The second book in the Time Travellers series
The last thing Foster Bryant remembers was fighting in the Civil War and discovering his fiancée had followed
him into battle and had been abducted. He awakens to discover that has been brought to future, to a hospital
with a gunshot wound. Erica Richard is accidentally taken back to Civil War. She’s caught in a mind-boggling
adventure and soon discovers that she has no way of returning home.
The story continues in sequels, Time’s Secret, Time over Time, Timeless Love and Keeper of My Heart.
Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.
In these twelve stories, a brain injured young man rebels against his diminished life, a doorman at one of London’s exclusive hotels impersonates a deceased client, a retired banker tries to renew his importance by sculpting and erecting an enormous spire in his front yard, a young wife discovers the betrayal going on under her own roof, and in the concluding story railing against her daughter’s self-destructive life and wasted potential, the grieving mother longs to recapture the past. The characters in this short story collection are possessed by varying degrees of obsession and madness. The loneliness, longing and emptiness that lead to the search for meaning and connection in the midst of tumultuous personal change are achieved in unusual ways. From diverse walks of life and settings, young and old, the characters’ every love relationship, every betrayal tests their assumptions and reshapes the future.×
( this is only a part of the first story )
The windows in their flat were so fogged by condensation Emma and Jonathan couldn’t see out - the hot August day and boiling vegetables competed with weak central air for ascendancy. Jonathan had suggested salad for Sunday lunch but she couldn’t bring herself to serve Martin such an insubstantial meal. She checked her watch; he was due in half an hour, just enough time to mash the potatoes, set the table and change.
When the doorbell rang at noon, Emma buzzed him in. She listened to the familiar voices in the entryway, Jonathan’s low and calm, Martin’s voluble. As they entered the kitchen, Martin brusquely kissed her cheek and handed over the weekly bunch of flowers, a mix of white carnations and daisies, dyed strangely blue, which she felt compelled to admire extravagantly while arranging them in a vase. Last week’s bunch, wilted and tilting at different angles, splayed in a pickle jar on the kitchen counter.
Jonathan offered Martin a glass of sherry, and Emma, hurt by her brother’s coldness, began to dress the salad. Martin leaned against the kitchen counter and ignoring her, recounted his week. Jonathan murmured encouraging replies. Listening, she knew that though he resented Jonathan, he hoped to impress him, and she forgave Martin’s attempt to exile her for finding a new man. Conversation with Martin never an easy proposition, guiltily, she smiled at Jonathan, receiving in return a look she couldn’t interpret.
They moved from the kitchen through the dining area and into the living room, all three spaces interconnecting without walls. Cramped, they sat in a row on the sofa, Emma in the middle. She picked her cuticles, trying to think of something Martin would like to talk about. An avid moviegoer, he loved to discuss plots, and often gave them a blow by blow account, which drove Jonathan mad.
“Seen any movies this week?” she said.
He turned to her, his mood now improved.
“I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” He looked at Jonathan to gauge his reaction.
“Part two hundred and seventy one,” Jonathan said rolling his eyes.
“You have to admit, there’s been no more successful story,” Emma said.
“Do you mind if I put on some music?” Martin asked, kneeling before the CD player.
“Whatever you’d like,” Emma said.
Jonathan offered refills and Emma joined him in the kitchen to serve. She dug him in the ribs with her elbow at the stove, feeling conspicuous with only the dining area and the music to shield them. She wanted Jonathan to embrace Martin, too, to know and love him as she did, though without the perspective of the good years, she knew how hard he found it.
“Please,” she whispered, “be gentle with him.”
“I am trying. If only it wasn’t every Sunday.”
“He looks up to you.”
“Little does he know.”
She smiled. “You didn’t know him then. He could have been just like you, a professor of English. He was so smart. And,” she gulped, “it breaks my heart that he thinks Harry Potter is something you’d like to talk about.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “The man is impossible to pin down. There are so many versions I have to take into account.”
“Sshh. We all have versions; don’t make it sound like he alone has changed.”
Jonathan gave her a hug. “I promise I’ll do better.”
She served the salad followed by dinner. Emma forced herself to eat the hot food and Jonathan, perspiring, ate with little appetite. But Martin relished his meal, attacking each item individually - first his peas followed by carrots, potatoes, and finally chicken. She knew from childhood he ate in order of least preferred.
After lunch they sat in the living room with bowls of ice cream on their laps.
Jonathan, ashamed now of his callous attitude, rose gamely to the responsibility of getting to know Martin better.
“What do you like to read?” he said, as Martin shuffled through the CDs, scattered on the floor.
“Oh, I like most anything. You may find this strange,” he said, taking in Jonathan’s receptive smile, “but what I like most is reading maps.”
“I like new maps best.”
“Martin has mastered the whole of London while it’s all I can do to get to work and back,” Emma said, grateful for Jonathan’s about-face. She squeezed his hand.
“Not so,” Martin said. “But I can surely try.”
“It’s a noble aim. London, though I’ve lived here for a long while, is not easy to navigate,” Jonathan said.
Martin looked up and smiled. “Well, the important thing is I know how to get here.”
Emma and Jonathan exchanged glances.
“Martin, you know that nothing stays the same,” Emma said.
“Of course I do.”
In the face of his optimism, she found herself unable to go on.
“How would you feel if we were related, old chap?” Jonathan said, coming to the rescue.
Martin’s face suffused with the creep of a blush at the shock of this. For a long moment, he didn’t reply. “Well, that’d be fine,” he said at last. He scrambled to his feet, stuffing a couple of CDs into the rucksack he’d brought the flowers in. “You don’t mind if I borrow these, do you? I’ll bring them back next time.”
“Of course I don’t,” Emma said with a sigh.
She was proud of Martin’s independence, the way he worked a full-time job and lived in a flat from which he walked to work every day, living at the height of his capability - beyond her parents’ wildest dreams. Substituted by the Sunday ritual, the relationship she craved with her younger brother, though unfair, even foolish in its impossibility, didn’t stop her wishful thinking, the lunches not only filling Martin’s emptiness but attempting to fill hers. The past remained too close, reminding her not only of their loss but of their fleeting happiness. Martin once her closest friend, their love in some way unassailable, had vanished. Now that boy was gone and Martin had taken his place.
She walked him to the Sloane Square tube station.
“Is it true,” he said outside the entrance, “that you’re going to marry Jonathan?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it won’t change things between us. I’ll be married, that’s all.”
“When?” he said.
“We’re going to put the flat on the market first. We plan to list within the month. And once it’s sold and we’ve bought a house we’ll get married.”
He looked at her, trying to retain his composure. “He’s a good bloke.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“He finds me a chore, I think, even though I try my hardest.”
“That’s just not true,” she said firmly. “You don’t know each other yet, that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
Martin, she thought, despite his limitations, could not be taken in that easily.
Though he made the trip weekly, he consulted the map, placing his finger on the first connection. Looking up he smiled wryly, as though making fun of himself.
“Bye, Emma.” His smile enigmatic, not that of a man who had suffered a traumatic brain injury, his normal appearance a trick life played on her. She hugged him with too much feeling and he pulled away impatiently. In an attempt to recover, she stooped to examine her hemline and smoothed her cotton dress.
“Well, bye then, Martin,” she said. “Same time next week?”
“Right-o,” he said briskly. He glanced at his watch, kissed her and then began his descent into the station, lifting his arm to wave without looking back.×
This is an extremely funny book by an author who has over 72,000 followers on Twitter @lnnie. He makes you laugh, over and over again.×
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×
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×
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.
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.”
“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.
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.×
Pioneer Passion -- Historical Western Romance. A stubborn young lady, Rusty Crawford,
who loves only one thing more than her father and brother are the delicious oranges she toils over.
When a handsome cowboy, Guy Strong wins her land from her father in a card game, she fights against the stranger’s plans
to raise cattle on the land and refuses to give up her orange grove in San Joaquin Valley, where the
climate is perfect for growing citrus. Months pass as Rusty and Guy fight emotions very new to them both,
but… they are too stubborn to admit the truth. The battle of wills between two stubborn pioneers leads to
bloodshed and frustration among nature, outlaws, and in-laws. Love and passion amy mends the wounds.
Book three in the Time Travellers Series
The story details the life of a female android living a secret life as a human.
After her father’s death, Elayne discovers she’s a Cyborg and returns to the past to take the place of a
human dead girl. When the government discovers her missing, a tracker is sent in a time craft to bring her back.
The tracker, Katch, finds the beautiful android and falls in love with her. Twists, turns and intrigue keep them busy,
but they have plenty of time for love. The story continues in sequels, Time over Time, Timeless Love and Keeper of Her Heart.
Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.
Reed Stone, born Reed Stonebrook, the thirteenth Duke of Chischester left his home to sail to America.
He becomes a prosperous rancher and by the age of thirty-five and is content with his bachelor life.
But his existence is turned-upside down when his brother and sister-in-law are killed and a young nanny,
Allison McBride comes to his ranch with a ready-made family.
No way in hell is Reed going to return to England and take over his ducal duties for anyone, especially four
But when the green eyed beauty enters his life, insisting he take responsibility for his nephew and nieces,
he finds being an adamant bachelor is no longer part of his life. This conclusion comes too late when he
discovers Allison Mc Bride returned to London. Reed travels to London to his late brother’s estate and his serene life