Monday, January 30, 2012

Review ~ Love Blooms in Winter


My Review

I always know that when I pick up a Lori Copeland book I will be privy to something special!

A peaceful and gentle spirit flows through the characters of Mae and Tom. Not that they didn't have their feisty moments because they did! Mae is a pistol when needed but she is a godly and committed woman who cares for her younger brother and an elderly neighbor while working as the small railroad town's postmistress. With a long time boyfriend who doesn't seem eager to propose, Tom catches Mae's eye when he comes to town and they become good friends.

This is a lovely story about self-sacrifice with the sweetest romance thrown in. Any fan of historical fiction will be sure to turn the last page with a smile on their face and a sigh of contentment.

I was provided a copy by Karri James of Harvest House Publishers through FIRST Wild Card Tours for review purposes only. I was not required to write a positive review, only my opinion of the book, which I have done.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

♥ Valentine Card Idea ♥

clipart credit


With Valentine's Day only about two weeks away I thought I would share a video I found from Kristina Werner, designer extraordinaire. Visit her website for more ideas: KWernerDesign




Have a great day in the Lord!

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Guest Review ~ Lion of Babylon by Davis Bunn

Periodically, my friend and fellow book enthusiast, Rebecca Maney, will be joining us to give her thoughts and opinions on books she is reading. I'm so happy that she has agreed to come on board, even if it's only occasionally. Sometimes a blog needs a little refreshment, and I think Rebecca's insights will provide that here!

About the Book:


Marc Royce has been a State Department agent involved in covert operations--that is, until personal issues lead  to his dismissal.

When Alex Baird goes missing in war-torn Baghdad, State comes calling again. Alex is a CIA agent--and a close   friend of Royce. Three others have also dropped out of sight--a nurse, an aid worker, a wealthy young Iraqi.  Are these cases linked? Rumors circulate about a kidnapping conspiracy, yet both American and local officials  refuse to pursue it.

Blocked at every turn, Royce eventually unearths a trail of secret encounters between sworn enemies. What he  discovers could transform the course of rivalry and reconciliation throughout the Mideast. As the human and  political drama escalates, can one man summon the courage to make a difference?

Selected as a Library Journal 2011 Best Book Award winner

 


 

Guest Reviewer: Rebecca Maney

Up until now, the only books that I had read and enjoyed by T. Davis Bunn were from three of his historical fiction series; “Song of Acadia” and “Acts of Faith”, both co-authored with Jeanette Oke and “Heirs of Acadia”, co-authored with his wife Isabella. In comparison, Lion of Babylon was a unique read; a “unique read” in a positive sense, because it was an incredible book.

Set in modern-day Iraq, Bunn’s past experience in the Middle East is reflected in his obvious knowledge about the Iraqi people; mysterious, complicated, and passionate. Surprisingly, rather than being overwhelmed with what I did not previously understand, I learned a tremendous amount regarding the tangled web of political, traditional, religious, cultural and social mores that comprise these loving, fiercely proud and independent people. . .  all while sitting on the edge of my seat reading a fast-paced suspenseful thriller; with just a hint of a forthcoming romance and a glimpse of the heinous nature of the Iranian government.

Marc Royce is immediately swept past his own personal pain back into the world he once walked; the land of subterfuge. His assignment . . .to locate his best friend, an intelligence agent named Alex Baird, who has disappeared, along with two American women and one young Iraqi. Royce must quickly learn who to trust and who to learn to trust; especially since his own American government is not officially supporting his mission. An established Iraqi lawyer named Sameh el-Jacobi becomes not only Marc’s closest ally, but a most trusted friend. Sameh quickly discovers that his own search for missing children and Royce’s search for missing adults coincide in a conspiracy of inter-national proportion. What begins as a single rescue mission turns out to be a pivotal turning point in Iraq’s internal quest for peace. And ultimately, Marc Royce is given the elite title, “lion” or “lugal”; meaning “a hero intended to lead his people from peril”.

Imbedded in this riveting read is a remarkable message; the answer to peace among enemies is the person of Jesus. After an emotionally charged visit to an underground church, Sameh tells Royce, “all my life, my first instinct upon meeting a person has been to identify their background . . . I name them as American, Sunni, Shia, Persian, Kurd. But that moment in the church, we were all simply people in need. Imperfect and wounded and broken. And I saw the answer was Jesus.”

Reminiscent in the title “Lion of Babylon” is another title reserved for Christ Himself, the “Lion of the tribe of Judah”, who truly was a savior; the Savior of the world. Bunn has written an unforgettable story and reinforced an unforgettable message.

Bethany House provided a review copy, which I did not get to read, so Rebecca was kind enough to read the book and write this review. And what a fantastic review it is! Thank you, Rebecca :)

No compensation has been received. Only an honest opinion of the book was required, which has been given.

Davis Bunn is an award-winning novelist whose audience spans reading genres from high drama and action thrillers to heartwarming relationship stories, in both contemporary and historical settings. He and his wife, Isabella, make their home in Florida for some of each year, and spend the rest near Oxford, England, where they each teach and write. Visit Davis' Web site at www.davisbunn.com


Read an excerpt


Lion of Babylon

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

WINNER!!!

CONGRATULATIONS!!!


 



 

~ ANGIE ~


You won A Most Unsuitable Match!


I sent you an email. Please respond within 48 hours.


Thanks to all who came by and entered :)


Have a great day in the Lord!


Monday, January 23, 2012

Firethorn by Ronie Kendig ~ Review & FIRST Wild Card Tour

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!


You never know when I might play a wild card on you!







Today's Wild Card author is:





and the book:




Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)




***Special thanks to Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:







An Army brat, Ronie Kendig grew up in the classic military family, with her father often TDY and her mother holding down the proverbial fort. Their family moved often, which left Ronie attending six schools by the time she’d entered fourth grade. Her only respite and “friends” during this time were the characters she created.


It was no surprise when she married a military veteran—her real-life hero—in June 1990.  Married more than twenty years, Ronie and her husband, Brian, homeschool their four children, the first of whom graduated in 2011. Despite the craziness of life, Ronie finds balance and peace with her faith, family and their three dogs in Dallas, TX.


Ronie has a deep love and passion for people, especially hurting people, which is why she pursued and obtained a B.S. in Psychology from Liberty University. Ronie is an active member of the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and has volunteered extensively, serving in a variety of capacities from coordinator of a national contest to appointment assistant at the national annual conference.




Since launching onto the publishing scene in 2010, Ronie and her books have been gained critical acclaim and national attention, including:


    • Finalist in Christian Retailing’s 2011 Readers’ Choice Awards (Nightshade)

    • RWA’s Faith, Hope, & Love’s 2011 Inspirational Readers’ Choice Awards in Romantic Suspense (Nightshade)

    • Named one of the Top 25 Christian Fiction Suspense, Mystery, and Thriller Writers by FamilyFiction (Sept 2011)

    • 2011 FamilyFiction Readers’ Choice Awards – 3rd place as New Favorite Author, 8th place with Nightshade for Novel of the Year.

    • INSPY Award Shortlist final in Mystery/Thriller (Dead Reckoning)

    • The Christian Manifesto’s 2010 Lime Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction (Nightshade)


Visit the author's website.


SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:


Blown and dismantled, Nightshade is ready to repay the favor.

Former Marine and current Nightshade team member Griffin "Legend" Riddell is comfortable. So comfortable he never sees the set up that lands him in a maximum security prison, charged with murder. How can he prove his innocence behind bars?

Covert operative Kazi Faron is tasked with reassembling Nightshade—the black ops team someone dissected. Breaking Griffin out of a federal penitentiary amid explosive confusion may turn out to be her last assignment. What will it take to convince the fugitive that whoever set him up has also dissected the Nightshade team? As Kazi and Griffin race to rescue the others and discover the traitor,
love begins to awaken in their hearts.

Can a covert operative and the felon she's freed overcome their mutual distrust long enough to save Nightshade? Will anything prepare them for who—or what is coming?





Product Details:




  • List Price: $12.99


  • Paperback: 352 pages

  • Publisher: Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)

  • Language: English

  • ISBN-10: 1602607850

  • ISBN-13: 978-1602607859




AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:





       To all American military heroes




      At home and abroad,





      Those who have gone before





      and those serving today—





      THANK YOU!





      Because of you, we are FREE!




RECON CREED

Realizing it is my choice and my choice alone to be a Reconnaissance Marine, I accept all challenges involved with this profession. Forever shall I strive to maintain the tremendous reputation of those who went before me.
Exceeding beyond the limitations set down by others shall be my goal. Sacrificing personal comforts and dedicating myself to the completion of the reconnaissance mission shall be my life. Physical fitness, mental attitude, and high ethics—The title of Recon Marine is my honor.
Conquering all obstacles, both large and small, I shall never quit. To quit, to surrender, to give up is to fail. To be a Recon Marine is to surpass failure; To overcome, to adapt and to do whatever it takes to complete the mission.
On the battlefield, as in all areas of life, I shall stand tall above the competition. Through professional pride, integrity, and teamwork, I shall be the example for all Marines to emulate.
Never shall I forget the principles I accepted to become a Recon Marine. Honor, Perseverance, Spirit, and Heart.
A Recon Marine can speak without saying a word and achieve what others can only imagine.

Swift, Silent, Deadly 




Chapter 1

The Shack
      “It’s sad, really.” Marshall “The Kid” Vaughn trudged away from the thumping rotors of the helo that had deposited them back at the Shack, his pack almost dragging the ground. “Ya don’t realize how much a person adds until he’s gone.”
      “Legend’s not gone.” Max “Frogman” Jacobs hoisted his rucksack into a better group, his mind locked on Sydney and their two sons waiting for him at home. Poor woman had to be going out of her mind with two of his Mini-Me’s running around.
      “Yeah.” John “Squirt” Dighton hit the light breaker, then waited for the six-man team to clear the door. “He’s just temporarily detained.”
      Lights sizzled and popped to life. Groaning bounced off the grimy windows as he hauled the door closed, locked it, then started toward the showers.
      The Kid grunted. “Forty-years-to-life temporary.”
      In the locker room, a depressive gloom hung over the team. They’d been on countless missions, hit just about every terrain and environment imaginable, but none had taken the toll the last couple had. And there was one reason—they were down a man. Griffin “Legend” Riddell. If Max could write the playbook, they wouldn’t do another mission without the guy. But with the man in federal prison for murdering a congressman, it’d be a long wait.
      It was quiet. Too quiet. Max looked around the Spartan room. Walls of lockers, most unused. A few benches. A giant once-white bin for dirty duds. And the team. Six men, now. All very skilled. Good men. Even the one missing. Every man here knew Legend had been set up—he didn’t murder that congressman. But nobody could prove it. The evidence was damning. Justice—injustice was more like it—came swiftly. Lambert, ever the puppeteer, couldn’t pull the right strings to get Legend off.
      “I’m heading up to visit him tomorrow. Anyone game?” Colton “Cowboy” Neeley slumped on a bench and ran a hand over his short, dark hair. His blue eyes probed the group.
      “Nah, man. I’ve got a date,” the Kid said.
      Squirt beaned him with a towel. “What girl would go out with you, mate?”
      The Kid snapped the terry cloth back at the former Navy SEAL. “Your sister.”
      Squirt froze. His jaw went slack. Then his eyes darkened.
      Laughing, Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe rose to his feet from the corner. “You just proved his point by thinking your sister would actually go out with him.”
      Squirt swallowed, his face drained of color. “I introduced them at a New Year’s party.”
      Midas laughed harder. “Your mistake, mate.
      Shuffling closer, Squirt pointed a finger at the Kid. “I swear, you touch her, I’ll shove a fist full of witchety grubs down your gullet.”
      “Give me credit, dude.” The Kid raised his hands. “I’m a gentleman.”
      Max grunted. “Right.” As he strode around the lockers to the shower well, he heard more threats and much more laughter from the Kid. Max shook his head. Would the Kid ever grow up, learn when to leave things alone?
      As he tossed his oily, grimy duds on the bench, Max paused, thinking maybe he should send his report to Lambert now so he wouldn’t have to mess with it tomorrow. The mission had been simple enough, a snatch-n-grab of an Iranian doctor. It’d been nice and clean, in and out. The report wouldn’t take long. Then he could shower, bug out, and know he had the whole weekend with Syd and the boys.
      Max jogged up the iron stairs, which creaked and groaned beneath his weight. Down the hall to the right. He punched in the code and entered the secure hub, the door hissing shut behind him. The most high-tech part of this dump-of-a-warehouse.
      Shouts drew his attention to the blinds. He jabbed two fingers between a couple and spread them to peeked down into the main area. Squirt and the Kid raced into the bay and back the way they came. Squirt looked ready to kill. The Kid’s face revealed his fear. Max shook his head again. Man, he wanted Griffin back. The guy seemed to bring balance to the team. Badly needed balance.
      Max powered up the computer. Hand propped on the warped wood, he waited for the system to boot.
      More shouts. Loud thuds.
      He pinched the bridge of his nose. Would they never—?
      Tat-a-tat! Tat-tat-a-tat!
      Instinct drove Max to his knee at the sound of gunfire. He scrambled to the window. Through the slanted blinds, he peered down into the slab of cement. His brain wouldn’t assemble what he saw. Gunmen. A dozen or more. Rushing into the Shack from the parking bay. Moving swiftly, as if. . .
      They know the layout.
      Max darted to the door and jerked it open. He sprinted down the hall toward the stairs. As his boot hit steel, he froze. A shadow emerged. Floated into the hall.
      Too late.
      Max jerked back. Pressed his spine against the wall.
      By the showers, the Kid looked up. Max signaled to him. Then made his best and loudest Nightshade whistle, hoping it would penetrate the building, give the men warning to take cover.
      The Kid threw himself back into the locker room.
      Men swarmed the corner. One looked to his left, one right. His weapon slowly rose as he traced the stairs with his M16.
      Max leapt backward into the darkness and into office. He closed the door. As the lock clicked, darkness dropped like an anchor over the entire building. Behind him, a glow screamed his location. The monitor!
      Max spun. Lunged across the desk. Stabbed the power button. And paused with his hand still near the monitor. If someone was coming after them. . .accessing this computer. . .
      On his knees, Max yanked the cords free. With the box, he moved to the window and reassessed the parking bay. Another van with a half-dozen men with AK-47s. They streamed into the warehouse.
      Max’s gut wound into a dozen knots. They were screwed.
      Think! Hand on the door, he considered going back downstairs. But that would get him captured. Killed. Yet he’d rather be with his guys than running like a chicken.
      No, not running. Considering options, gaining the advantage. Planning. The invasion force was armed to the teeth. They knew who they were coming after. They’d brought weapons. And those guys moved with precision. Swift, deadly precision.
      Though Nightshade had a stellar ops record, perhaps they had finally met their match. Still. . .two to one? Nightshade had faced worse.
      A large black Suburban screeched to a halt in the middle of the parking bay. Two men emerged, both wearing trench coats.
      Max cursed his luck to be up here, away from his gear, his weapons. Up here, without firepower. Thus, powerless.
      Okay, enough. He was going down there. He eased the door open and slid across the hall. Bathed in darkness, he crouched at edge of the landing, using the wall for cover. A dozen men so far, rushing here and there. Quick, quiet chatter between the men.
      A smirk slid into Max’s face. His team had taken cover and these goons couldn’t find them. If he could just get a weapon. . .
      “Can’t find them.”
      “They’re here. I saw them go in,” the man nearest the SUV shouted. “Find them! Lights!”
      Light rushed through the building as headlamps from the vehicles stabbed the dusty, damp building. Max yanked back, out of sight. He needed to get down there, defend his men. His boot hit the landing.
      Shouts erupted. A shot bounced off the steel rafters, taunting as it echoed through the Shack. Stilled, Max waited. More shouts. The sound of a scuffle. The half-dozen men waiting by the SUV lifted their weapons to the ready.
      The locker room door swung open. A man walked backward, his AK-47 aimed at a large form filling the doorway. Cowboy. Arms raised, dressed only in his jeans, he stalked forward. Someone shoved him from behind, which barely moved the big lug.
      Spine pressed against the wood, Max peered down into the bay.
      “You move one wrong muscle,” the one in front of Cowboy growled, “and so help me God, I’ll kill you.”
      “No you won’t.” Cowboy lowered his hands. “If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be out here.”
      Ride ’em, Cowboy.
      From the side entrance to the showers, three men dragged a shouting, cursing Kid into the bay. Max smirked that it took three tangos to wrangle the Kid.
      Hand clenched, Max’s mind went into overdrive. What could he do? God. . .I need. . .something. What could he pray for? Intercepting the team was impossible. Twelve, fifteen armed tangos against one unarmed man?
      He latched on to the hope that they’d only found Cowboy and the Kid. No Midas, Squirt, or Aladdin. Good. Maybe they could regroup and—
      A man flew through the bay door from the showers and landed with a thud a yard from the others. Midas flipped over, scissored his legs, and swept the thug off his feet. The Kid seized the confusion to attack the men guarding him. And impressively. With a hard right, he dropped the first and used that weapon to disable the second.
      Cowboy took a step back and rammed his elbow into the gut of the nearest guard. The gunman bent forward—straight into Cowboy’s meaty fist. The big guy pivoted, slapped the interior of the gunman’s wrist, effectively seizing the weapon and flipping the muzzle around. He fired at the guy.
      Crack!
      In the split second it took for Max to realize the sonic boom that rent the air wasn’t the report of Cowboy’s .45 MEU but of a rifle, Max saw the man in the black trench coat drop to the ground. A circle spread out like a dark halo.
      “Sniper!” someone shouted.
      The dead guy had fallen backward. Most likely shot from the front. Which meant. . . Max’s gaze rose to the rafters. With no light, it’d be the perfect hiding spot. But. . .who? Squirt? Aladdin?
      Crack!
      The man guarding Colton stumbled forward, then went to his knees before hitting the cement.
      The man in the black trench coat nearest the SUV dropped. A pool of blood spilled out.
      “There!” One guard swung and fired his fully automatic at the ceiling. Four others followed suit, firing at the bank of grimy windows on the southeast wall of the building.
      Max followed their direction and watched. Waited, his breath caught at the back of his throat. Cracks and shattering glass blended with the staccato punches of the guns to create a wild cacophony of noise. Max tuned it out, praying whoever—Aladdin or Squirt—wouldn’t be hit.
      But then he saw it. A shift of a shadow. Like someone rolling. . .
      The gunfire petered out as a body plummeted the eight feet to the ground.
      The thud seemed to have supernatural powers as it pounded Max’s chest and pushed him back. Away from the window but not far enough that he lost line of sight.
      Silence dropped on the Shack.
      “Where’s Max Jacobs?”
      As the question streaked through the warehouse, Max registered a red glow in the far corner. Even as he noticed it, he heard a beep. Another. His gaze darted to the source of the noise. Two men were walking the perimeter, their M16s dangling as they raised their arms and pressed something against the supports. Arms lowered and the men stepped back revealing gray bricks with wires.
      Explosives.
      Gotta stop this. Do something. His gaze collided with Cowboy’s. The big lug gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
      Max’s nostrils flared as he wrestled with what to do.
      “Where’s Dighton?”
      How do they know our names?
      “Dead,” someone answered.
      Pulled back into the shadows, Max clenched his eyes and bit down on his tongue. Dighton was dead. What about Aladdin—had he survived the fall?
      Sirens wailed in the distance.
      “Load ’em up.”
      “What about Jacobs?”
      “Outta time.” The leader left as the gunmen dragged the team out of the building.
      Stealthily, Max held on to the box and sprinted the length of the hall to the side of the Shack. In the conference room, he plunged toward the window. Craned his neck to peek out. Three vehicles—twin white vans and a black town car.
      The guys were loaded into the van and one into the car.
      The leader shifted, held something out, then it wavered.
      Detonator.
      Max spun around, searching for an out. Doors. Only one way down—the stairs. But they led to the bay, which would be engulfed.
      Windows. Overlooked the dock. The canal. It was January. The water would be brutal cold. His split-second assessment told him no matter what route he took, it’d be deadly. Despite his training, if he didn’t find shelter out of the water once he broke surface, he’d die an ice cube. If he stayed, he’d die a fireball.
      Good thing SEALs are insulated against cold water.
      Max vaulted toward the window, hurtling the computer through the window. The glass shattered as a violent force blasted through the air. It lifted him. Up. . .up. . . Flipped him. Searing pain sliced through his arm. Heat stroked his back and legs. Fire chased him out of the building. Into the night.
      Boom!
      Another wave slammed into him. Threw him backward. Toward the water.
      Something punched his gut. Knocked the breath from his lungs.
      Bright white lit the night. Blinded him. Then—almost instantaneously—black. Pure black. And he was falling. . .down. . .down. . .




Ro n i e K e n d i g
 


Firethorn


Discarded Heroes # 4




      OTHER BOOKS BY RONIE KENDIG




      Nightshade (Discarded Heroes #1)




      Digitalis (Discarded Heroes #2)




      Wolfsbane (Discarded Heroes #3)




© 2011 by Ronie Kendig


ISBN 978-1-60260-0785-9
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.


All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.


For more information about Ronie Kendig, please access the author’s Web site at the following Internet address: www.roniekendig.com


Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,


www.barbourbooks.com


Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.


Printed in the United States of America.





Y’all already know I LOVE this book and the Discarded Heroes series! I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spread the word ONE. MORE.TIME.

Just in case you missed the first two times ;)


My Review

Emotionally. Wrung. Out.

That's how I feel. The high's and low's are extreme and adrenaline inducing. While my head is spinning from all the action and pounding from the tears, I'm telling myself this isn't real. It didn't happen. Really? It seemed real. Gut-wrenchingly so.

I thought nothing could outdo Wolfsbane in this series. I was wrong.

Firethorn, while not heavy on romance, brought together two people who seem so opposite but who have so many hidden similarities. Griffin is one tough dude. Kazi is one tough chick. Normally I would say it was a pleasure to watch their relationship unfold but pleasure is too tame a word. It was explosive. Literally :)

The imagery is stunning! In between blistering dialog, the author uses short, bullet-like phrases spattered across the pages that kept me in an elevated state of expectation. Every step of the way I thought I was right there, witnessing the events as they unfolded. At just the right moment there would be a flash of humor to help release the tension before plunging me back into breathlessness.

There are twists and turns that I couldn't have dreamed of. Just who is the bad guy? Let me tell you, there's more than one. In the words of MI: “Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” is to stay focused, don't let anyone interrupt your reading time, have some tissue nearby, maybe an MRE (just in case you can't put the book down) and enjoy this final thrill ride into the lives and loves of our Discarded Heroes!

An astounding conclusion to a series that will live on forever in my memory.

Friday, January 20, 2012

WINNER!!!



I decided to look for another tool to choose winners. I know, most folks use Random.org and I usually do too. If you have a lot of entries it seems easy. But, since I only had four entries for the devotional, and I'm too lazy to actually write the names down, cut them out, fold them, AND place them in a hat, I found a program called The Hat on CNET :)

You type the names in, hit shuffle, and it shakes & shuffles those names and when you hit the stop button, you have a WINNER! It even plays a sound, albeit a slightly annoying one. I still like the program and it was free!

Here's the screen shot...



 

CONGRATULATIONS!!!




~ RONIE ~


You won The One Year Uncommon Life Daily Challenge gift certificate!


Thank you, ladies for coming by and entering. Stay tuned for more great author interviews, reviews and giveaways!

Giveaway & Review ~ A Most Unsuitable Match

I read this book months ago and didn't realize I had not posted my review until this week. Even though I'm not a professional reviewer, I take my obligation to write and post reviews seriously.

I humbly apologize to the author, Stephanie Grace Whitson, and Bethany House Publishers for my oversight.


History Brought to Life through a Surprising Romance

Miss Fannie Rousseau is a young woman of privilege traveling west to uncover the truth behind a family secret.

Mr. Samuel Beck is on a mission to atone for past failures that still haunt him.

Their meeting aboard a steamboat to Montana sparks an unlikely attraction. They are opposites in every       way... except in how neither one can stop thinking about the other.

Will the end of the journey bring the end of their relationship, or is it just the beginning?

My Review

There are many thought provoking elements in this book but the main one that comes to my mind is discovery.

At age 18, Fannie sets off on a journey to Montana Territory in search of an aunt whom she has never met. She feels alone in the world and just wants to connect with someone since the death of her mother. The trials she encounters along the way change her from a spoiled, sheltered girl into a woman of substance. She gains strength - physically, emotionally and spiritually. Kind of sounds like life, huh?

Samuel longs to find his only sister who ran away years before. His journey will not only lead him into an unexpected but marvelously life changing vocation, he will also discover friendship and a deep, abiding love with Fannie. Kind-hearted is a most appropriate way to describe him.

Along the way, both Fannie and Samuel individually face what seem to be insurmountable odds but they persevere, overcoming fears and temptations, emerging with a stronger faith and love for one another. With a spiritual thread that is strong and sure, A Most Unsuitable Match is a beautifully written voyage of discovery, full of adventure, familial longing, heartache, and romance, making it a deeply satisfying read!

Bethany House provided a copy of this book for review purposes. I was not required to write a positive one, just my honest opinion, which I have done. No other compensation has been, or will be, received.

Author Bio

Stephanie Grace Whitson, bestselling author and two time Christy Award finalist, pursues a full-time writing and speaking career from her home studio in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her husband and blended family, her church, quilting, and Kitty--her motorcycle--all rank high on her list of "favorite things". You can visit her on the web at www.stephaniegracewhitson.com



To purchase your copy:

Amazon

Bethany House

CBD



Read an Excerpt below
A Most Unsuitable Match

I'll share my review copy. Leave a comment. US ONLY! (lower 48) Ends Jan 25th!!!




Friday Funnies

I'm visual so you guessed it! Photos :)




Have a Happy Day in the Lord!

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Winner!!!

CONGRATULATIONS!!!


 

[caption id="attachment_719" align="aligncenter" width="292" caption="microsoft images"][/caption]

~ JO ~


 

You won Firethorn by Ronie Kendig!!!


Thanks to everyone who came by and entered! This was the most popular giveaway yet :)


If you didn't win, please support Ronie by purchasing a copy of her books! You won't be disappointed!!!


Stay tuned for more great author interviews, reviews and giveaways!

Love Blooms in Winter by Lori Copeland

My review of this book will be posted another time. I got a late start reading it but I can say that so far it is good. Of course, I have never been disappointed in a Lori Copeland book :)

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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!


You never know when I might play a wild card on you!





Today's Wild Card author is:





and the book:






  • Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2012)






***Special thanks to Karri | Marketing Assistant |Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books' Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren.

Visit the author's website.



SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:


This new romance from bestselling author Lori Copeland portrays God’s miraculous provision when none seems possible. An engagement, a runaway train, and a town of quirky, loveable people make for more adventure than Tom Curtis is expecting. But it is amazing what can bloom in winter with God in charge.


 1892—Mae Wilkey’s sweet next-door neighbor, Pauline, is suffering from old age and dementia and desperately needs family to come help her. But Pauline can’t recall having kin remaining. Mae searches through her desk and finds a name—Tom Curtis, who may just be the answer to their prayers.

 Tom can’t remember an old aunt named Pauline, but if she thinks he’s a long-lost nephew, he very well may be. After two desperate letters from Mae, he decides to pay a visit. An engagement, a runaway train, and a town of quirky, loveable people make for more of an adventure than Tom is expecting. But it is amazing what can bloom in winter when God is in charge of things.






Product Details:




    • List Price: $13.99

    • Paperback: 304 pages

    • Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2012)

    • Language: English

    • ISBN-10: 0736930191

    • ISBN-13: 978-0736930192






AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:






Dwadlo, North Dakota, 1892 


  The winter of ’92 is gonna go down as one of the worst Dwadlo’s ever seen,” Hal Murphy grumbled as he dumped the sack of flour he got for his wife on the store counter. “Mark my words.” He turned toward Mae Wilkey, the petite postmistress, who was stuffing mail in wooden slots.


  “Spring can’t come soon enough for me.” She stepped back, straightening the row of letters and flyers. She didn’t have to record Hal’s prediction; it was the same every year. “I’d rather plant flowers than shovel snow any day of the week.”


  “Yes, ma’am.” Hal nodded to the store owner, Dale Smith, who stood five foot seven inches with a rounded belly and salt-and-pepper hair swept to a wide front bang. “Add a couple of those dill pickles, will you?” Hal watched as Dale went over to the barrel and fished around inside, coming up with two fat pickles.


  “That’ll fix me up.” Hal turned his attention back to the mail cage, his eyes fixed on the lovely sight. “Can’t understand why you’re still single, Mae. You’re as pretty as a raindrop on a lily pad.” He sniffed the air. “And you smell as good.”


  Smiling, Mae moved from the letter boxes to the cash box. Icy weather may have delayed the train this morning, but she still had to count money and record the day’s inventory. “Now, Hal, you know I’d marry you in a wink if you weren’t already taken.” Hal and Clara had been married forty-two years, but Mae’s usual comeback never failed to put a sparkle in the farmer’s eye. Truth be, she put a smile on every man’s face, but she wasn’t often aware of the flattering looks she received. Her heart belonged to Jake Mallory, Dwadlo’s up-and-coming attorney.


  Hal nodded. “I know. All the good ones are taken, aren’t they?”


  She nodded. “Every single one. Especially in Dwadlo.”


  The little prairie town was formed when the Chicago & North Western Railroad came through five years ago. Where abundant grass, wild flowers, and waterfalls had once flourished, hundreds of miles of steel rail crisscrossed the land, making way for big, black steam engines that hauled folks and supplies. Before the railroad came through, only three homesteads had dotted the rugged Dakota Territory: Mae’s family’s, Hal and Clara’s, and Pauline Wilson’s.


  But in ’87 life changed, and formerly platted sites became bustling towns. Pine Grove and Branch Springs followed, and Dwadlo suddenly thrived with immigrants, opportunists, and adventure-seeking folks staking claims out West. A new world opened when the Dakota Boom started.


  Hal’s gaze focused on Mae’s left hand. “Jake still hasn’t popped the question?”


  Mae sighed. Hal was a pleasant sort, but she really wished the townspeople would occupy their thoughts with something other than her and Jake’s pending engagement. True, they had been courting for six years and Jake still hadn’t proposed, but she was confident he would. He’d said so, and he was a man of his word—though every holiday, when a ring would have been an appropriate gift, that special token of his intentions failed to materialize. Mae had more lockets than any one woman could wear, but Jake apparently thought that she could always use another one. What she could really use was his hand in marriage. The bloom was swiftly fading from her youth, and it would be nice if her younger brother, Jeremy, had a man’s presence in his life.


  “Be patient, Hal. He’s busy trying to establish a business.”


  “Good lands. How long does it take a man to open a law office?”


  “Apparently six years and counting.” She didn’t like the uncertainty but she understood it, even if the town’s population didn’t. She had a good life, what with work, church, and the occasional social. Jake accompanied her to all public events, came over two or three times a week, and never failed to extend a hand when she needed something. It was almost as though they were already married.


  “The man’s a fool,” Hal declared. “He’d better slap a ring on that finger before someone else comes along and does it for him.”


  “Not likely in Dwadlo,” Mae mused. The town itself was made up of less than a hundred residents, but other folks lived in the surrounding areas and did their banking and shopping here. Main Street consisted of the General Store, Smith’s Grain and Feed, the livery, the mortuary, the town hall and jail (which was almost always empty), Doc Swede’s office, Rosie’s CafĂ©, and an empty building that had once housed the saloon. Mae hadn’t spotted a sign on any business yet advertising “Husbands,” but she was certain her patience would eventually win out.


  With a final smile Hal moved off to pay for his goods. Mae hummed a little as she put the money box in the safe. Looking out the window, she noticed a stiff November wind snapping the red canvas awning that sheltered the store’s porch. Across the square, a large gazebo absorbed the battering wind. The usually active gathering place was now empty under a gray sky. On summer nights music played, and the smell of popcorn and roasted peanuts filled the air. Today the structure looked as though it were bracing for another winter storm. Sighing, Mae realized she already longed for green grass, blooming flowers, and warm breezes.


  After Hal left Mae finished up the last of the chores and then reached for her warm wool cape. She usually enjoyed the short walk home from work, but today she was tired—and her feet hurt because of the new boots she’d purchased from the Montgomery Ward catalog. On the page they had looked comfortable with their high tops and polished leather, but on her feet they felt like a vise.


  Slipping the cape’s hood over her hair, she said goodbye to Dale and then paused when her hand touched the doorknob. “Oh, dear. I really do need to check on Pauline again.”


  “How’s she doing?” The store owner paused and leaned on his broom. “I noticed she hasn’t been in church recently.”


  Dale always reminded Mae of an owl perching on a tree limb, his big, dark blue eyes swiveling here and there. He might not talk a body’s leg off, but he kept up on town issues. She admired the quiet little man for what he did for the community and respected the way he preached to the congregation on Sundays.


  How was Pauline doing? Mae worried the question over in her mind. Pauline lived alone, and she shouldn’t. The elderly woman was Mae’s neighbor, and she checked on her daily, but Pauline was steadily losing ground.


  “She’s getting more and more fragile, I’m afraid. Dale, have you ever heard Pauline speak of kin?”


  The small man didn’t take even a moment to ponder the question. “Never heard her mention a single word about family of any kind.”


  “Hmm…me neither. But surely she must have some.” Someone who should be here, in Dwadlo, looking after the frail soul. Mae didn’t resent the extra work, but the post office and her brother kept her busy, and she really didn’t have the right to make important decisions regarding the elderly woman’s rapidly failing health.


  Striding back to the bread rack, she picked up a fresh loaf. Dale had private rooms at the back of the store where he made his home, and he was often up before dawn baking bread, pies, and cakes for the community. Most folks in town baked their own goods, but there were a few, widowers and such, who depended on Dale’s culinary skills. By this hour of the day the goods were usually gone, but a few remained. Placing a cherry pie in her basket as well, she called, “Add these things to my account, please, Dale. And pray for Pauline too.”


  Nodding, he continued sweeping, methodically running the stiff broomcorn bristles across the warped wood floor.


  The numbing wind hit Mae full force when she stepped off the porch. Her hood flew off her head and an icy gust of air snatched away her breath. Putting down her basket, she retied the hood before setting off for the brief walk home. Dwadlo was laid out in a rather strange pattern, a point everyone agreed on. Businesses and homes were built close together, partly as shelter from the howling prairie winds and partly because there wasn’t much forethought given to town planning. Residents’ homes sat not a hundred feet from the store. The whole community encompassed less than five acres.


  Halfway to her house, snowflakes began swirling in the air. Huddling deeper into her wrap, Mae concentrated on the path as the flakes grew bigger.


  She quickly covered the short distance to Pauline’s. The dwelling was little more than a front room, tiny kitchen, and bedroom, but she was a small woman. Pauline pinned her yellow-white hair in a tight knot at the base of her skull, and she didn’t have a tooth in her head. She chewed snuff, which she freely admitted was an awful habit, but Mae had never heard her speak of giving it up.


  Her faded blue eyes were as round as buttons, and no matter what kind of day she was having, it was always a new one to her, filled with wonders. Her mind wasn’t what it used to be. She had good and bad days, but mostly days when her moods changed as swift as summer lightning. She could be talking about tomatoes in the garden patch when suddenly she would be discussing how to spin wool.


  Mae noted a soft wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney and smiled. Pauline had remembered to feed the fire this afternoon, so this was a good day.


  Unlatching the gate, she followed the path to the front porch. In summertime the white railings hung heavy with red roses, and the scent of honeysuckle filled the air. This afternoon the wind howled across the barren flower beds Pauline carefully nurtured during warmer weather. Often she planted okra where petunias should be, but she enjoyed puttering in the soil and the earth loved her. She brought fresh tomatoes, corn, and beans to the store during spring and summer, and pumpkins and squash lined the railings in the fall.


  In earlier days Pauline’s quilts were known throughout the area. She and her quilting group had made quite a name for themselves when Dwadlo first became a town. Four women excelled in the craft. One had lived in Pine Grove, and two others came from as far away as Branch Springs once a month to break bread together and stitch quilts. But one by one the women had died off, leaving Pauline to sew alone in her narrowing world.


  Stomping her boots on the porch, Mae said under her breath, “I don’t mind winter, Lord, but could we perhaps have a little less of it?” The only answer was the wind whipping her garments. Tapping lightly on the door, she called, “Pauline?”


  Mae stepped back and waited to hear the shuffle of feet. Pauline used to answer the door in less than twenty seconds. It took longer now. Mae made a fist with her gloved hand and banged a little harder. The wind howled around the cottage eaves. She closed her eyes and prayed that Jeremy had remembered to stack sufficient firewood beside the kitchen door. The boy was generally responsible, and she thanked God every day that she had him to lean on. He had been injured by forceps during birth, which left him with special needs. He was a very happy fourteen-year-old with the reasoning power of a child of nine.


  A full minute passed. Mae frowned and tried the doorknob. Pauline couldn’t hear herself yell in a churn, but she might also be asleep. The door opened easily, and Mae peeked inside the small living quarters. She saw that a fire burned low in the woodstove, and Pauline’s rocking chair sat empty.


  Stepping inside, she closed the door and called again. “Pauline? It’s Mae!”


  The ticking of the mantle clock was the only sound that met her ears.


  “Pauline?” She lowered her hood and walked through the living room. She paused in the kitchen doorway.


  “Oh, Pauline!”