent thefts in the county. If only her dad were here.

But he's not, and you're in charge. Slow, mechanical breaths helped her to see this might be nothing more than their hired hand returning from a night at the bar. She knew little about Tom Walker, but the idea that he'd been out with friends on a Friday night was more probable than not.

A tall figure edged from the shadows. Natalie recognized the pale shock of curls highlighted by the luminous night.

“Hey there, don't shoot.” The ranch employee rested his hands on his head. “I was only putting some stuff away in the barn.”

“Working kind of late, aren't you?”

“Just got back from a rodeo.” Tom's voice grew louder as he approached. “Sorry if I frightened you.”

Natalie lowered the shotgun, then gazed up at the sky, relief lodged in her throat. “You could've turned on the barn lights. At least then I wouldn't have thought someone was sneaking around out here.”

“Didn't want to wake the house.”

In the faint moonlight, she caught the glint of an uneasy smile on the man's face. “How'd you do?”

“Tough night for steer wrestling.”

Natalie knew all about rodeo and tough nights. “There'll be others.”

He dropped his arms, and she noticed Jessie at his side. No wonder the faithful border collie hadn't barked. Suddenly aware of how she must look, she combed her fingers through her wayward locks. Dressed in baggy shorts, a torn T-shirt, and a pair of pink boots, she held little resemblance to her former title as Miss Rodeo Kansas, or of a rancher either.

And that's what she was now -- a twenty-two-year-old ranch owner in the Flint Hills of Charris County, Kansas. She shook her head, confounded by the turn of events her life had taken in the past week. “Well, I'm sorry for interrupting your work. I'll let you get back to your business.” Hoping he wouldn't sense her despair, she turned toward the house. As she did, an engine revved in the near distance. Tracing the noise, she saw a truck tear from behind the barn, its headlights aimed for the lane.

Staggering backward, she almost dropped her father's shotgun but somehow managed to bring the wooden stock to her shoulder. “Hey, you there,” she called out. “Stop or I'll shoot.”

The truck vaulted onto the dirt road and spun gravel as it sped away. Speechless, Natalie lowered the gun and whirled toward the hired hand, expecting him to go after the culprits sneaking around her father's barn.

Then she acknowledged the panic in the man's eyes.

“What were you and your buddies doing in there?” Her brows crinkled, and she instantly thought the worst. Dark barn, suspicious behavior. Had they been doing drugs, or were they stealing?

“It's not what you think.” The hostility in the air pricked her skin as the man stepped closer. He stood a half-foot taller than her own five-foot-eight.

Natalie gripped the shotgun, her palms damp with sweat. Did she have the guts to shoot a man? She aimed the barrel at his chest. “Is this how you're going to honor my father? By stealing from him? He's not been dead a week.”

“The boys and I --we were just having some fun --talking was all.” His gentle voice caressed her.

Natalie recognized the seduction of his lie --the flicker of deceit in his eyes. “In the dark?”

“No law against talking in the dark.” He reached in her direction, much too close for her comfort.

She shoved his lanky body back with the metal barrel and thought of all the work they needed to accomplish the next day unloading and sorting cattle. Could she and the kids get along without his help if she fired him? Could she trust him to tell the truth?

His lips pulled into a pout. “Come on, Miss Adams. I've been with your dad for nearly six months. He trusted me. We weren't doing nothing wrong ... honest.”

Natalie searched the man's eyes for a hint of sincerity. “Swear on your mama's grave?” Even as the words came from her mouth, she knew she was a fool to trust him.

“Better -- I'll swear on your daddy's.”

Natalie's throat swelled as hot tears threatened to fall. Her good judgment now clouded with grief, she eased the barrel toward the ground and shook her head in embarrassment. “I guess the stress is getting to me. Sorry for being so jumpy.”

Tom nodded in understanding. “No need to apologize. A person can't be too careful these days -- especially a young woman like yourself. It's good I'm around for protection.”

Natalie disregarded his remark, finding no comfort in it. Her gut twisted at the vulnerable position her father's death had placed her in as Tom drifted back to the darkness of the barn. With a weary sigh, she studied the moon above. Like a shooting star, her life had changed in an instant and no matter how much she wished it, not even the crickets or the moaning bullfrogs could set it right again.

Returning to the house, she peeked in on her twelve-year-old brother, asleep in his upstairs bedroom. His tranquil face reflected no worries, no hint of strain from their recent ordeal.

Oh, that her rest could be as peaceful.

When Natalie opened the door to her sister's bedroom, she failed to make out a form under the covers. A flick of the light revealed Chelsey's bed hadn't been slept in. She glanced about the room, and then noticed the splay of curtains caught in a warm breeze from the open dormer window. Natalie darted back to Dillon's room.

“Where's Chelsey?” She jiggled her brother's leg and watched the young boy rouse from a deep sleep.

Dillon rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. “What?”

“Chelsey's not in her room. Do you have any idea where she might be? Out with friends? A party somewhere?”

Her brother shook his head, then yawned. “I heard her talking on the phone to Lucas earlier. Maybe she's with him.”

Natalie's mouth grew taut. Nothing good ever happened past midnight, and it was now close to two. She hoped the reckless teenagers weren't in a ditch somewhere.

A loud thump from Chelsey's room caused those thoughts to evaporate.

Natalie rounded the hallway to find her fifteen-year-old sister crumpled on the bedroom floor.

Chelsey raised her head, her eyes glazed. “Hey, sis.” Her words came out slurred as she tried to stand. “Did ya miss me?”



Great summer read! You will not be disappointed!!
 
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