Beck watched the heavily gunned galleon sweep around the small isle, the wind filling its sails. After six months of patrolling the waters off the west coast of Scotland, Beck wouldn’t let this chance of capturing the most notorious French pirate slip past him. If the bastard outgunned them, he would use some intimidation to slow him down until Cullen could attack the Borreau from the other side. “Gavin,” he yelled, “are the men ready?” Gavin’s mouth dropped open, frozen, as he gazed past Beck. Beck pivoted on his boot in time to see… Eliza? The woman wore sailor’s clothing. No petticoats, but the breeches that she’d worn under her skirts. Tall boots hugged her shapely legs up past her knees. She wore a longish coat of wool and leather with an intricate braid trim, a white tunic, and a floppy hat over her hair. A crossbow swung by her side. She charged across the deck, Alice, who was also dressed in trousers, hurrying behind her with a lantern. “Holy Lord,” Rabbie said next to him. “Beck,” Drostan yelled, pointing at Eliza. As if he hadn’t seen her. Half his men had stopped to stare at the lass as she…

Three, four days in a row, Aleandro had been drawing the girl in the square. At times, it felt somehow wrong, as if he were stealing something from her, but what harm was there in it? It was the only hour in his long day when he felt unburdened, free. There were no demands of him here in the cool shade of the church, no brothers to feed, no fiddle to play, no one to answer to. It was only him and his charcoals and this face, this Botticelli face that inspired his hands to move as never before. When he first set his eyes on her all of five days ago, she stopped him in his tracks. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but he’d seen plenty of beautiful women before. Unlike girls of her age, there was no flirtatiousness in her walk—she walked straight and powerfully, with purpose, a bit like a man—even though everything about her was feminine, the honey-blond tresses reaching down to her waist, the small feet inside the red sandals, the slender calves. At the café, she sat at a table under the geranium balcony and took off her sunglasses, and her…

As lazy late summer beckons toward fall, we turn to stories about extraordinary women from the Far East, the circumstances, and actual characters of several based on real events. Beginning chronologically, John J. Healey’s THE SAMURAI’S DAUGHTER presents the unusual tale of a little-known episode in history.  In 1614, Japan sent a delegation to Spain to establish trade and cultural relationships with King Phillip III.  One member, samurai Shiro, became a popular figure at court and won the heart of a noble Spanish lady.  The story is narrated by their daughter, Soledad Maria, called Masako by her father, who is raised as both a samurai and a European.  After her mother’s death, Masako’s father decides to return them to Japan, sending them on a peril-filled journey halfway across the world.  Once back in Japan, they face new dangers from enemies at home.  Throughout this transition, Masako must decide who she really is—Spanish lady or samurai nobility.  Full of detailed descriptions of the customs and privileges of upper-class Europeans and Japanese at the time, Healey’s story illuminates Masako’s struggle between personal desires and family duty. Autumn Bardot’s DRAGON LADY brings us a fictionalized account of an amazing real-life woman in 18th…

I tell Eric I’m reorganizing the closet in the spare bedroom, which has the desired effect of getting rid of him. As soon as he’s gone to his “office,” the alcove downstairs where he keeps his computer, I start tearing through photo albums. I’m not looking for memories. I already have those. I recognize faces in the pictures, remember where and when most of them were taken. Prom, Senior Skip Day, the first years of college, before we stopped printing out snapshots. A few from our courthouse wedding. But those memories feel as though they belong to someone else. What I’m searching for is some emotional connection to the life I find myself living. But even with my entire history laid out in front of me, I’m unable to feel that it’s mine. I have the bed covered with memorabilia, photos and old birthday cards and handouts from college we kept for some reason, when Eric opens the door. I jump, my hands twitching with the compulsion to push everything into a single pile to hide what I’ve been doing. “I see you’ve made a lot of progress,” he says dryly. I laugh, the sound high-pitched and unnatural. “I got…

He’d called her sweetheart. Oh, she knew he’d done it to annoy her parents, to make them believe that her marriage to Ash was a true marriage in every way, but still…when he said it, she’d felt a deep, corresponding thump in the region of her heart, as if it had been an­swering him. Ash had been nothing but kind since their wedding, and before it, for that matter. At first, after her late husband’s abuse, she couldn’t bear to be touched, but now, nearly a year later, she was trying to get over that. She still flinched sometimes when someone touched her, especially when she wasn’t expecting it, but she would recover. She refused to allow that brute to con­trol her life even after he’d left it. Ash always stepped back from any situation, sepa­rated himself from it. He was a man of intellect, not of passion. He either asked for her permission before he touched her or drew back if she responded with a flinch. She felt safe with him. She did not want passion. The oars dipped in the water, the distant sound of life on either side of the wide expanse muted, occa­sionally echoing off the…

14. Crab Crack Six blue crabs rattle in a white bucket at my feet, blowing bubbles and pinching one another’s legs. A gigantic stainless-steel pot boils on the stove. Steam billows overhead, making the already-toasty kitchen even hotter. I dump the blue crabs in-ide. They die instantly, I hope. When they pinken, I drain the pot and carry our Monthly Monday dinner to the porch. For the crab crack, Weezy and I have assembled newspapers, paper towels, heavy spoons, and a bowl of water. Weezy wears an old nursing bra and some stretchy biker shorts. Her grow- ing belly pokes out beneath a tank top. Our legs need shaving. Dirt collects in the spaces between my toes, beneath my nails. We’ve wrapped our hair in careless buns, high off our necks. We sit on the floor. Weezy goes for the claws first. She cracks the shell open with a mallet. I start by prying off the carapace. Warm goop drips from my fingers to the newspaper. I use a spoon to scrape away the gills. I swish the carcass around in the water bowl to clean off excess innards. After I break the body in half, it strikes me that…

What inspired you to write THE RECEPTIONIST? I started writing THE RECEPTIONIST while on maternity leave. It was an interesting time because I was busy with a newborn, of course, but it was a different type of busy than I’d experienced in my working life. Parenthood seemed gentler on the mind than my job as a television producer. I compared who I’d been just a few months prior – a little harder, maybe a little more cynical – with motherhood, which demanded more softness from me. It got me thinking about the role of vulnerability in women’s lives. This led to the first version of Chloe, the title character of THE RECEPTIONIST. I’d initially conceived of her as being a bit like Cinderella – a fair maiden type from a fairytale. I pictured her embodying all these antiquated feminine ideals of humility and meekness, waiting for someone to notice her innate goodness. What would happen if you plopped someone with zero savvy into 21st century Los Angeles? I figured it wouldn’t end well for her. Chloe changed quite a bit from this initial concept. I had to make her less passive as the plot picked up, but the first seeds…

I’m Vanessa Barneveld, and I’m so excited take on the famous Fresh Fiction Title Challenge! UNDER THE MILKY WAY is a paranormal YA romance that’ll make you believe in – and fall in love with – aliens. I can’t wait for you to meet the stars of my book, Cassidy and Hayden.    U is for unidentified flying object. Also more fashionably known as unidentified aerial phenomena. N is for nefarious black-ops projects, the kind that seem too outlandish to be true… D is for dance floor. When Hayden takes Cassidy for a spin at the homecoming dance, it’s not his two left feet that freak her out. Nope, she sees something much more frightening and otherworldly.  E is for extraspecialterrestrials, aka humans, who believe we are not alone in the universe. R is for risk. By getting involved with Cassidy, Hayden puts his whole existence at risk. At first, he vows to keep her at arm’s length, but… * T is for the virtual tractor beam that draws Hayden to Cassidy. He can’t drag himself away from her. But sticking together could endanger them both. H is for Hayden, who’ll move galaxies to save Cassidy. E is for extra-special-terrestrials…

A new school year is starting, and thoughts typically would be on the fun new school clothes, the location of one’s locker, the squeak of tennis shoes on the gym floor, or if a best friend or favorite teacher is in one’s classroom. Instead, we find ourselves stuck with another wave of Covid and so many uncertainties about what to do and how to stay safe. I work in the school system and the fear and uncertainty are real, especially for someone like me with an underlying health condition that already impacts my breathing. Rather than focusing on the negative, and all of the things that are out of my immediate control, I’ve instead indulged myself in reading and enjoying books centering around the school system. Any time favorite books featuring a school theme are mentioned, Denise Swanson is the first author who comes to my mind! Denise Swanson was a school psychologist before she became an author, and her wealth of knowledge and empathy for students and teachers shows in each one of her books (with the exception of that horrid social worker in MURDER OF A ROYAL PAIN lol). BODY OVER TROUBLED WATERS features school psychologist Skye Denison-Boyd…

1–What is the title of your latest release? THE BREATH BETWEEN WAVES 2–What is it about? It’s an historical sapphic romance set aboard the fateful maiden voyage of RMS Titanic, where the main character, Penelope Fletcher, is moving to America and is sharing a cabin with Ruby Cole, a free-willed Irish woman who Penelope is immediately drawn and attracted to. 3–What do you love about the setting of your book? That it’s just one place? But in all honesty, the Titanic was such an incredible ship for its time and the sheer luxury and glamour of it was fun to reproduce while writing—even if the characters are sailing in Second Class and so don’t really experience much of the more lavish amenities. 4–How did your heroine surprise you? The way she handles the sinking. All throughout we see that Penelope isn’t really sure of herself or where she stands in the world, or with the people in her life. But the sinking brings out another side of her that I really hadn’t expected as I was planning and drafting it. 5–Why will readers love her love interest? Because she’s spunky. And outgoing. She is one of those people who has…