author Therese A. Kraemer

Love by Dawn

Blake January is escorting a young slave dealer to a fort when a young, feisty kid, Casey Walsh attempts to free his prisoner and fails.
When Blake discovers the kid is a pretty girl, and the sister of his prisoner, he must now deal with two unwanted people.
But, as Blake journey’s to the fort, he cannot ignore the attraction he feels for Casey. At the fort, Casey manages to free her
brother from the brig and they head west only to be captured by Apache Indians. Casey and her brother are accepted by the tribe
because of a white woman, called Moon Glow.
After Blake discovers them gone, he’s adamant about finding Casey because she had captured his heart and than made a fool out of
him. On his travels, Blake is accused of killing a prostitute and jailed and has to wait until the circuit judge arrives for his trial.
Luckily, the murderer is caught and he continues on his quest. When, he arrives at the Indian village, Casey isn’t happy to see him,
fearing he has come to recapture her brother.

This leads to the sequel, Star Gazer

Book 1- Blue Thunder

This is book 2 in the series

Book 3 - Star Gazer

author Therese A. Kraemer

Love by Dawn

ONE

“Cassandra!” 

The urgent command shocked the dead of the night. The sound of horse hooves beat upon the sleeping earth like a tom-tom, waking all creatures and a young Cassandra Walsh. But she only half listened, as she struggled with her semi-conscience.

“Casey!” This time there was no mistaking the truth. She was being summoned and she came awake with a jolt. At first, she thought perhaps she was dreaming; the mind can work strangely when suspended in sleep. Struggling with real and imagined images, she shook her head trying to calm the wild beating of her heart. Dream or not, something was wrong. Born with an uncanny sixth sense of knowing when anything bad was going to happen, spasms of alarm erupted within her and she swallowed the terror that rose in her throat.

She heard it again. “Casey!” The familiar voice was urgent; a warning bell rang in her brain. Now fully awake, her mind instantly recognized her father’s voice that ripped the night, sending a chill up her spine. He was not at home, but she had heard him as clear as if he were in the room. Quickly, she slipped on a cotton robe. With shaking hands, she clutched it together and ran from her room, through the small cabin to the front door.

For a moment, she hesitated before throwing open the weather-beaten barrier. The damp night air chilled her immediately as she peered into the darkness. The wind picked up the moment she stepped onto the rickety porch; an owl hooted, making her jump. Her long hair whipped around her face and she shivered more from her uneasy feeling than the night air. Frustrated because she couldn’t see past the large pine trees, she went inside and returned to her room feeling her heart tighten as if a web was being woven snugly around it. Trying to sleep was useless; her mind was filled with anxiety, half in anticipation and half in dread.

A coyote howled for its mate in the distance made her feel more isolated.

Many long minutes passed. Casey paced the floor until she heard a horse’s whinny outside the cabin. Her head snapped up and her heart raced as she listened to the footsteps before her bedroom door flew opened. She stood frozen in time.

“Casey!”

Her father nearly fell into her room. His was panting and gasping, clutching his chest, as he took in deep breaths of air. Despite her fears, she felt a moment of relief and awful joy. “Father?” she gasped, going quickly to his side. “What happened? What’s wrong?  Where’s Hunter?”

Her mind was in turmoil; part of her dreaded his answer. Part of her suspected she should be frightened to hear it but she needed to. Her father was covered with mud and acting like the devil himself was chasing him. Her hands trembled as she led her father to the bed. Her relief was short-lived and she wanted her questions answered, but he needed tending. His breathing was uneven and labored, telling her he’d been riding long and hard. She feared for her brother also. Where was he?

“Get dressed child,” her father ordered with a gasp of breath. “I’ve no time to explain.”

“But…”

“Now!” The command was blunt and to the point, but his voice lacked strength.

Casey wanted to question him again, but she bit back tears of frustration; she had to obey him and believe that it must be important for them to leave in such a hurry. She would find out later and prayed that her brother was all right. Quickly, she dressed, remembering the last time she and Hunter fled into the night, they were running from Union soldiers. She was sure this was the case again.

Once more, she donned her brother’s clothes, something she took to doing a long time ago. With no mother to scold her into wearing dresses and since she did most of the chores, she found boys clothes more comfortable. Anyway, who saw her deep in the woods? She never recalled living anywhere except in the wilderness, even when her mother was alive.

“Oh, mama,” she sobbed, “I wish you were here. Maybe papa wouldn’t be on the run all the time.” She shrugged to herself. The truth was, even her mother couldn’t change him; he was always doing something that got him into trouble. She was sure it was this kind of life that killed her mother at an early age. Inhaling deeply, she wondered if her mother could have kept her brother from following in her father’s footsteps. She frowned and swore unladylike under her breathe. Probably not.

“Hurry up, girl!” she heard him bellow from outside. She shoved her long golden hair under her hat, grabbed her rifle, then ran. Her father was waiting for her and had her horse, Sadie, saddled.

Once again, she asked as she mounted Sadie. “Where’s Hunter?”

“No time to explain,” he grumbled. His eyes warning her that this was no moment for stubbornness.

Casey swung her mount around and they fled into the darkness, riding hard all night. Although she was an excellent rider and could keep up with any man, her backside was quite sore. Her spine ached and her legs were beginning to chafe. It had been a while since she spent time in the saddle and her aches were reminding her of that fact. By morning she was thirsty, sore and chilled to the bone from the drizzle that had started shortly before dawn. The country was remote and calm, a far cry from her own emotions; her insides were in a whirlwind. They had to stop soon, for the horses couldn’t continue at that pace. Finally, her father stopped at a stream where they, their mounts drank and rested.

Marcus believed they were safe now, but the pain in his left arm was getting worse. How could he tell his daughter that they had been ambushed? That her brother was probably captured or maybe dead? He had barely escaped himself. After he had hightailed away, he was sorry for dragging the boy into his dealings. He prayed he’d not find his son’s dead body. He had seen the boy fall from his horse; never would he forgive himself. Never! His self-chastising was a little late but he had to try and save Hunter. 

It was time to explain to his daughter the facts. He felt the weight of her gaze on him, as he turned to see confusion and fear written all over her lovely face. There was such prettiness about her, innocence, but his daughter was by no means a novice of life. For her it had been a hard one and it was entirely his fault. He swallowed his sad thoughts. It was too late for regrets.

“All right,” Casey said. She sat on her haunches after taking her fill of water. “Let’s hear it, pop.”

Marcus sat wearily on the damp ground knowing in his aching heart that his feisty daughter wasn’t going to like it one bit. He couldn’t fault her and once again he blamed himself that Hunter was in danger, maybe dead. If only his wife, Maisie was still alive, but wishing didn’t make things right. He sighed, wiping his beaded brow with a damp bandanna; he was getting too old for this. Once more he had promised himself and his dead wife that this was going to be the last time. Marcus realized too late that he should have left Hunter home, but the boy was a man and had insisted on coming along. He dreaded telling his daughter the truth. Damnation, he was tired and not feeling very well. Unconsciously, he rubbed his sore arm and let out a big belch.

“Damn digestion!” 

He saw Casey’s beautiful face. It undulated before him and he blinked seeing his Maisie sitting by his side. How beautiful she was. How he missed touching the long blonde hair that had a texture like woven silk. Her soft topaz eyes held so much love for him; she could see no wrong with them. Oh, how he loved her.

“Maisie,” he gasped and tried to fill his lungs with the air they begged for.

“Papa?” A flicker of apprehension coursed through Casey, assuming that she wasn’t about to like what he was going to tell her. She watched her father curiously; he didn’t look good. His skin had a funny hue to it and he was sweating profusely. His clear blue eyes were red and watery and void of emotion, something she’d never seen before. She wondered how he had aged so much, for he looked much older than forty-five. His hair was the color of pewter and thin, like wisps of clouds. “Papa.” She was beside him now. He seemed to be staring into space. “Papa?” she bit her lower lip not understanding what was happening. Why was he calling her by her mother’s name? She put her arm quickly around him and his head fell onto her shoulder. “Oh, Papa. What’s happening with you? What happened to Hunter?”

“Hunter,” her brother’s name was but a whisper on his dry lips. He fell over taking her with him. Terrified, she cried and struggled to right them both. “Papa? Please tell me.”

The moon cast an eerie glow making her father’s irises gleam like glassy rock full of remorse and remoteness. She saw that he had trouble breathing and she began to grasp the fact that he might be suffering a heart attack!

“I deserve to die, but not my son,” he rasped above a whisper.

“Please, papa,” she tugged at his shirt, uncaring how rough she was. His gaze was icy and unresponsive and she shook him, screaming at him to answer her. His mouth took on an unpleasant twist and she began to sob frantically. She hardly heard the gurgle in his throat but she did hear him whisper Hunter’s name again. She stopped herself from crying and put her ear to his mouth.

“Hunter,” he rasped, “was caught by the abolitionist.” That was all he said.

Casey sat dazed for a long time before she let out a bloodcurdling scream in the unfamiliar surroundings, then she reached out and clutched his hand before collapsing onto her father’s dead body. She wept like she had when her mother died.

Much later, when her tears were gone and her throat was raw, she lifted her dazed body from her father’s and walked over to his horse to retrieve a tin cup from his saddlebag. It took hours for her to dig a shallow grave. Her hands bled from torn fingernails while her shoulders and back ached from fatigue and labor. She ignored the pain and numbness in her legs from kneeling on the hard ground, as she mustered her last strength and pulled the heavy body into the grave. She covered him with dirt and rocks to protect him from wild animals. Then and only then, she fell into an exhausted sleep. Somewhere between the dimension of sleep and wakefulness, she heard the chirping of a bird. In her sleepy mind she was back home and she stretched feeling rested but sore as hell. The pain in her body brought her fully awake only to recall her horror once again. Her eyelids slowly opened only to be greeted by a gray dawn. A fitting companion for her state of mind.

Tears formed anew in her eyes. She moaned and dragged herself to the lake to splash cold water on her sleep-crusted eyes. That refreshed her somewhat. She studied the sore blisters on her hands and recalled the pain of yesterday’s events all over again. But there would be no crying now. Some bitterness towards her father erupted when she recalled the past week before this nightmare. How long had her father been selling slaves? She was ashamed and loved him in one heartbeat. The memory of how she had begged her father and brother not to go was still vivid in her mind. Why did Hunter insist on joining this time? He was not yet seventeen and all ready in trouble, if not dead. And she, only eighteen, was now left alone to fend for herself, but she could manage. Hadn’t she had been doing it all every time her father went away for long periods? Even taking care of her younger brother wasn’t a hardship.

Casey sighed, thinking of Hunter, knowing she had to find out if he was still alive. Her father said he was captured, not killed, so there was hope. But could she find him before something dreadful happened to him? Abolitionists did not take pity on the slave dealers they captured. She tried to think of better times, when her mother was alive, when she and her brother played near the woods. Although, times had always been hard and though they were very poor, she never complained. Her mother had been very beautiful but as time went on, the hardship took its toll; she grayed prematurely and her thin body didn’t stand as straight as it had when she was younger.

Her mother was an educated woman who had lived in Boston. Her family was well-to-do. Her father met her when he went to visit a cousin and it was love at first sight. Maisie’s family hadn’t been happy, especially when her father brought her south to live in the wilderness. His ambition was to farm. At first, the land was prosperous until a drought destroyed all their dreams and it went from bad to worse. He did anything he could to keep his family from starving. Then the bickering started and her mother became ill, but up to her last days, she tutored her children from the books she had brought with her from home. Now it was all gone. Casey almost laughed at that notion. She really didn’t lose anything of value except her brother.

No, she scolded herself, he has to be alive.

author LIPHAR

Liphar Short Stories Vol 1

We are proud to present this collection of 20 short stories by 20 different authors. The stories may have or will appear in past or future issues of LIPHAR magazine. Most of the authors presented here have an extensive portfolio of other books and stories that you may want to check out.
From heart warming family situations to the totally bizarre , including aliens worlds and ideas,  you will find stories that get your attention.
The stories cover a wide genre and offer a cross-section of writing talents. We have not edited the stories in any way and are publishing them as we have received them.
We hope you enjoy the stories as we also hope to publish many volumes of short stories.
All these stories have come to us from submissions to the magazine. We encourage all writers to send us their stories for inclusion.

author LIPHAR

Liphar Magazine Issue 1

Liphar (pronounced Lifer) Magazine is proud to announce the launch of its first issue. A new and exciting on-line magazine with a theme dedicated to Literature, Photography and Art.

Key elements will include sourcing articles about literature, photography and art as promotion on Social Media and blogs for writing tools, publishing, photography tips, art and current trends. There will also be regular columnists, thought provoking articles, informative interviews and general information.
While Liphar Magazine covers literature, photography, art subjects and trends, the features in each issue also span a variety of fields that appeal to those who enjoy these genres and want something more from the experience other than reading about the technicalities.

This edition will include by author Taylor Fulks, an article about her latest book. And in her own words..."My novel is very dark, disturbing and GRAPHIC. It is a controversial book about Child Sexual Abuse."

Interviews with Erotica author Karena Marie and nature photographer Murray Coleman will also be featured.

author James Bryron Love

Dormant

Reality fragments time,are you dreaming or are you awake.Everything keeps changing and you struggle to keep up. Perhaps you find out too late that you are going to die today.

Isolated, alone and trapped. Reality becomes a continuing nightmare.Are you doomed to the pages of a book, to a reality that changes it seems minute to minute. When you can't tell what is real and what is illusion, how are you going to face your own death.
The only thing you know for sure, is that you, are not the one in control.

author Therese A. Kraemer

Double Jeopardy

 
Jett Kirtland falls in love with Spring St. John a beautiful woman framed for robbing a Diamond Exchange by her identical twin sister.  
To prove her innocence, Jett must find her twin, who had disappeared many years ago.

a Light Erotica Romance Novella

author William Frederick

Bertram & Gertrudes Extra Sensory Spy

Bertram & Gertrude, our intrepid sleuths

 embark on their second adventure in Amsterdam, working under cover for The Netherlands General Intelligence and Security Service.  With their chums, Hoofdcommissaris Zwaard, his girlfriend Agent Grietja, Agents Dolk, Caspers, Maartje and the crack team of Ground Surveillance Dwarves, they set out to foil a dastardly plot to kidnap a Top Research Scientist and steal a secret Government formula for a remote viewing drug.  On the way they meet up with old chums Albert Dock and the Scousers who contribute their roguish humour to the fight for fair play and justice.  Their combined efforts take on the secret security forces of America, Russia and Great Britain.  Can Bertie's bizarre brand of spying, win the day?  With his bumbling but brilliant counter intelligence skills, he proves a daunting adversary for the evil Minister and his Kik-Squad.  The main obstacle to complete and utter success is, of course, Bertie's inability to master anything resembling technology or gadgetry, although he can sniff out a Cumberland sausage and have it sizzling in the frying pan before you could say “second breakfast”.
As well as her spying activities, Gertrude manages to do a spot of match-making and together, she and Bertram make a significant contribution to cordial international relations – unless you happen to be a bad person...

author Felicity Harley

Portraits and Landscapes

Portraits and Landscapes

is an eclectic collection of short stories about all of us.  The first stories in the collection are about failed romance and how many of us constantly and painfully search for connection in our lives.  Other stories take us across the globe, and speak in a variety of voices, which give us brief glimpses of individuals who struggle to make sense of our world.   The human beings described in these stories will make you laugh, weep and sometimes they’ll make you throw up your hands in utter disbelief.

author Therese A. Kraemer

Blue Thunder

One nightmarish day, during the Civil War, a strong, southern woman, Melissa St. Andrew loses her parents and her sister is raped by Union soldiers.
While journeying west she is abducted by Blue Thunder, a handsome White Mountain Apache.
Both being strong willed individuals, they fight the strong attraction as they travel through the hot desert.
At his village, Melissa subsequently saves his life after a serious injury but she’s attacked by a jealous Indian maiden, who wants her dead.
Her life is spared but while Blue Thunder is unconscious from his injury, the chief sends her to a fort.
Blue Thunder discovering Melissa missing, goes after her and brings her back to the tribe.
Once Melissa is accepted, she and Blue Thunder wed, but still, their life doesn’t run smoothly as they have to contend with hate, and prejudice.
This is book 1 in the series

This leads to two sequels, Love by Dawn, and Star Gazer.

author Therese A. Kraemer

Blue Thunder

ONE

“Sergeant, Sir! The men are tired and hungry.” A young soldier in a blue uniform spoke from behind Sergeant Brant Bergeron as he wiped his sweaty brow. He knew he could never adapt to the hot, humid southern climate in Georgia. He and his men were separated from their unit two days ago when the rebels attacked and they had been lost and unsure of where they were heading. He had six soldiers with him, not much older than himself. He didn’t want this war to be his war anymore than the others, but he was here and had to make the best of it.

The men were grumbling. They all had that look in their eyes after seeing friends cut down. It was a look that sent shivers down ones spine. Revenge! Even though he couldn’t get used to all that bloodshed he had to try to keep his men together. He moved slightly in the saddle, trying to get the kinks out of his tired and sore backside. His muscles screamed for attention but he ignored them. Would he find their way back to the main column? He didn’t know this countryside and feared he and his men had wandered too far from the front. This was a quiet place where his detachment sat in the shade. Because horses were scarce, three of the men were on foot but two days ago they fought near a small town, taking the enemy’s soldier’s mounts, the spoils of war. Out here in the countryside the fighting hadn’t arrived, yet. In time, these beautiful fields would be covered with bodies, and the smell of gun power and the stench of blood. Burnout homes will mar the lands. This damn war was taking its toll, not only on people, but on the green land. Man is the only animal in the universe that can cause such destruction; and we call ourselves the civil world. Disgusted and hungry, he turned to his unit.

“We’ll ride a little further. Maybe we’ll come to some sign of life soon. If not, we’ll make camp and hunt for our meals.” The men grumbled to themselves, but they continued until late that morning, when one of the soldiers called, “Look Sarge!  Smoke’s coming over that ridge.”

Brant grabbed his spy glasses to get a better look. “Smitty,” he said, “go and check the area, it may be Rebs.” The private gave a sloppy salute, “Yes, Sir.” His men made themselves comfortable and stretched out, closing their eyes for a short nap. He sat and continued to look through the spy glass until he saw Smithy galloping back. Most of the men had started this war on foot, but they managed to get themselves a mount one way or another and he never asked. The private dismounted and grinned. “It’s a cotton plantation, Sarge. The smoke is coming from a chimney. My guess,” Smitty licked his dry lips, “someone’s cooking.”

“Okay, we’ll go peacefully,” Brant suggested. “With any luck, they’ll be just plain folks and---”

“Sure Sarge, just like the Rebs that ambushed us, killing most of the men,” snarled, Smitty. “Me, I’m not waiting to be cordially invited to dine.” Refusing to hear his objection, Smithy jumped on his mount, slapped the horse on its withers, and spurred away. Taken by surprise, Brant tried to call him back, but his orders fell on deaf ears. He was not happy about the feeling in his gut that his men were looking to even the score. The rest of the unit jumped on

their mounts and followed Smitty, also ignoring his pleas to remain civil. But his men were out of control. He knew they were trouble from day one, believing they were intending to desert the first opportunity. He kicked his horse forward and prayed.