Sunday, July 28, 2013

Snippet Sunday

It's Sunday again, and I'm posting another snippet of the story I'm working on. Last time I posted, I thought I was going to finish that other story first, but since then, I've decided I really need to focus on "Love Lost in Time" and nothing else. I MUST have this story finished next month!

I invite other authors to participate and in the comment section, leave a snippet of your story (with a link if it's published). Please only PG rating snippets.

Andrew Merrick was whisked from his home in England, 1848 to another time, the very day a mob had attacked his family. Wondering why he remains in this strange place, all he wants is find the treasure his father had hidden, hoping this might take Andrew back home. But he’s running out of time. When he meets a lovely woman in this strange new era, he feels she is the one who will help him.

Halle Chapman has come to England to find her missing father. What she finds instead is a nice man who claims he’s from the past. Although she doesn’t believe in time-travel, deep in her heart, she knows she must help Andrew. What she finds instead is discovering the key to her future lies in the past. Now, to return to her own time, she needs to solve the mystery surrounding Andrew Merrick and his family’s murder.


Gloucestershire, England 1848

A loud boom echoed from outside mere seconds before glass shattered in the room. Andrew jumped away from the large window, his heart hammering out of control as he stared at the large rock lying on the floor wrapped in a paper and tied with string.
Cursing, his father rushed to his wife and his daughter, Georgiana, shielding them with his body as he put himself between the women and the curious object. The women screamed and huddled against his father’s large frame.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marquis Harrington bellowed as his gaze swept the room, then moved to the window.

Andrew crept on careful feet to the rock, glass crunching under his Hessian boots. He pried away the string and opened the note.
Ignoring my threats is not permissible! Because you have refused to divulge where you are hiding the ancient jewels, you now must watch your family burn to death.

 “I demand to know who is doing this,” his father barked.

Because of the screams and sobs filling the room, Andrew hadn’t realized his father stood beside him, reading the note as well. From over his shoulder he glanced at the faces of his mother and sister, then to Edward who held Helen tightly, and finally rested on Helen’s parents, Lord and Lady Caldwell and their sons, fear etching their expressions. Confusion constricted in Andrew’s chest, as did the fear stirring from the threat.

“Father?” Andrew asked, meeting his father’s eyes. “Who could be doing this?”

Keeping his jaw hard, his father took in a deep breath before meeting Andrew’s gaze. “I have my suspicions, but I will not relent. Our ancestor’s jewels have been in the family for two hundred years and will remain with us for generations to come.”

“But Father, these people are serious. You must tell those who are threatening us so they will not cause harm!”

Heavy footsteps ran up the hallway as voices rose in alarm. Andrew rushed to the door and threw it open just as their servants clamored in.

“My lord,” Johnson, the butler said breathlessly. “There is a mob of people out front carrying torches and weapons.”

His father snapped his head toward his wife and Georgie. “Get upstairs. Now! And take Lady Caldwell and Lady Brimhall with you.”

Andrew’s mother nodded, clutching her daughter’s hand as they hurried out of the room, with the others following. No sooner had they left, a flaming arrow shot through the broken window, piercing the drapes and igniting the material.

Andrew cursed and grabbed a cloth off a small table, trying to put out the fire, but more arrows shot through the house. Outside shadows danced across the lawn as the mob marched closer. Dear Lord above, help us! It was a small army!

His father shouted instructions to the servants and other men in the room. Edward ran toward the adjoining room to the gun cabinet, his new father and brothers-in-law followed. Another arrow passed through the window, barely missing Andrew. His father’s painful grunt pulled Andrew’s attention to his sire...and to the arrow protruding from his chest.

Father!” Andrew ran to him just as the older man fell to the floor.

Gasping for breath, he clutched Andrew’s hands. “Protect our family.”

“I will.” Tears burned Andrew’s eyes.

The angry voices of the mob grew closer. They’d be upon their home at any moment.

“They want...the hidden treasure.” His father gasped for air. “Do not let them find it.”

Emotion clogged Andrew’s throat. “But that is the only way to save the family.”

The marquis’ eyes slowly closed as he struggled to take another breath. “By the tree... Go by the tree...” Then his father’s body fell limp in Andrew’s arms.

Tears blurred his vision.

Screams from upstairs tugged at his conscience. Mother! Georgie! Although his father didn’t want to give up the family’s treasure, Andrew couldn’t allow his family to die because of it. His but clenched and he gritted his teeth. Regretfully, he would go against his father’s last wish.

He kissed his father’s forehead then gently laid him down before jumping to his feet. He lunged out the door, dodging the servants running through the halls wielding weapons. From behind him, a pistol fired. Andrew felt the air whoosh by his cheek. Too close. He prayed for strength and that he wouldn’t get shot.

The back stairs were the only way Andrew could think to run to get outside. His father’s last words played in his mind. Go by the tree. Although Andrew didn’t know what his father meant, he tried to remember if his father had a favorite tree outside. Perhaps his father was trying to tell him that’s where the treasure had been buried.

Check out the book trailer -

Friday, July 26, 2013


Today - July 26th - is my parents' wedding anniversary!  If my father had been alive, my parents would have been married for 50 years.  Amazing!  But my family will still celebrate this special event, and I'm sure my dad who is in heaven will be celebrating with us in his own little way.  My mom is celebrating that her family has been together for 50 years (even though none of her kids are that age yet), but that's when she and dad began their life as The Campbell Family.

For my blog today, I'm dedicating it to two wonderful parents who raised me to respect others, to work hard at everything I do, and to love the Lord. Thank you Mom & Dad!!


The last family pic taken before my father passed away.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Sunday Snippets

I have decided to try something new. Every Sunday I'm going to leave my readers will a little snippet from one of my upcoming stories. AND...I'm going to invite other authors to leave a little snippet from their stories, as well. (PG rating, please!!)

I really working on two different stories right now. One of them I've written before, and I'm just going through to clean it up before publishing it, so I'll probably finish this one before I will finish my time-travel, "Love Lost in Time". So here is a little unedited excerpt from my Victorian Romance, "Worth Fighting For" - the wonderful cover by Sheri McGathy.


Phoebe Alphius, daughter of the governor of Turkey, was told at the tender age of ten that she was the goddess Artemis, reincarnated. In her mind, just because she has the silver-blonde hair of the goddess, and she has the bold personality, hunts and fights better than any of her brothers, doesn’t mean she is Artemis. All of her life people have treated her differently, and she’s tired of it. She wants a normal life. She wants to find love. But just as Artemis, she’s going to die without ever having loved a man. There’s only once choice to make…she must leave Turkey and pretend she’s someone else. Now all she has to do is find a way out.

Captain Barry Winston just received word that his father is dying—which means Barry will become Duke of Lockhart. His trip to Turkey will be his last and he will give up the trading business for good. Sailing back to England, he realizes he has a stowaway. Her beauty is breathtaking, and she makes him laugh more than he’s done before. Yet she is just a servant, so he cannot possibly fall in love with her and take her as his wife. His heart has different plans because forgetting about her would be impossible. Has he finally found the woman worth fighting for?



Turkey, 1870

Thieves came in many different forms.

        Captain Barrington Winston stepped to the side of the tent and folded his arms, his gaze zeroing in on the pretty little thief not far from him in the marketplace. In his line of work, he knew the lovely thieves were the most dangerous. The girl was slim, and dressed in the plain brown rags the ruffians wore in Selcuk. Her face held a look of innocence as she watched his shop.
        Chuckling to himself, he shook his head. Out of all the thieves he had run across in the five years he’d been in the trading business, not one of them could pull off the innocent act—but this one certainly appeared as if she was wet behind the ears and didn’t know what she was doing. Perhaps that is why she’d caught Barry’s attention so quickly.
        The evening’s dim light didn’t allow him to see the color of her eyes, but they were wide and curious as they darted from person to person standing at his tent. Her shiny white-blonde hair, almost silver in color, spilled over her shoulders. Strange, but she didn’t cover her hair as well as most of the women in this foreign land. Even her face wasn’t covered, and most of the women he’d seen covered the lower half of their faces with a veil.
She moved away from the steps of the Temple of Artemis and approached his tent—constructed as his shop during their stay in Selcuk. Her stare was fixed on his first mate, Jeffrey Smithers, as he explained to another buyer where they had purchased the Oriental vases and other rugs being sold.
Barry waited for the girl to make her move, anticipating the moment she’d try to be sneaky, yet she still acted as if she were more enthralled with his first mate’s tale than stealing anything.
The girl stepped closer. Not more than three feet away from her was a ten-inch golden statue of Pegasus. If she tried to steal that expensive artifact, he’d tackle her right here in front of everyone. Slowly, he moved away from the crates, nearing the girl just in case she slipped something of value beneath her long skirt.
A few more buyers gathered around Jeffrey, listening to his first mate’s extravagant storytelling. But the thief continued coming closer. Would she indeed steal it, or was it her purpose to knock the statue over and break it?
He wouldn’t let her carry on with this innocent act any longer. His costly statue was at stake. She was within reach, and he wouldn’t allow her to accomplish her goal.
Barry grasped her upper arm and pulled her away from the canvas tent that displayed his artifacts. She gasped and looked up at him. Her head veil slipped down to her neck, displaying her glorious mane of silver-blonde hair. Her eyes were wide, frightened. Up this close, she didn’t resemble a girl any longer, but a beautiful young woman in her prime.


Friday, July 5, 2013

Welcome Sheri McGathy!

I'm so very excited to introduce you to my cover artist & author friend, Sheri McGathy.

Tell us a little bit about your latest release...and about The Storyteller.

My latest release is also the first book I ever wrote. It has gone through a few morphs in its time. Even with, or perhaps despite of, the “first novel” missteps, Elfen Gold continues to hold a special place in my heart.

This release takes the previous versions: Elfen Gold – The Season of Gold and Elfen Gold – The Season of Silver, and reunites them back into one volume, the way it was first written. I also left the tale as is, filled with all the wonder of a new author who has yet to realize that the writing journey isn’t at all simple or as innocent as she first imagined. I wanted to leave the tale as is rather than rewrite it into something it was never intended to be. It is the tale I wanted to tell when I took my first feeble steps on a journey I continue to this day.

Elfen Gold and I have come full circle.

The Storyteller, a voice/character I also used in The Birth of Spring and Summersong, was born within the pages of Elfen Gold. When I created him and his narrative, I thought of it as a way to convey parts of the tale that I didn’t really want to write. New writer J

Elfen Gold actually started out as a story poem. Forty-eight pages of prose that rhymed, can you just imagine! The way the poem was written lent itself to a storyteller feel. So, it seemed natural to me to transfer that into the novel. I honestly didn’t think he would create such a mystery to my readers. Rather than asking me about Ra-May or Michall, all I ever heard was: Who is the Storyteller? To which I would reply: You know I know. Do you really want me to tell you?

No one ever did.

The Storyteller has become as dear to me as the book that gave him birth.

May the magic always brighten your world ~ Sheri L. McGathy


The Blurb:

Elfen Gold ~ The adventure begins…. A Storyteller Tale by Sheri L. McGathy

“Gather round. Aye, gather near, and I will spin you a tale of magic from a time long since lost to lore. Come and I will tell of elves and the kingdom of Ra-Jee, a kingdom now forgotten in the mists of enchantment. “This tale is one of sacrifice and sorrow, yet one of hope offered to a future not yet written.”

The Storyteller curled his gnarled fingers over the worn top of his cane and smiled. “And it is a tale of a young elfen maiden named Ra-May and the human male, Michall, she is destined to meet.

“Come, join me as I tell of these two very different and unique individuals, brought together by fate, and guided by ancient magic as they venture forward to save Ra-Jee—or die trying.

“And so,” whispered the old Storyteller. “The tale begins….”

 Once Upon a Dream
      Michall sat beside the forest pool pondering his own melancholy reflection. His image shimmered as it floated atop the pool’s silvery surface. Like his reflection, his thoughts had no anchor, wandering to and fro, backward then forward, like some endless tug-of-war.

To feel so unsettled while at his little pool was a strange emotion. It had always been his sanctuary from the confusion surrounding him.

Yet, this day, the glimmering water with its soft, gentle murmurs offered no peace. The water was tranquil; it was his mind that was full of murky debris.

He leaned back with a heavy sigh and surrendered to his unease, allowing his thoughts to roam where they chose.

He drifted, effortlessly recalling a succession of fleeting moments from his youth, until one memory surfaced that refused to lay meek. Its bold demand for attention forced all other thoughts far into the background while awakening emotions he’d buried deep within himself—so deep that his subconscious had relegated them to the faded remnants of dreams…until now.

He recalled the forgotten cycle had dawned like countless others, with little to mark it dissimilar, but it had felt distinctive to him then.

An odd feeling of inadequacy had overcome him, leaving him inundated with emptiness. He felt completely entombed by oppressive sadness, shrouded by a dark, threatening cloud. He’d been quite young at the time, and not understanding the disquiet, it had frightened him.

He’d happened upon the pool that same spring morn, although he’d not come looking for sanctuary from the regiment of his daily life. He’d happened across the pool in his one great act of rebellion. His headlong flight of escape—escape from trying to be all that others expected him to be.

He’d run that cycle to be free of tutors, of duties, and all the things others said he must know because of who he was—and he’d run from the fear that gripped his heart. That morn, he didn’t wish to be a prince, youngest child of the House of Doran. He’d just wanted to be a little boy named Michall, responsible to no one.

So, he’d rebelled that long ago spring morn—rebelled against rules, restrictions, and station. He’d yelled and stormed in a most unprincely manner, then raced out of the palace toward the stables. Once mounted, he cleared the courtyard and gave his steed free rein.

The wind buffeted his small frame, sending his long, thick locks trailing behind him to join the wind in a spiritual dance. He was free, if only for a while. For one brief moment, he was the wind, wild and unhindered.

His horse had run on and on without him caring in which direction they headed. Then he’d felt the wind die away and his senses slowly return. His mount was spent, its weary limbs quivering with exhaustion. It could run no farther.

He dismounted.

He was within a small, secluded glade nestled deep in the royal forest, staring at an inviting pool that stood at its center.

He knelt at the edge of the water and let the reflections skimming its surface console his troubled thoughts. The cool liquid slid smoothly over his fingers as he trailed them lightly through the water, the action creating tiny rings that skipped over the once calm surface. The lapping sounds caused by the gentle rippling whispered to him, shooing away the last dregs of his anger.

Without being consciously aware of it, he dozed.

Within the dream, he saw beautiful things—images that floated within a misty reality woven from pure light.

Drawn to the glow, Michall approached the weave, but, strangely, he walked as a man, not the child he knew himself to be.

The man…or himself…stood beside the pool of silver, caressed by the glowing light of a growing enchantment. On impulse, he looked across the water and was surprised to see he wasn’t alone.

The light of the magic wrapped itself about them as he looked upon the maiden watching him from the far shore. She belonged to the enchantment, he was sure it could be no other way. No real being could be so perfect.

The sight of her made his heart ache. Her golden eyes pierced his soul. He’d never known such exquisite pain, nor joy, and thought with some dismay, that he finally felt complete.

He wanted to call to her, ask her name, yet said nothing for fear that in breaking the silence, he would break the spell that was upon him. So instead, he stood beside the pool, in a body not his own, and watched her in silent agony.

She met his stare, holding it as she pointed downward toward the little pool. His gaze reluctantly left her face, traveling the length of her arm to look upon the pool’s shining surface.

The water had hardened and took on the true features of a mirror, yet, unlike a mirror, gave nothing back—no reflections to mimic him. A cold chill ran down his spine and the small boy in him grew afraid.

The pool’s hard, slick surface changed, turning a golden hue before his eyes. His fear turned to shock as his mind sounded off its own warnings. What abounds within this glade?

Images formed within the watery depths—images of things he’d never known, but somehow knew. He saw tall towers stretching skyward from a lake of crystal blue, while slender bridges arched outward toward a shore draped in shadowy green. A palace with walls of purest white bordered the lake’s far edge, its ethereal beauty a haunting reflection upon the watery surface.

People in soft flowing robes strolled on manicured lawns and across the delicate bridges, moving as one toward the towers. Laughter filled the air.

Then darkness descended over the once blue skies. Screams rode the wind as panic-stricken faces looked upward in confusion, their cries suddenly silenced by the growing black void. The source of the darkness stood upon a great golden dais set between the tall towers, a thing of evil that sucked the life from the air and filled it with its foul breath.

Michall started to turn away, unable to abide the destruction, then hesitated when he saw a man standing near the edge of the dais, cradling a small babe in his arms.

The evil turned toward this man, its darkness swooping down as a falcon would his prey.

Somehow, Michall understood he must act, he must give them his strength. Instinct alone drove him as he stepped toward the vision. When he moved, a great sword suddenly appeared in his hand, its power surging through him.

As Michall thrust the sword’s sharp tip into the water, a blinding flash erupted from the rent, rendering him sightless. The light drove into the darkness, its force throwing Michall backward upon the ground.

When his sight returned, he sought the pool’s surface. The scene had changed. The man and babe had vanished. The evil thing screamed, the sound bounding across the land in resounding waves.

The valley Michall so admired lay in ruin. He looked to where the maiden stood, her tears leaving watery trails down her pale cheeks. She held out her hand to him, and then pulled it back to clutch her heart. She began to fade.

“Wait,” Michall said. “Don’t go. Tell me why. Tell me why you’ve come. Are these events of things to come, or things that have already passed? Do you warn, or do you seek to punish me for my disobedience?”

Upon the winds came a low, wistful sigh, “Ra-Jee, Ra-Jee, Ra-Jeeeee.”

Then Michall awoke, or had he ever been asleep?

All his instincts told him what he’d seen had been real. He looked down at his hands, inspecting them for change. He was no longer a man, but a little boy lying beside a small pool in a forest glade.

Awash in emotions, he grieved for the loss of the maiden. Whether real or not, having seen her, he knew his life was forever changed. He laid his head down beside the pool of silver moonlight and allowed himself the luxury of tears.

Again, the old memory faded. He’d not thought of that long-ago cycle, or the vision in many phasings, and wondered why he should choose to recall it so clearly now. Still, if he was to be honest, he’d carried the horrors of that cycle with him ever since.

He remembered how useless and out of sorts he’d felt after returning home. His parents knew he was troubled but reasoned it centered about his recent outburst. They’d left him alone with his thoughts.

For many full turns thereafter, a terrible foreboding shadowed him, his sleep plagued by nightmares—evil, horrid scenes, causing him to wake screaming of the dream city and its ultimate destruction.

Each new cycle saw him more sullen and moody, withdrawing farther from his friends, and snapping at his sisters whenever one penetrated too far into his inner sanctum.

Unable to understand, his parents had summoned specialists, hoping their skills could somehow soothe their son’s troubled mind. But the specialists found they could do nothing to dispel whatever demons haunted Michall’s dreams. Rumors circulated throughout the grounds that the young prince was slowly going insane.

In desperation, Michall’s father, King Mikam, gave up on the so-called medical profession and turned to mystical ways. He summoned an old soothsayer rumored to know all there was to know of magic—evil or good. King Mikam begged the man to try whatever was necessary to help the young prince.

Michall had sat with Helmon-Dy-e, the “magic man,” as he’d dubbed him, and told of all he’d witnessed by the pool. Helmon-Dy-e had listened patiently, nodded often, and occasionally waved, but always coaxed him to continue.

When Michall had cried out the last of his tale, Helmon-Dy-e had reached over and patted the prince’s hand. “Listen to me, boy, for I’ll tell you, and you alone, the secrets behind your veiled eyes. You’re not mad, child. No, no, not mad, only chosen.”

Michall jerked his head up.

Helmon-Dy-e laughed. “Come now. Don’t look so stunned. Is it so hard to believe that you could possess magic?”

Michall said nothing.

“Listen and believe,” Helmon-Dy-e said. “A very long time ago, long before our time, there was a place called Ra-Jee. I know this to be true. My Masters taught me of this place and I have no wish to doubt their words. No mortal place was this Ra-Jee. No, it was a valley filled with magical beings known as elves.”

“There’s no such things as elves,” Michall said, his chin lifting in challenge.

“Oh, no? Well, regrettably, there isn’t now.” Helmon-Dy-e sighed and shook his head. “But once, long ago, they walked our world. Once, they lived and breathed. There were great numbers of them, existing in our world then, as easily as we live here now. Then one cycle, Ra-Jee and its race disappeared. No one knows what happened. There are always rumors to consider. Perhaps your dreams are the answer to the riddle. Perhaps you’ve been given, not a burden, but a gift, a chance to see what no mortal has seen.”

“But, if these visions are from the past, and the maiden a being departed, why do I dream endlessly of Ra-Jee’s destruction? Why does it haunt me?”

“My Prince, magic is a tool rarely understood. It comes and gifts so very few that answers evade us.” He shrugged. “I think now that you understand these dreams are of the past, and that there is nothing you can do to help Ra-Jee, your nightmares will ebb, and eventually fade into nothingness.

“One cycle, very soon, you will sleep and your dreams will be filled with promise and hope. You may not even remember these trying times. Don’t fight the demons, rather, let them play themselves out and be done.”

“But what of this pool where the visions first appeared?” Michall whispered.

“I wonder myself about the pool. Perhaps it was once a doorway to that enchanted kingdom. Maybe a small bit of magic remains, even this far into the future. You, a gifted one, may have felt its lingering call. Who can really say?”

Helmon-Dy-e had been right. The dreams disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared and Michall had tucked the memory of them deep within his mind where they no longer troubled him.

Yet, this cycle, the memory came back with startling clarity. How could he have buried those visions? How was it possible he’d forgotten the maiden? Now that he recalled her, he couldn’t put her from his mind. To have been shown such beauty, to have found his kindred soul, only to remember he would never know her was a cruel irony. She was gone from his realm, lost in her own time, hundreds of phasings past.

Gripping his gloves in his balled fists, he took one last wistful look at the pool, then turned to remount. He must return to the palace. It wouldn’t do to be late for his birthing celebration. He felt a prickle along his neck and turned again toward the silvery reflections cast by the pool. The reflection of the man he’d grown to be stared back at him, the same man from his long forgotten dream….


“…And a very lonely young man,” said the Storyteller. “He’d been all his life. His eyes, dark and swirling with barely concealed emotions, always searched each face he encountered. When he didn’t find what he sought, he withdrew into himself, shutting others away….”


Thank you for hosting me, Marie. Visitors: If you’d like to win a paper copy of Elfen Gold – A Storyteller’s Tale, leave a comment and your e-mail address, and I will pick one winner from the posts!

 Thank you, all.

About Sheri L. McGathy

“Born a buckeye, I was uprooted in 1971 and replanted amongst sunflowers, tornadoes, and college football. It’s a good life.” ~ Sheri L. McGathy

Sheri is married and has one grown son and three wonderful grandchildren. She works in prepress in a graphic design department as a Graphic Arts Coordinator/Copy Editor. When not working, she enjoys reading, writing, drawing, and spoiling, not only her grandchildren, but also her dogs.

Sheri is the author of several works of fiction as well as a contributor in the non-fiction release: The Complete Guide to Writing Paranormal Novels: Volume 1

In addition to her writing, Sheri also designs cover art. For a list of Sheri’s fiction or to view her cover art work, please visit her website:

Thursday, July 4, 2013

The Next Big Thing - Time-Travel Romance

I have been invited to participate in this blog hop for the "Next Big Thing". This is a great way to find new authors and books out there. My thanks to Lauren Smith for inviting me to join.

1: What is the working title of your book?
Love Lost in Time

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?
As many of my books - my stories start from dreams I had. I knew I'd wanted to write another time-travel romance, and when I had a dream about a historical man traveling through time...through a tree no less, I knew I had to write about this crazy dream of mine!

3: What genre does your book come under?
Time-travel romance

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Ohhhh...I really hate this question. Mainly because once I see my book cover, I can't think of anyone else playing the part of my characters. But, if I have to pick actors, I think I'd pick Henry Cavill (the guy who plays the new Superman) as my hero Andrew Merrick, and Jax Turyna (who is not an actress, but a model friend I know who is one some of my book covers) to play my heroine Halle Chapman.

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
The key to her future is locked in her past.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I'm still writing it...although, when I first started this story, it was over two years ago. I put it on hold so I could finish a few other projects that I thought were more important.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
The only one I can think of is "Bid Time Return" by Richard Matheson. The book was eventually turned into a movie - "Somewhere in Time". Although this is the only story I can think of to compare with mine - my story is VERY different from Richard Matheson's story.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?
Just my crazy dreams!

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
There is a little humor in my story (as will all of my books), and also my story will have an edge-of-your-seat mystery...a twisted mystery, in fact. Players from both the present and the past will keep the reader turning the pages to see how everything fits together in the end.

Here is an unedited excerpt:

Andrew leaned back against the wall of the gazebo and looked up at the new roof. Running, his fingers through his hair, he pushed the wet strands back on his head. The rainstorm’s timing couldn’t have been worse—or was the perfect time to interrupt the story? He didn’t want to see the look in Halle's eyes of unbelief, especially when he told her he was Lord Andrew Merrick and had come forward in time.

Sighing heavily, he turned his head to look at her. Once again, her gaze skimmed over his body, from the top of his head slowly down to his boots. When she met his eyes, confusion marred their depths.

“Andrew? I can’t help but notice how much you look like Lord Andrew Merrick’s portrait.”

Maybe telling her the truth wouldn’t be so hard after all.

He smiled. “It pleases me to know you think this. I’m also happy to know you don’t think I resemble the marquis instead.” Since the wrinkles and streaks of gray hair would certainly put him at his father’s age.

“No, not Marquis Harrington.” She rubbed her chin. “But I wonder why you look like his son so much. And why—” Her attention dropped to his chest once more— “Why you don’t look your age,” she ended in a whisper.

He pulled away from the wall and leaned closer to her. “What age do you think I look?”

Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t draw back. “I’m a bad one to ask that question to. I know I’ll get it wrong.”

“Try anyway,” he encouraged. “I won’t be offended, I assure you.”

She crinkled her forehead. “I’d say early forties.”

He placed his hand on her knee, and thankfully, she didn’t try to pull back. “Halle, what would you say if I told you I was twenty-nine?”

* * * *

Halle stared at the man sitting so close to her, as his voice blurting out his age rang through her head. He couldn’t possibly be serious… Twenty-nine years old? Even though his face definitely didn’t look that young, his chest did. No man of forty could have such muscles. Then again, some movie-stars she loved had a chest like this.

Shaking her head, she chuckled. “If you’re going to tell me you’re twenty-nine, then I’m the Queen of England.”

The creases around his eyes deepened when he smiled. “Then shall I refer to you as Your Highness?”

She rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Andrew. You are not twenty-nine. I’m twenty-three, so that would make you six years older.”

Shrugging, he pulled away from her and aimed his stare out the gazebo doors. The rain had lightened considerably, but she was content to stay in here for now. Sadness tugged on his mouth, and she withered inside. She didn’t mean to make him feel bad. But he couldn’t really believe he was that young. Unless...

She leaned in closer to inspect his face better. His eyes didn’t look like he should be so old, but the wrinkles in his face, and the gray streaks through his hair proved differently. She had heard about a disease that makes people grow older quicker. Could he have that?

“Andrew?” She placed her hand on his damp shoulder. Through the wet cloth his muscles bunched. He was certainly strong for a man of his age. “Are you really serious?”

He turned his head her way and nodded. “I’m in my nine and twentieth year, Halle. The reason I don’t look my age is because...”

She held her breath. Gads, if he was really sick, she’d hate herself of teasing him. “Because?”

“Because I’m from a different time,” he whispered.

Time? Did he mean time zone? That didn’t make sense because he said he was born and raised in England. “What do you mean?”

He sighed heavily, turned his body and took hold of both her hands. Gently he rubbed warmth back into them as he stared into her eyes.

“One month ago, I was in Buckland Manor, with my family—Marquis of Harrington who is my father, my mother, my sister Georgiana, and my older brother, Edward. My brother had just married Helen. The night of the attack, I followed my father’s instructions and went to the tree to locate the hidden treasure when I saw the bright light coming within the tree. The trunk opened up and I stepped inside...and ended up here. Don’t ask me how, but I stepped through time, from 1848 to now.” He released the few buttons of his shirt and pulled the material down over his shoulder. “A bullet grazed my arm and here is the scar.”

The mark on his arm did look as if it wasn’t very old. But really… Time travel?

It took a couple of seconds for everything to sink in. Her first reaction was to burst out laughing, but she held it back. Seriousness laced his eyes, and deepened the tone of his voice. He actually believed he was a time-traveler! She’d never heard of such a thing. Then again, movies were made...books were written...

Nah, impossible!

Although… He did look remarkably like Lord Andrew Merrick’s portrait hanging in the long hall.

He clasped her hands again as his thumbs stroked her knuckles, tenderness evident in every touch. “Halle, I didn’t kill my family, but I don’t know how to prove it. I wish I knew why God played this cruel joke on me and sent me forward in time, but I don’t. If I could return home to my time, I would do it in a heartbeat.” He licked his lips. “Please, Halle. You have to believe me. Out of everyone I have met since being here in a month’s time, you are the one person I have felt would understand…would believe.”

His voice—laced with sorrow—tugged on her heartstrings. It made sense, yet…she didn’t believe in time-travel.


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I now want to tag these authors to post a blog about their books:

Melissa Lynne Blue
Mary Martinez
Ginger Simpson
Anna Kathryn Lanier
VJ Dunraven
Sheri McGathy