Welcome Jude Pittman from Books We Love Publishing

Thank you so much for being here, Jude.

1: First, I’ve discovered most publishers are also

authors. Are you?  

Yes I am.  I write mysteries and paranormal romance.

2: When did you start your publishing company?

Books We Love Ltd. incorporated in 2010, however, the predecessor to Books We Love, an author promotion group entitled Books We Love promotion, actually started in 1998.

3: What inspired you to start your own publishing company?

My introduction to online publishing came in the early 90s, and it didn’t take me long to discover there was very limited, if any, support given to eBook authors by either small press publishers or the industry in general.  Since I had a fair amount of experience with online groups like the original Time Warner and other Compuserve authors forums, as well as a stint as an editor of the Open Directory, I formed an author promotion group with a focus on group promotion to give us more exposure than any of us could gain on our own.  In the mid-2000s many small press houses began folding and by 2009 a great many of my co-authors and myself were looking for what we referred to as an “author-centric” publishing house.

4: What makes your publishing company different than others?

First, we do not “mass recruit” authors.  We focus on quality over quantity, and we’re very particular about the books we publish.  Our primary criteria are experience and knowledge of the industry.  Our authors need to have a history in publishing together with the experience required to be part of a quality-focused publishing house like Books We Love.  We pay higher royalties, offer a lot more promotion, and much more author support than most small press publishers.  We also expect a high degree of professionalism from our authors and we only work with authors who can meet those expectations.

5: What do you like the most about running your own publishing company? What do you like least?

Being able to publish some of the most fantastic books being offered in the marketplace and knowing that the author is going to get a fair share of the proceeds from those published books is what I like the most.

Having very little time left over for my own writing is what I like the least.

6: Tell us about your company, what type of stories are you looking for? How to submit, what length stories, and where can we find the submission guidelines?

Our company publishes genre fiction in most categories.  We do not have an “open” submission policy.  Most of our new authors are recommended by existing authors, and we do not provide submission guidelines because each offer of interest is geared towards a specific candidate referred by one of our existing authors.  When we do have an interest in an author we want the entire manuscript. We seldom bother with query letters and synopsis. We are a different kind of publishing company.

7: Tell us about your authors.

All of our authors are experienced professionals. Many of them have previously been published by large houses, and have opted for the smaller, more author focused and individualistic environment of a medium-sized publisher like Books We Love.  Of course, as far as we’re concerned, we have the most talented authors in the publishing industry.

8: How do you decide to accept or reject a manuscript?

Based on the quality of the work, the experience of the author, and the recommendations of our existing authors.

9: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

Before you attempt to publish a book, make sure you have thoroughly mastered the basics of your craft.  Don’t just toss your book out there and see if a publisher is interested.  Perfect it first, then seek out beta-readers, critique groups, and anyone you can find to give you an honest and thorough evaluation of your work.  I remember my first novel.  I revised it 6 times before it was accepted for publication and then revised it two more to the publisher’s specification.  Publishing takes, time, patience, hard work, dedication and a passion for writing that goes far beyond the possibility of any financial reward.

10: I know you’re extremely busy, but we all need to relax sometimes. What do you for fun and relaxation?

I bowl twice a week and my husband and I enjoy long walks.  We also enjoy short getaways that allow us to leave technology behind and explore our country and our neighboring countries.  We’re Canadian, but we’ve thoroughly enjoyed our visits both to the USA and Mexico.

11: Where can we find your website? Blog?

Books We Love is at :  http://bookswelove.net or www.bookswelove.com

Our Insider Blog, written by all of our authors and unique in that our blog is not a promotion vehicles, it is a calendar of fascinating stories and articles written by our extremely talented authors.

http://bwlauthors.blogspot.ca/

12: What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?

That I respect and value hard work and commitment.

13: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you or your publishing company?

That we have wonderful books written by very talented authors. We have a Bargain Store right on our website where smart purchasers can purchase the books in any format they choose at greatly discounted prices.  Books We Love also has a contest running right now where entrants can win their choice of one of three eBook readers.  Visit our main page, click the contest button and get your entry in there before the end of October.

Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to answer these questions. You can find Jude's books at Books We Love

Howling Halloween Contest

Howling Halloween Contest

Welcome to Books We Love's Howling Halloween Contest, running now through October 31.

Treat yourself to a feast of Halloween Indulgence
Drawing for Bon Appetite Basket on October 15.

  

Treat yourself to a chocolate indulgence day.  Drawing for Chocolate indulgence basket on September 15.

 

STOCK YOUR KINDLE WITH A BEWITCHING BREW
WIN ONE COPY OF EACH OF THESE KINDLE EDITIONS
DRAWING ON OCTOBER 31st:

Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

Listen to the Shadows

War N Wit Inc.: The Witch

Jude Pittman Triple Threat

Jamie Hill Triple Threat

PLUS EVERY WEEK SEPTEMBER THROUGH OCTOBER 31 WE WILL DRAW ONE LUCKY NEWSLETTER SUBSCRIBER'S NAME TO RECEIVE THEIR CHOICE OF ANY BOOKS WE LOVE EBOOK. WEEKLY WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON OUR BLOGS, ALL OTHER WINNERS WILL BE POSTED IN MONTHLY NEWSLETTERS.

~ Find contest details and entry form here

We notify winners by posting in our newsletter and posting on our BLOG, if you don't  subscribe and/or visit the Blog you won't know if you win, we do not send an email to notify winners and we do not award prizes to non-subscribers.  If prizes are unclaimed 30 days after posting, they are returned to the prize pool and awarded in a subsequent drawing.  
All contestants must be newsletter subscribers.  It's easy. Our newsletter list is private and only used to announce new contests, new releases, winners of our prizes and new prizes available to be won!

Romantic Suspense

 Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have expected my life to change so much just by accomplishing my dream. If someone would have told me a year ago, even two weeks ago, that my life would become so complicated, I would have laughed at them. Seriously.  Maybe I should start from the beginning. My goal in life was to become a topnotch journalist. I loved writing. Always had. Ever since I can remember that’s all I ever wanted to be. Suddenly, the goal was at hand. Within reach. I got it. My first big byline! I beat out all the other reporters at the scene, and the paper printed my story. MINE!

I was ecstatic. So… there I was drinking a cup of coffee and reading my story, relishing the moment. My headline! GEORGIE PORGIE PUDDING AND DIE by me, Susan Weston. Word for word just the way I’d written it. Not one word changed.

I’d been first on the murder scene the night before. Got there before the cops, so I got a pretty good look at the body. Turned out to be a guy I knew from the neighborhood. Pretty gruesome, too. Not a sight I’m likely to forget.

So like I said, I was drinking my coffee and reading my story and Okay, gloating a little bit. It made me feel good that for once my story got printed and not those other guys. This was it. I knew it. My big chance. Things were going to change now. No more fluff pieces for me. Nope, now the boss would have to assign me to some good stories.

That's when everything went haywire. The phone rang. Nothing unusual in that. My phone often rings, although not that early in the morning. Of course I answered. 

The voice on the other end sent goosebumps up my arm, down my spine, and chills down to my toes. It still does. Just thinking about it.

I could hardly hear the caller. His raspy voice faded out, and I only caught a couple of words. Something about liking my story and strawberries. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. I figured it was a crank call. Reporters got them all the time. But something about that call bothered me. Nagged at me.

My life hasn’t been the same since. To find out what happened, you’re going to have to read my book, Ring Around the Rosy available from Amazon. http://amzn.to/PjLvDp

Excerpt:

Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

The phone rang, startling her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.

“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.

The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.

The voice mumbled something she could barely hear.

“Strawberries? What are you talking about?”

“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued.

“I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?

She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.

Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.

He said he liked her story. That shouldn’t bother her. Something about that voice, so harsh, so evil. It gnawed at her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

After pouring a cup of coffee, she read the story under the headline aloud, trying to keep her mind off the phone call. “Police are investigating the death of thirty-one year old George Lucas, whose body was found last night in Lagoon Park near his west side home.” The sound of her shaky voice surprised her.

What was the matter with her?  “Get a grip, girl.”

Must be the effect of seeing the lifeless body. The way George Lucas’s eyes stared into space. What was he thinking when he looked into his killer’s eyes? The distant street lamp didn’t help. It cast an eerie shadow on the victim. His face frozen in terror, lips parted in a silent scream, and his head tilted to one side as if it was too heavy for his neck. The way one hand clutched at his throat and the other gripped the note, fingers frozen around it, sent icy chills through her, even now. She shuddered.

Thank God there wasn’t any blood, since the image would forever be embedded in her mind. Susan rubbed her arms to warm them.

Picking up the paper, she continued to read. “The coroner will determine the cause of death, but early reports indicate that Mr. Lucas was strangled. Lipstick was smeared across the victim’s mouth, and he clasped the nursery rhyme, ‘Georgie Porgie,’ in his hand. The teen who discovered the body reported seeing a man carrying a bag and wearing a gray shirt running from the park moments before. Police have no suspects at this time.”

Bella brushed against her legs, jumped on the counter, and snuggled against her.

Susan’s heart pounded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So much for the thrill of seeing her name on the front page. The image of the body filled her mind. Her hands trembled while she held the paper and reread the headline with her name below it. It was exactly as she had written it — not one word changed, short and to the point.

George Lucas lived in her neighborhood. She’d seen him a few times in Meliti’s Market talking to old Mrs. Meliti. Although they never spoke, they had nodded and smiled hello. Nice-looking guy, about her age. What a shock seeing him dead. Another shiver shook her body. Seeing a dead body was bad enough, but knowing the victim threw her for a loop. Made it personal.

Arriving only a few minutes before the police showed up and ordered her to leave, not that they had to tell her twice, she had viewed the crime scene and then skedaddled lickety-split. She knew enough about crime scenes to maintain a distance, knew if she got too close, she’d compromise the scene, maybe even leave trace evidence of herself behind. She didn’t need that. But she’d been close enough to read that paper in his hand, a nursery rhyme. She’d seen every gory detail.

The nursery rhyme letters, cut out from newspapers and magazines, and bowl of chocolate pudding and the strawberry pie that had been dumped on the victim’s head would stay in her memory for a long time. Of course, the police requested that information not be printed.

Requested, hell. Demanded was more like it, but Susan understood. Those were facts only the killer knew, and it prevented crank confessions. Couldn’t give the public too much information. After waiting behind the crime scene tape long enough to hear the possible cause of death, she hurried home to write her story before the deadline.

Susan walked around the kitchen. To sweeten the deal, her colleagues hadn’t shown up until well after they’d taped off the crime scene, hadn’t seen what she’d seen. So Ernie printed her story. Her first big byline!   Even that cocky reporter, Dan Hill, hadn’t beat her out this time.

Staring at the large headline, she sipped her coffee. The words from the phone call rambled around in her mind.

“Strawberries. The voice on the phone said something about strawberries. Strawberry Pie dumped over the victim’s head.” Her voice cracked at the memory.

Only the killer knew about the pie. Her body shook. Had she been talking to the killer? What else had the caller said? Jack be nimble. Another nursery rhyme.

Grabbing the counter to steady herself, she repeated part of the nursery rhyme “Jack be nimble…”

Her mind raced. She pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen, trying to remember the rest of the rhyme.

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick. That’s it!”

What the heck did it mean? Was he going to kill again? Was there a serial killer out there?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the police department. Maybe it was nothing, but she needed to report it. Something didn’t sit right.

Available Now!!

Ring Around the Rosy available at Amazon

Harassing phone calls from a killer terrify journalist, Susan Weston after her first big byline.

Detective David Morgan investigates the calls and the fact Susan’s bracelet was found at the murder scene. Sparks fly between them in more ways than one.

 To make matters worse, someone is leaving roses in front of Susan’s door.  Is she being stalked by a killer?

Excerpt:

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie kissed the girls and made them cry — now it’s time to die.

He released his hands from the victim’s neck, and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. He stood back, and stared at it in disgust.

“You thought you were so cool, didn’t you, George? Playing all the girls like that. You could’ve had anyone you wanted, but you weren’t satisfied with one. You wanted them all. Then you broke their hearts and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

He stooped down, lifted George’s head, and propped it against a rock, then pulled a tube of lipstick from his pocket and smeared it across the victim’s mouth. How many times had he seen George wipe off his lips coming out of the locker room? “You won’t wipe it off this time, Buddy.”

He stuffed a paper into George’s hand and tightened his fingers around it. “You don’t look too cool now.” He laughed and pulled a container of pudding and a strawberry pie out of his knapsack, opened them, and dumped them over George’s head. The gooey mixture ran down George’s face.

He licked his lips. “You poor, pathetic bastard.”

Gathering up his knapsack, he took one last look at the body, then turned and ran from the park. His job was done.

***

Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

The phone rang, startling her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.

“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.

The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.

The voice mumbled something she could barely hear.

“Strawberries? What are you talking about?”

“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued.

“I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?

She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.

Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.

He said he liked her story. That shouldn’t bother her. Something about that voice, so harsh, so evil. It gnawed at her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

After pouring a cup of coffee, she read the story under the headline aloud, trying to keep her mind off the phone call. “Police are investigating the death of thirty-one year old George Lucas, whose body was found last night in Lagoon Park near his west side home.” The sound of her shaky voice surprised her.

What was the matter with her?  “Get a grip, girl.”

Must be the effect of seeing the lifeless body. The way George Lucas’s eyes stared into space. What was he thinking when he looked into his killer’s eyes? The distant street lamp didn’t help. It cast an eerie shadow on the victim. His face frozen in terror, lips parted in a silent scream, and his head tilted to one side as if it was too heavy for his neck. The way one hand clutched at his throat and the other gripped the note, fingers frozen around it, sent icy chills through her, even now. She shuddered.

Thank God there wasn’t any blood, since the image would forever be embedded in her mind. Susan rubbed her arms to warm them.

Picking up the paper, she continued to read. “The coroner will determine the cause of death, but early reports indicate that Mr. Lucas was strangled. Lipstick was smeared across the victim’s mouth, and he clasped the nursery rhyme, ‘Georgie Porgie,’ in his hand. The teen who discovered the body reported seeing a man carrying a bag and wearing a gray shirt running from the park moments before. Police have no suspects at this time.”

Bella brushed against her legs, jumped on the counter, and snuggled against her.

Susan’s heart pounded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So much for the thrill of seeing her name on the front page. The image of the body filled her mind. Her hands trembled while she held the paper and reread the headline with her name below it. It was exactly as she had written it — not one word changed, short and to the point.

George Lucas lived in her neighborhood. She’d seen him a few times in Meliti’s Market talking to old Mrs. Meliti. Although they never spoke, they had nodded and smiled hello. Nice-looking guy, about her age. What a shock seeing him dead. Another shiver shook her body. Seeing a dead body was bad enough, but knowing the victim threw her for a loop. Made it personal.

Arriving only a few minutes before the police showed up and ordered her to leave, not that they had to tell her twice, she had viewed the crime scene and then skedaddled lickety-split. She knew enough about crime scenes to maintain a distance, knew if she got too close, she’d compromise the scene, maybe even leave trace evidence of herself behind. She didn’t need that. But she’d been close enough to read that paper in his hand, a nursery rhyme. She’d seen every gory detail.

The nursery rhyme letters, cut out from newspapers and magazines, and bowl of chocolate pudding and the strawberry pie that had been dumped on the victim’s head would stay in her memory for a long time. Of course, the police requested that information not be printed.

Requested, hell. Demanded was more like it, but Susan understood. Those were facts only the killer knew, and it prevented crank confessions. Couldn’t give the public too much information. After waiting behind the crime scene tape long enough to hear the possible cause of death, she hurried home to write her story before the deadline.

Susan walked around the kitchen. To sweeten the deal, her colleagues hadn’t shown up until well after they’d taped off the crime scene, hadn’t seen what she’d seen. So Ernie printed her story. Her first big byline!   Even that cocky reporter, Dan Hill, hadn’t beat her out this time.

Staring at the large headline, she sipped her coffee. The words from the phone call rambled around in her mind.

“Strawberries. The voice on the phone said something about strawberries. Strawberry Pie dumped over the victim’s head.” Her voice cracked at the memory.

Only the killer knew about the pie. Her body shook. Had she been talking to the killer? What else had the caller said? Jack be nimble. Another nursery rhyme.

Grabbing the counter to steady herself, she repeated part of the nursery rhyme “Jack be nimble…”

Her mind raced. She pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen, trying to remember the rest of the rhyme.

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick. That’s it!”

What the heck did it mean? Was he going to kill again? Was there a serial killer out there?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the police department. Maybe it was nothing, but she needed to report it. Something didn’t sit right.

Susan showered while she waited for Detective David Morgan. The Desk Sergeant had connected them when she explained the strange phone call. Detective Morgan of Homicide, in charge of the case, told her he’d come by within the hour to take her statement.  Just what she needed, a detective coming here. Why couldn’t he take her statement over the phone? Yeah, right. She knew better than that. That wasn’t the way it worked.

A few minutes later, someone pounded on the door. “Hold on, I’m coming.” Good grief, couldn’t they knock like ordinary people. Scared the bejeebers out of me.”  Susan opened the door a crack. How the heck did he get past the security door?

“Detective Morgan.” He flashed his badge. “You called me.”

Susan pushed the chain aside and opened the door. He brushed past her and walked into her apartment.

Taken aback by the tall, strikingly handsome man and his rude entry, she caught her breath. Here was Rhett Butler, from Gone with the Wind, reincarnated. He towered over her five-foot-eight height. Yet, she wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his face. Now she knew how Scarlett felt the first time she met Rhett.

But darn it, what gave him the right to burst in here like that? His coppery brown eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, mesmerizing her. What a hunk of a man. Too bad rudeness got the better of him. The citrusy scent of his after-shave tickled her nostrils. His unruly, silky, black hair begged her to push it back in place. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through it.

Good lord, she needed to get a hold of herself; he was just a man. Oh, but what a man, not to mention, a cop. Susan fidgeted with her coffee cup, sipped occasionally, and paced while he questioned her in a quiet, but firm voice.

She stopped pacing and studied him, guessed him to be a few years older than her, maybe 35. Just because he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring didn’t mean he wasn’t married. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she tried to concentrate on the phone call. “I could hardly hear him.”

A quivering sensation ran through her when she stared into the detective’s eyes. This man had the power to seduce her with just a look. “He sounded all garbled, like he was talking through water, or something.” Even her voice trembled. 

Shadows in the Attic

In the process of renovating century old, Queen Anne style Victorian home, author, Anna Hughes decides to convert part of the attic into a quiet place to write. Her fiancé points out a window on the outside of the house that doesn’t show in the attic. It’s only natural, she’d insist on knocking down a wall. Once the wall is down, they discover a room, complete with furniture, a diary, trunk full of treasures, and shadows hovering over it.

Ben Curtis, Anna’s fiancé hates getting dirty but agrees to her harebrained scheme, hoping to prove her wrong. Maybe then she’d give up the idea of writing and get a real job. Once she discovered the room, there was no stopping her. Worse, she insisted she saw shadows.

Chad Andrews was thrilled when Anna hires him to renovate the attic once the wall was knocked down. Too bad she was engaged, he was attracted to more than her house.

Do they hold the answer to secrets of why the room was hidden?

Available at Amazon

Welcome, Sydell Voeller

Summer Magic by Sydell Voeller, available at Amazon Kindle

Published by Books We Love Ltd:  www.bookswelove.net

             When her fiancé calls off their engagement, veterinarian assistant Lisa Prentice joins the circus in hopes of escaping the everyday grind. But life under the big top isn't quite what she expected. None of the veterinarian's former assistants managed to please their short-tempered boss, and Lisa fears that her days are numbered, too. Michael Figaro, a dashing young trapeze artist, is also cautious about whether Lisa can stay, and keeps his distance. Still, Lisa finds herself overwhelmingly attracted to him. Although Michael is the aerialist, it is Lisa who is flying on an emotional high wire. What happened to her safety net? Will their love survive?

Introduction to the Story 

            The year before, while the circus was on a 6-week lay-over at Madison Square Garden, Lisa Prentice had met dashing aerialist, Michael Figaro. There she’d also unexpectedly helped save a critically ill Arabian horse, Ebony, and she’d immediately fallen in love with the horse. Michael was more than a minor attraction too--and now that Lisa’s back, his charisma is once again working its magic on her.  Michael has just met her at the airport, brought her back to the circus grounds, and introduced her to his family-- also circus performers.  His twin sister, Estelle, welcomes Lisa with open arms and invites her to stay  in her trailer, and Lisa accepts.  Michael’s second sister, however, gives Lisa a frosty reception, and Lisa can’t help but wonder why.  Nonetheless, Lisa is eager to watch Michael and his family perform, and now she has the opportunity to do so: 

Partial Excerpt from Chapter 2 

Inside the coliseum, Lisa found an unreserved seat and sat down.  The band was playing a lively tune.  Vendors selling popcorn and cotton candy worked the side aisles.

As the lights dimmed and the music swelled, a rainbow of colors filled the arena.  Lisa's meeting with Claudette soon forgotten, new anticipation flowed through her.  It was time for the Spectacle to begin.

With rapt attentiveness, she clasped her hands together. Animals in bright head dresses and performers wearing sequin-spangled costumes paraded by.  Then came the first act, which soon gave way to the next.  Lisa laughed with the crowds at the chimps bouncing on pogo sticks, clapped for the tiger jumping through a ring of fire, and gazed in awe at the red-sequined showgirls performing an aerial ballet.   

Next the Flying Figaros emerged.  Dressed in glittering silver capes, holding hands and smiling their most dazzling smiles, they sprinted into the center ring.  In seconds the troupe was ascending the high rope ladder, Estelle sitting on Michael's shoulders.  While Claudette began to swing from a trapeze, Michael and Rudolph, perched on high rungs, balanced poles from their foreheads.

In an instant, the blue spotlight shifted back to the two young women.  Lisa watched first one, then the other spin through the air, skillfully performing their famous double somersaults.  The most difficult trick--Michael's triple--was only seconds away.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages,”  the ringmaster boomed, "world-renowned Michael Figaro will perform one of the most daring acts in circus history!  The triple somersault!"

A hush blanketed the coliseum.  The drums rolled.  From somewhere overhead, the spotlights dimmed, casting a dramatic hue over the performers.  Lisa's heart pounded.  Every nerve in her body stood on end.  Oh, Michael.  Please be careful, she silently pleaded.

Michael dusted his hands with resin.  Then he began to swing.  The intensity was etched clearly on his face.  His taut muscles revealed the strength in his torso and upper arms.  Last year when she'd witnessed Michael's performance, she'd secretly vowed he was the most gorgeous man alive. Tonight was no exception.

Higher and higher he arched.  With a quick thrust, he tucked himself into a ball and whirled through the air.

The drums stopped rolling.  Lisa felt her hands grow clammy as she braced herself on the edge of her seat. Suddenly Michael's body straightened and his hands connected with the catcher's.  The applause exploded.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster hollered, "you have just witnessed the most important feat on the face of the earth!"

While the crowds went wild, Lisa went limp with relief.

Oh, Michael, no wonder you came back, her heart cried out.  His performance was commanding.  Michael Figaro was destined for stardom.  How easy it would be to fall in love with him--only to end up heart-broken once again.  There must be at least a hundred women, watching him this very moment, who would give their souls just to touch his hand.  She could no more hold onto Michael than she had Charles.

One by one, the flyers dropped into the safety net, then onto the floor.  The crowd rose from their seats and cheered louder as the troupe took sweeping bows, then disappeared behind a royal blue curtain.

Suddenly the beating of hooves sounded.  The air stirred as three gorgeous black horses without riders or reins streaked past.  The ring seemed charged with their electrifying energy.

Lisa blinked twice.  Ebony!  The leading horse had to be Ebony!  In the center of the ring stood Mr. Figaro dressed in white and grasping a long whip.

The blue spot lights shifted to red.  While the other horses took their places opposite each other near the edge of the ring, Ebony cantered gracefully to the center.  She reared up.  Like a magnificent mystical creature, she pawed the air.  The other show horses immediately followed Ebony's cue.

Step-by-step she led them through one trick after another.  Then the lights dimmed as the horses made their exit...

Partial Excerpt from Chapter 3

"You still want to see Ebony tonight?" Michael asked as they strolled down a wide sidewalk that fronted the circus grounds.

"Oh, yes!"  Lisa smiled up at him.  The pale glow from a streetlight illuminated his profile.  Overhead, a spattering of stars winked in the cobalt blue sky. A balmy summer breeze lifted her hair.  Until just a few moments ago, Michael had been unusually quiet.  Lisa suspected he was pondering his father's leaving and the added responsibilities that entailed.  Or was it something more?

They crossed the north side of the lot, then threaded their way among the animal cages, trucks, and horse trailers.  In minutes they came to the horse tent and ducked inside.

The sweet smell of fresh hay filled Lisa's nostrils. A horse nickered.  She followed Michael past three black stallions and a Shetland pony that were switching their tails as they munched hay.

"Oh, Michael, there she is!" Lisa cried as she pointed to the end of the row.

"Yep!  Isn't she a beaut?" he asked, beaming.

As Lisa hurried up to the horse and began stroking her mane, Ebony lifted her head and stared back through half-lidded eyes.

"Ebony, you're beautiful!  Just as I'd remembered." The horse's ears twitched.  Lisa reached down, picked up a fistful of hay, and offered it on her opened palm.  Ebony's snout was velvety soft.

"Instant bonding," Michael said.  He grinned approvingly, rocking back on his heels.

"Oh, I hope so.  In fact, I'm looking forward to working with all the horses."

"Good.  I may need some help."

"How are you feeling about that?" Lisa asked as she stooped down to pick up more hay.  "About taking the responsibility for the show horses?" She straightened again, then turned to look up at him.  She watched his grin suddenly fade.

He glanced away.  "Scared.  Very scared."

“I doubt your father would've asked you to do it if he didn't think you were capable."

"It's expected of me, Lisa.  That's what being in the circus is all about.  Most of us, sooner or later, have to wear more than one hat. Pop would still be flying, too, if it hadn't have been for his accident.  And Uncle Rudy...he not only works as our catcher, but oversees the side show most of the time too."

"And here I'm feeling overwhelmed!  All I have to do is assist Dr. Woodstock and pass my probation."  A ripple of excitement overshadowed Lisa's uncertainty.  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd finally set out to accomplish what she'd come for. "Back home, my best friend Melanie and I go riding almost every weekend at Doc Largent's stables," she went on. "Will you let me ride Ebony sometime soon?"

"Maybe tomorrow.  If you can find a minute or two to spring free, just check with me or one of the stable boys first."

"I will."

"Let's tell this critter good-night and split." Michael's voice was laced with impatience.

"What's the big hurry?"  She met his gaze and chuckled.

"I...I just thought you might be hungry.  There's a deli not far up the street that makes a mean grilled pastrami sandwich."  He shrugged.  "Besides, as far as I know, you haven't had anything to eat since this afternoon back at the airport."

"Thanks, but I'm still too keyed up to eat any more.  I should really turn in."  She gave Ebony one final pat, avoiding Michael's gaze. Though a late snack with Michael was more than tempting, she knew she mustn't.  Already these few short hours with him had stirred too many confusing emotions within her.

Michael reached out and cupped her chin with his hand, gently prodding her to look at him.  "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"All right, then.  I'll walk you to Estelle's trailer, but I doubt if she'll be there for another hour or so.  She usually goes to my folks' motor home to have a bite to eat. Most likely Mom will save something for me, too."  He chuckled.  "She always thinks if I'm left to my own culinary devices, I'll waste away."

The air was heavy with the scent of sawdust and animals, mingled with mesquite wafting from someone's small propane barbecue alongside one of the trailers.

As they started out, his arm brushed her shoulder. Though the contact was fleeting, she was acutely conscious of his nearness.  A shudder rippled through her.

"Chilly?"

"Yes...no."  She felt like a silly school girl, unable to know her own mind.  Though the earlier rain squalls had been warm and humid, now the air was much too balmy to explain her physical response.  How could she admit to Michael, much less to herself, that his magnetic presence was hopelessly unraveling her?

But in the wake of that awareness her memory instantly sharpened.  The groupies.  That showgirl.  How could she ever compete--even if she did desire a relationship with Michael?  No, they might as well have come from two distinct planets on the opposite sides of the galaxy. She was definitely an outsider to Michael's tightly knit world.  She would remain that way no matter how long she stayed.  And even if she let down her guard and allowed him to capture her in his spell, how long could it last?  Would he soon move on to someone more enticing?  Just as Charles had?

"Michael?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated before going on.  "Who was that show girl you were talking to tonight?"

"Her name's Rita and she's new here.  She used to be an aerialist with another circus.  I hear she was pretty good. Claudette wanted me to do Rita a favor today--give her a lift--but, I managed to get out of it.  I went to the airport to meet you instead."  He edged away slightly, letting his arm drop to his side.

 Lisa pushed back the fleeting thought that Michael's purpose in meeting her might've been simply to avoid giving in to his twin sister. "I bet that ticked off Claudette," she said.

 "She'll get over it," he answered, his expression unreadable.  "Besides, there was no reason why Claudette couldn't have played chauffeur to Rita.  Rita's great- aunt Mildred--or whoever she wanted to see--apparently lives on some dude ranch near the north end of the county."  They side-stepped a wardrobe trunk someone had left near the door of a fifth wheeler.

"The way I see it," Michael continued in an offhand manner, "Rita is fun to joke around with it, but that's about it.  If Claudette wants to buddy up with Rita, then fine.  She doesn't need to involve me too."

Lisa shot him a questioning glance.  Wasn't Michael aware of his charismatic appeal?  Even something innocent like joking around might give Rita reason to believe she stood a chance with him.

"So are you trying to say Claudette's playing Cupid?" Lisa asked.  "Your sister wants to bring you and Rita together?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"It all goes back to her fear of me leaving--just like we talked about earlier.  Claudette figures if I end up marrying another flyer, then I'll stay with the troupe forever."

"And what do you think?"  She stopped walking and swung around to look at him.

"I'm going to stay, no matter what," he ground out. "I've tried it on the outside.  I'm back where I belong."

"Of course.  Your performance tonight made that more than obvious."

Michael’s message had come through loud and clear.  He could never make a life for himself anywhere other than the circus.

As they started walking again, a picture of Rita returned to her mind.  "Any special reason why Rita decided to join Jessell and Stern?" she asked.

He chuckled.  "So what's with this Rita bit?  You certainly seem more than mildly interested."

"Just curious, that's all," she replied with a shrug, though she could feel her face growing warm with embarrassment.  They passed two keepers carrying buckets of water.

"Rita's troupe broke up so she decided to move on. According to Claudette, when Rita came to Jessell and Stern, she said she needed a change and wanted to work as a showgirl instead.  I guess my sister's made an extra effort to welcome her."

"How accommodating," Lisa said in a low voice.  Actually, it was difficult to understand how Claudette could make anyone feel welcomed.  But maybe she wasn't being fair. Maybe she'd judged Claudette too hastily.

"What was that?"

She flushed again.  "Nothing.  I...I didn't mean that the way it probably sounded.  I guess I'm more tired than I realized."

"Which means I'm doing the right thing by making sure you turn in now."  He grinned again.  "Not that I particularly want to, mind you."

She peered down the row of RVs.  They'd almost come to the end.  "Where are you staying?" she asked.

"Three doors down."  He nodded to a small eighties-vintage trailer.  His pick-up was parked close by.  "It might not be the Taj Mahal, but it gets me by."

"And Claudette?  Where's her place?"

"We passed it already.  Back this side of the costume trailer."

Outside Estelle's RV, Michael dug into his hip pocket and pulled out a key.  "Here.  Take this.  It's a spare and Estelle said for you to hold onto it."  He pressed the key into her palm, prolonging the contact.

"Thanks, Michael."

"Uh...a couple of more things.  Estelle also said to tell you the bottom bunk is yours.  And don't mind her little poodle.  His name's Rags.  Used to be one of Mom's show poodles, but Estelle's let him get soft.  Anyway, he might just decide to give you an overly enthusiastic welcome.  He tends to get a little carried away at times."

"Thanks again.  I'll like that."  She locked her gaze with his.  "Sleep well, Michael."

"You too."  He gave no indication of leaving, but rather leaned closer and settled his hand on the back of her neck. A suggestive smile hovered on the corners of his mouth.  His lips were only a fraction away.

"Lisa?"

"Yes?"

"It's kind of weird, isn't it?  I mean...I never expected to see you again.  When I met you last year, I figured you were just another townie who wandered through."

"Well, I guess I was then.  But I'm not anymore.  I'm here to stay."

A shadow of doubt passed over his face.  "Just hang in there, okay?  Things are gonna be different here.  I guarantee it."

"I realize that, Michael."  She offered him a hesitant smile.  "Truth is, I never expected to sign on with Jessell and Stern either. Serendipity, I guess.  You're right.  Life can be kind of weird sometimes."

"Uh-huh."  Weird and scary, he thought.  His stomach knotted.  He felt as if some bozo had just kicked him in the gut.  Hold on, Figaro. Get a hold of yourself... Yet being close to Lisa, touching her like this...

His voice was ragged as he dropped his hand.  "See ya...see you around."  He hesitated, then reached for her hand and gently pressed her knuckles against his lips. "You'd better get inside.  Now."

"I will."

He turned on his heel and without a backwards glance strode quickly away.

She couldn't go in.  She had to keep watching him. Slowly, gradually his retreating figure faded into the night. Michael, come back! she yearned to call to him.

No! her better judgment ruled.  You don't fit in.  You could never be his.  And even if you could, he'd only end up hurting you.  Let him be.

What was the matter with her? she wondered miserably as she turned the key in the lock.  Why had she allowed her heart to take this crazy roller-coaster ride?  And now, foolish woman that she was, she wanted him more than ever...

Link to Amazon purchase site: 

http://www.amazon.com/Sandcastles-of-Love-ebook/dp/B004X6Z9RQ

Author’s website:  www.sydellvoeller.com

I first met Vanessa Gleason on...

Christmas Eve. Oh, I’m Pastor Dan Jacobson, pastor of St. Matthew Lutheran Church. I came to check things out for my Christmas Eve service and there she was standing kneeling next to the Nativity Scene. She stood and turned toward me. I sensed the tension in her. I’m sure with the light behind me, she couldn’t see who I was right away. She was holding a baby.

I approached slowly and she immediately relaxed when she realized I was a man of the cloth, immediately mistaking me for a priest. Normal mistake, many people mistook me for a priest.

The baby wasn’t hers, she explained. She found it next to the crèche. Naturally, I was suspicious. Was she trying to pull a fast one? Her annoyance didn’t escape me as she pushed the note in my hand. Not that it proved anything, she could have written it. Thing is, she looked me in the eye and I’ve discovered people who are lying don’t look you in the eye.

Her eyes held sorrow, grief. This was a woman who was suffering. We sat down and I asked if she had children. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. Slowly but surely, the story came out. She had a two year old daughter, whose father demanded custody, threatening Vanessa if she didn’t agree. She had no choice or chance of getting her daughter back if she didn’t take the money he offered and leave.

It wasn’t long before someone else entered the church. The baby’s mother raced toward us, crying. The poor girl was at wit’s end, not knowing where to turn. When she saw Vanessa come into the church, something made her scribble a note and run out. But, she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave her baby.

I knew I should call the police, but Vanessa came to the rescue, insisting the girl and baby stay with her. It was Christmas Eve and after the tale Vanessa just told me about her own child, well heck, how could I possibly call the police? So I got the address where they were staying and let them go, figuring I’d check on them later. Besides, I wanted to see Vanessa again.

To find out what happens next, you’ll have to read the book. It’s available from Amazon

EXCERPT

Vanessa’s stomach tensed. She had to get out of here. Needed some air, needed to escape.

She got in her car and started driving, to where was anyone’s guess. The quaintness of Strongsville, Ohio, especially the town square with the gazebo with all the Christmas decorations, brought tears to her eyes. Vanessa wiped the tears away and parked the car. Shoppers and carolers filled the sidewalks. Ignoring them, Vanessa hurried past decorated shops until she came to a small church. St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, the sign out front said. Two huge wreaths hung on the heavy oak doors. The small white building beckoned to her.

Vanessa opened the door, walked up the steps and stood at the entrance. The quiet of the empty church filled her soul. It had been too long since she had attended services. Charles wasn’t particularly religious, but at least he had allowed her to have Alyssa baptized. She should have gone to church more often by herself, but after spending Saturday evening at the club, it was all too easy to sleep in on Sunday morning.

Light showed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the red carpet-covered aisle way. A nativity scene at the front captured her attention and drew her forward. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind.

Her father always helped set up the nativity at church when she was a little girl, and they let her put Baby Jesus in the crèche. A noise came from the side aisle, interrupting her thoughts. Vanessa stopped, saw a flash of red and the side door slammed. Funny, she hadn’t noticed anyone else when she came in.

Oh, well, Vanessa shrugged and continued to the front and knelt down. What in the world? Next to the nativity scene sat a car seat. An infant, three, maybe four months old with dark curly hair, opened its almond shaped dark eyes and reached its chubby arms out to her.

“What have we here?” Vanessa unbuckled the seat belt. “Hello, precious.” She picked up the baby and a note fell on the diaper bag next to the car seat. Vanessa picked up the paper and read the scribbled words.

Please take care of my baby. Her name is Grace. Mary.

“Who could leave someone as precious as you?” Vanessa looked around. No one lurked in the shadows. Who left the baby? How long had she been here? God, what should she do? The baby cuddled against her. Vanessa inhaled the sweet smell of baby lotion, bringing back memory of Alyssa. Tears filled her eyes. For a minute, she was tempted to take the baby and leave, but she couldn’t do it.

Startled, when the door at the back of the church slammed, Vanessa turned toward the sound. A shadow loomed at the entrance and moved toward her. A tall figure walked down the aisle, checking the pews along the way. Vanessa hugged the baby against her, held her breath, and let it out when she saw who it was.

“Father, I’m glad you’re here. I came in here and found this baby. I was just about to call the police.”

“I’m a minister, not a priest. Pastor Dan Jacobson, Pastor Dan will do,” he said. “You found a baby?” His brown eyes sparkled with a glint of gold below raised eyebrows. “Who do you suppose it belongs to?”

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.

***

Attractive woman and she held the baby like she cared about it. Was she trying to pull a fast one? Yet, something about her suggested she was telling the truth. Her eyes—that was it. She had honest eyes. Dan laughed inwardly. What was it with him and people’s eyes? He’d learned over the years that people telling the truth looked you in the eyes, whereas liars looked away, over your head, or down at the floor. This woman looked him full in the eyes.

And he’d gone and made her mad. She didn’t look like the sort of person he wanted mad at him. No, she looks like the sort of person who needed help. Like someone he wanted to know better. No wedding ring, but the pale mark on her tanned finger indicated she wore one recently.

Something bothered her, an inner conflict. The baby wasn’t hers, but there was something. A sorrow in her eyes, a deep hurt on her face. He had seen that look before, usually someone suffering from grief. He wanted to know more about this mysterious woman who showed up in his church and discovered the baby.

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

             How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.