Friday, March 24, 2017

#FREEBIE #FRIDAY Except from WELCOME TO PARADISE by London Saint James #Erotic #Romance


Today's excerpt is from Welcome to Paradise by London Saint James. But first, London is sharing a super secret recipe...

We hope you enjoy today's tease!


Hi everyone. I’m London. *Waves* Welcome to Roane Publishing’s Freebie Friday. What do I have in store for you today? A little something from my novella, Welcome to Paradise which happens to be the introduction to my contemporary, erotic, western romance series, Paradise Ranch.

Since Sutton and her ranch is located in West Texas I figured what better way to celebrate Freebie Friday than to share a good old homemade Texas Barbecue Sauce with ya’all. And of course an excerpt from the book.

First, the recipe. Trust me. It’s finger licking good. Here’s what you need to make some:

Homemade Texas BBQ Juice

1 tablespoon paprika
2 teaspoons black pepper
2 teaspoons American chili powder
1 teaspoon cumin powder
1 tablespoon of butter
1 medium onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1 green bell pepper, chopped
1 cup Lone Star beer (or any other lager)
1/4 cup ketchup
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
3 tablespoons steak sauce
2 tablespoons brown sugar
Hot sauce to taste (start with 2 teaspoons of Tabasco sauce for mild heat)
2 cups beef, veal, or chicken stock

1) Mix the paprika, black pepper, American chili powder, and cumin in a small bowl.
2) In a one quart saucepan, melt the butter or bacon fat and gently cook the onion over medium heat until translucent.
3) Add the garlic, bell pepper, and the spice mix you made in step (1). Stir, and cook for two minutes to extract the flavors.
4) Add the stock and the rest of the ingredients. Stir until well blended. Simmer on medium for 15 minutes. Leftovers will keep in the fridge for a month or so.

Here’s an excerpt from Welcome to Paradise.

The field of wildflowers surrounding our family cemetery swayed in the gentle
breeze, making a wave in the colorful carpet nature provided. The day was, I supposed,
too beautiful to be marred by sorrow. Nevertheless, overwhelming grief swallowed me.

Beneath the sprawling branches of a giant oak, was the final resting place of my parents,
struck down by a drunk driver on their way home from Houston when I was
only fourteen. The memory of the sheriff coming to my grandparent’s door to inform
Mommy Callaway her son—my father, and her daughter-in-law—my mother, were both
killed in an accident, will forever be burned into my memory. It was a few days later, I
stood almost where I am now, sandwiched between my protective grandparents, feeling
the chill of winter kiss my cheeks and watching the snow fall as we buried my parents
amidst the blur of white. That image, a simmering cinder, never ceased to ignite the fire
of an indescribable pain inside me. 

The year after I graduated from college with an English Literature degree, Poppy
Callaway passed on from acute respiratory failure, leaving his wife of fifty-some-odd
years behind. I clutched her hand as the storm clouds loomed when Poppy was laid to
rest. But today, as they lowered her casket into the ground, the sun shone in a sky the
perfect shade of azure.

There were no fancy speeches given. No formal pomp and circumstance. Only
the silver-haired preacher, a friend of the family for years, who read from The Thorn
Birds, one of my grandmother’s favorite books, as he stood stoic in front of the grave.

“There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than
any other creature on the face of the Earth. From the moment it leaves the nest, it
searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among
the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it
rises above its own agony to out carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative
song, existence the price. But, the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven,
smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain.”

As the leaves on the ancient tree rustled, the service came to a close with one of
the ranch-hands bowing a somber tune on his fiddle.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Callaway,” Flint Palmer, the ranch foreman my
grandmother hired months before her death said in a drawl. He placed the black
Stetson gripped in a weathered hand on his head.

“Thank you.” 

“Sarah Callaway was a great woman.” 

“Yes. She was,” I said. 

“She’ll be missed.”

I nodded my agreement, then straightened my spine for the line of people who
were coming to offer their condolences.

When the last person walked away, the stark reality began to sink in. I was three
days away from turning thirty and everyone I held dear resided alongside Grandma
Sadie in plots perched atop the hillside I had just inherited.

Friday, March 17, 2017

#FREEBIE #FRIDAY An Excerpt from AN UNEXPECTED WREATH by Annabelle Blume #Romance


Today's excerpt is from An Unexpected Wreath by Annabelle Blume. This short story was part of the Winter's Sweet Kiss Anthology.

We hope you enjoy today's tease!


            "No, ma'am, this is a full service delivery. Show me what kind of tree stand you have.
It’s not one of those cheap aluminum things, is it?"

            She scrambled to come up with an excuse, but she could tell by the expectant look on his face he already knew the answer.

            "No problem." He reached into the bed of his truck and rustled around, pulling out a
wide-based plastic tree stand. "I always carry a spare."

            Then he winked at her. Winked. Stella couldn't remember the last time a guy actually
winked at her. Grayson was like a character out of a black and white holiday movie. All
charm and rugged good looks with snow covered shoulders and probably a sprig of
mistletoe in his back pocket.

            "Lead the way," he said.

            "Oh, right, come in." She waved for him to follow her through the barren garage.

            "Not the front door?"

            Stella’s cheeks and neck grew hot. "Ah, no.'t have a key."

            "This is your house, right?"
            "Yes," she said on an exasperated sigh. "I gave my only key to the dog sitter.” She
looked behind her to check if he was still following.

            "The what?" A look of utter confusion wrinkled his face as he yanked his beanie off and stuck it in his pocket before he crossed the threshold.

            "Dog sitter, you know? The woman who comes to visit and walk Fred while I'm at work."

            As soon as she said his name, the jingle-jangle of his collar sounded from the living
room. “Now, I have to ask for the key back so I can make a copy for myself. It's

            Fred bounded around the corner, tail wagging, tongue dangling.


            Stella held up her hand and spoke in a whisper. "Fred doesn't know he's different and he's the happiest dog I've ever known." She scratched his back and patted his head.
            "Fred, go lay down, sweetie."

            Fred trotted to his blanket on the far side of the couch and hopped up.

            "Stella, your dog is, um..."

            "Unique, I know. He was abused as a puppy. The rescue center I volunteer with saved Fred and I fostered him. They had to remove his eyes. He was in so much pain from the physical trauma he suffered, but he hasn’t let it change him." Stella swallowed hard, a
knot forming in her throat at the memory of those first weeks with Fred. "After he healed,
I was supposed to bring him to the adoption event they host on Saturdays. You know,
the one over at PetBarn? But, I couldn't let him go. Fred has been with me ever since."
            A moment of quiet contemplation settled between them. She stared at the floor, hoping he didn't think she was totally crazy after her ill-timed over-sharing.

            "That's the happiest ending to a sad story I've ever heard," he said.

            She glanced up and found him looking at her. Caught in his gaze, her heart skipped a beat, and she thought she could spend hours staring into his rich coffee-colored eyes. His whole face opened up into a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the edges and everything. Grayson smiling was even sexier than Grayson winking.

            Relief flooded her and she shrugged. "He was the one for me."

            She realized her words carried an affection usually reserved for soul mates, spouses, and the like, but she'd never met a man as trusting and loyal as Fred, so it seemed a fair assessment. Deciding she’d better move on to lighter topics before the entire
afternoon became even more awkward, she took a deep breath and pointed to a spot

near the window. "So, I was thinking the tree would fit over here."

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Cover Reveal: Retrovailles by Bill Chastain #Romance #WomensFiction

A Romance Novel
By Bill Chastain
Release Date: June 5, 2017
Publisher: Roane Publishing

Keywords: Contemporary, Romance Women's Fiction

Alex Overstreet is exceptional.

Mature beyond his years, he understands the value of education and where having one can take him. Adverse circumstances are no match for the "anything is possible" residing in his soul, a place where self-pity need not enter. His future is mapped in his mind. Staying the course will bring a worthwhile end game.

Enter India Blue Kirkland.

The most popular girl in school is the unknown Alex failed to factor into his carefully calculated life plans. She is everything he is not—outgoing and popular. A chance encounter with her sets into place a life-long love affair.

Together they find a passion and embrace the best of their different worlds while exploring the wonder of love.  Both are more than ready for a future together. But Alex’s family situation looms in the background, and eventually catches up to him, forcing him to make sacrifices that change the course of his relationship with India.  Though driven apart, their love never wavers.

Years later, Alex is successful on a large scale professionally, yet emptiness clings to him like free-floating lint to a dark suit. India should have been a part of it all.  He's never moved on from her. She is the love of his life.  Meanwhile, India is trapped in a marriage and longs for what she had with Alex.  One glance of Alex at her father’s funeral sparks a romance that never died.

Retrouvailles validates the compelling power of first love and how the snapshots of moments together matter most. Those snapshots representing sweet moments in time can be more compelling than a lifetime spent together.

Sign ups for Retrouvailles release blitz are now open!
If you're interested in hosting, please click on the image above or fill in the form.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Press Release: Roane Publishing contracts Deborah Garland and her #contemporary #romance novel MUST LOVE FASHION

Roane Publishing is pleased to announce that we've contracted a new author, and we are privileged to be able to bring you a new contemporary romance novel, MUST LOVE FASION , by Deborah Garland. The novel is slated for release in August 2017.

More information regarding the release, including the Cover Reveal and Release Blitz will be made available shortly. If you are a book blogger or reviewer interested in participating in the marketing events surrounding the release of MUST LOVE FASHION, please take a moment to join our Blogger Reviewer team by visiting our website and completing the interest form.

~The Roane Publishing Team

Monday, March 13, 2017

New Release: Umbra's Shadow by @AndreaStanet #Paranormal #Shifters #Giveaway

Umbra’s Shadow
Contemporary Fantasy
By Andrea Stanet
Publisher: Roane Publishing
Release Date: March 13, 2017
Keywords: Contemporary, Paranormal, Fantasy, Shapeshifter, Mercenary

Got a problem that needs a kick-ass mercenary to fix it? Merc’s your shapeshifter.
It’s been open season on changelings—human/faery hybrids—until word gets around: someone’s got their backs.
Merc relies on her unique shapeshifting talents to defend the poor and disenfranchised hybrids living on the fringes of a modern-day Hudson valley city. Perhaps her past spurs her to help—orphaned, unable to remember her parents or her original form, forced to survive alone until a kindly Changeling couple takes her in. But Merc also dreams of escaping the poverty and rescuing her boyfriend from the environment that feeds his addictions.
Dúl, a mysterious and seductive full-blooded fey, seems to offer Merc the way out. But the job he proposes will plunge her into the political wasp nest of the Dreaming World and its fey courts. Dúl hires her to rescue the female lieutenant of the Shadow Court’s king. But Morgan isn’t the only full-blood that’s disappeared.
Nothing is what it seems. A hidden player is capitalizing on the animosities within the four courts, and Merc must solve the puzzle before anyone else falls victim. Her investigation exposes the web of betrayals and lies ambushing the courts from without, or maybe from within.
No one could defeat this conspiracy alone. Merc must suppress her solitary nature and learn to work with a team, while Dúl enters into a bitter alliance with his most hated enemy. Amid this treachery, the magnetic attraction between Merc and Dúl deepens into a forbidden bond they are powerless to deny.
Even if she unravels the chaos plaguing the Dreaming, can she handle the truth about the full-blood she’s fallen for?



I’d been in the “dungeon”, nursing bruises and biding my time, for about an hour when the cage door clanged. I peeked over my shoulder from where I was standing next to the rickety bunk bed in the corner of my cell, resting my head in my arms against the top mattress. The bunk shielded a bucket. From the smell, I’d guessed the pail wasn’t empty, but I avoided confirming my suspicion.

The chubby guard shoved in a new cellmate and locked us in together. The new guy beamed at me like it was his birthday. Why would anyone smile about being tossed into a steel cell by a crook-nosed thug?

A ring of keys and a wooden baton landed onto the guard’s desk next to the equipment which had been taken from me. I put my head back on my arms.

From behind, I felt a tug on one of my two braids. Without thinking, I dropped toward the floor and swung my leg in an arc. My cellmate jumped over it. Fast. Impressive. I drew back my arm to strike.

He dodged again.

“Strange to find an infiltrator with such long hair,” my cellmate said.

In the middle of my next punch, I froze and hoped he didn’t notice how I had almost unbalanced myself. It was a matter of professional pride.

Damn. He’s good.

He could probably be useful to me, but I didn’t want the added responsibility. No, better to work alone. That way if I messed up, I had no one to blame but me.

“Sorry if I startled you, but the oddness of your hair compelled me to touch it.”

The oddness of his statement compelled me to respond. “What?”

“Your hair. Rare, considering your dark skin. And your lack of ear-piercing panic suggests work for Rebus, the Fringe’s own Robin Hood and mercenary agent.” My cellmate’s voice was deep and silky.

“I work for myself, and I work alone.” Telling other people what to do and trying to think for them could lead to trouble. I relaxed my stance and shook out my fists. “Let me get this straight. Since, by your account, I’m a thief with unusually long hair, you get a free pass to touch me?”

“I apologized.”

Having to deal with a psycho today didn’t factor into my plans.

My focus shifted away from him, but he continued. “It stands out. Makes you noticeable.”

After climbing to the top bunk where I had a better view, I glanced back at the newcomer, considered explaining, and then changed my mind. Thugs and molesters I could handle, but it was always better to avoid crazies, especially in the Fringe.

I examined his features now: tall and wiry—over six feet, olive skin, and dark eyes. Wavy, black hair hung over his forehead and framed his face, curling just above his lobes. A couple of years older than me. Twenty-four? He dressed in a high-end-trendy style—two hundred bucks for jeans ripped just so. The fashion choice was forgivable.

Finally, my gaze landed on something that could identify this guy. Pointed ears hidden by his hair. Aside from the intangible energy signature he gave off, the ears were the telltale sign of a fey. Probably full-blooded since changeling ears were a little more rounded, closer to their human side. What was a fey doing in the dungeon?

I pushed aside the question of why he had been detained. It wasn’t my business.

Sitting cross-legged on the thin mattress, decrepit springs digging into my butt, I reached up with my left hand toward the blue light and along the edge of the ceiling.

A zap rocked me back and sent a jolt up my arm. I grunted. The tips of my fingers were charred and stung as if I’d reached into a wasp nest. A scowl twisted my mouth as I processed the setback and climbed down to the bottom bunk. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, I worked out my next steps.

“I thought that looked like some sort of lightning spell ward.”

Please go away. I don’t have time for this.

He did not go away.

“So, what are you in for?” he said.

“Better question: are you stupid?”

“I can’t stand to see a damsel in distress.” He towered over me with a smirk and leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I can get us out of here.”

I laughed. “For a price, I’m sure. No thanks, fey. I’m fine.”



A dream stalker, shadow man, vengeful steampunk siren, ghost, and now fey court intrigue—while Andrea Stanet doesn’t shy away from any genre, her passion is writing fantasy and horror fiction for various age groups. Her short stories have appeared in several anthologies and an online literary magazine. Her most recent releases are “The Tradition,” a middle grade horror about were-crows, and “Song of Vengeance,” about a young performer whose father traps her dying spirit in a mechanical bird.
When not fixating on dragons and zombies, Andrea’s hobbies include running (clearly displaying masochistic tendencies), cycling (hills are only fun when going down), reading (anything and everything), and gaming (Cthulhu themed board games are favorites). Andrea lives in New York with her husband, two kids, a cat that thinks she’s a dog, and another cat that thinks he’s a mountain lion.





A $10 Roane Publishing Gift Card!

Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use a Gift Code. No purchase necessary, but you must be 18 or older to enter. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter, and announced on the widget. Winner well be notified by emailed and have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. The number of entries received determines the odds of winning. This giveaway was organized by Roane Publishing's marketing department.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Cover Reveal: A Symphony of Hearts by T.E. Hodden #Romance #Paranormal

A Symphony of Hearts
Paranormal Romance
By T.E. Hodden
Release Date: April 24, 2017
Publisher: Roane Publishing

Keywords: Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy, Contemporary, London
Meet Bob. Bob is the guy between the lines of every love story you ever met. The lucky chance, the twist of fate, the astounding coincidence that sets sparks flying. Never seen, but always there.

Today Bob is assigned to help Jenny find love. But there is something more than bad luck working against the quirky librarian. Bob might have to save her life, before he can help her find love.

And he can't do that from the shadows....


Sign ups for A Symphony of Heart Strings release blitz are now open!
If you're interested in hosting, please click on the image above or fill in the form.

Friday, March 3, 2017

#FlashFictionFriday! Samuel Alexander's Storm Angel by Karen Bovenmyer #FREE Read!

Samuel Alexander’s Storm Angel
by Karen Bovenmyer

Rain tickled through trees, slipped down trunks, and tumbled through mud. Samuel Alexander stood half-naked, arms outstretched, his feet in the stream, and welcomed God from the sky.

If it rains hard enough, he thought, it just might wash the pain away.


Sarah Jezebel’s arms were full of ears of corn from Nanna’s back forty and it was raining harder than piss on a stone. Sloppy masses of corn silk washed away, down her legs, into her socks, slipped around in the too-big shoes she had from her Nanna.

“Nanna? Nanny!” she called for the hundredth time. There still weren’t any answer.

She pushed through brambles anyway, shuffling forward because she’d lose the shoes if she lifted her feet. She came out of the trees and found herself in another deep valley, one she didn’t recognize at all. She looked left, right. No, nobody was there.

“Damn it,” she said softly, then threw her corn down.


Samuel Alexander heard the voice of God through the trees.

“Yessir, lord. You speak and I obey.” He got up out of the stream bed, never mind the brambles that scratched at his chest and arms, and squelched up the bank. God swore through the trees, in the valley, and he knew he had to come to that voice.


A white shape streaked toward her across the valley-bottom, partially obscured by trees, but coming her way fast. Nearby rested a forlorn lean-to, barely a tarp with two sticks to hold it up, pummeled by the rain. She made for it double quick. Best to be out of sight and out of mind of whatever dashed near. But she didn’t make it inside.

A young man, wearing a pair of ragged pants and not a stitch more, stepped out of the woods.

Sarah Jezebel blinked. He couldn’t be much older than she was. His arms and neck were tanned dark as any working boy, his hair burned blonde by the sun, but the rest had never seen light of day. His skin was so pale the freckles across him stood out like mud splats, but maybe that was what they were—he was brown slop from the knees down. Knees up, well… She averted her eyes like a good Christian.


“Boy, what in Sam Hell are you doing half-naked in a rain storm? You lost your mind?”

The angel was speaking to him. “I’m Samuel Alexander,” he said, not having a good enough answer for her question.

“Sam Hell. And don’t you wander no closer.”

Lightning split the sky and thunder shook his heart. The angel was dark, curly black hair holding the rain like glittering gems, dress clinging to her slight curves. He stepped toward her.


Sarah Jezebel shook her shoe at the crazy hill boy. “Git! You hear me?”

He lifted his hands in supplication.

A crack of thunder made her ears sting. Rain came down so hard it pounded her into the earth like she was a nail. Like God coming to collect all the sinners.

She ran for the lean-to.

It wasn’t much dryer inside, but the rain stopped beating her on the head. She wrapped her hands around her knees and huddled.

A white shape appeared in the doorway. The lean-to wasn’t much higher than a man’s waist. Sarah Jezebel covered her eyes.

“Don’t run away from me, angel!” he said. He crawled into the lean-to and knelt by her. “I’m ready for you to take me.”

“I ain’t taking you anywhere!” Sarah Jezebel yelled. “Get off!”


Samuel Alexander wrapped his arms around his angel’s knees, closed his eyes and rocked back and forth.


Sarah Jezebel found herself in quite a fix. Both shoes had come off. A half-naked hill boy had wrapped himself around her, and God was fixing to wash them both off the mountain.

“Listen,” she said, not wanting to touch him as he shuddered, nuzzling her shins. “Listen.”

He sobbed.

“Just calm down now.” Her words didn’t do no good. She looked him over, what she could see in the dim light. He was skinny as a rail, must not have eaten in a week. No wonder he thought she had come to collect him. Fool had been trying to starve himself.

There was a satchel in the lean-to, and Sarah Jezebel could just reach it. A corner of a blanket peaked out. She wrapped it around her shoulders, catching as much of him under it as she could. He was hiccupping now.

They sat there like that until God sent the rain away.

“There now,” Sarah Jezebel said in her voice reserved for wild dogs. “It’s all right. Storm gone now.”

“Take me, angel, I’m ready.”

“I ain’t taking you nowhere, boy. I’m no angel.”

He turned his eyes up to her. Blue as the sky. “You are,” he said stubbornly.

Sarah Jezebel never had anyone look at her like that before. Such honesty. Such… devotion.

“All right. Tell me your sins, then.”

“I let her die, angel.”

The hair on Sarah Jezebel’s arms prickled.

“Who die?”

“My wife.” His weeping came fresh. “I let the fever take her.”

“Now, son.” Sarah Jezebel patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, thinking he was hardly old enough to get married. She’d heard hill people married young, so that was true, whatever else. “Fever’s not your fault. God takes who he will.”

“But I sinned with her!” he said. “We fornicated too often, sometimes ten times a day, angel of the lord!”

“Lord have mercy!” Sarah Jezebel gasped. No wonder she died. He done wore her out!

“Lord have mercy!” he shouted. “Take me!”

“I ain’t gonna take you, boy,” she said, patting him on the shoulder again. “I ain’t.”

He started crying again. “I’m not worthy. My life’s done.”

“It’s not.” She got up, stepping around him and into the sunshine. The storm was over like it had never happened. The trees looked clean. This boy needed some direction and Nanna always said God had given Sarah Jezebel plenty.

He moved behind her and stepped out, the blanket wrapped around his thin hips. “Are you going?” he asked.

“Yup.” She found the shoes and pushed them on over her socks. “And you’re coming with me. Nanna’s corn needs gathering.”


Samuel Alexander picked up his satchel, dropped his sorrows, and followed his angel.


About the Author:

Karen Bovenmyer earned an MFA in Creative Writing: Popular Fiction from the University of Southern Maine. She teaches and mentors students at Iowa State University. Her short stories and poems appear in more than 30 publications and her first novel will be available from Dreamspinner Press in Spring 2017.

Purchase link: “The Beaded Slipper” fairytale romance in the Maidens and Magic anthology, Crimson Edge Press


If you've got a Flash Fiction story and wish to submit it for our Flash Fiction Friday, please visit the SUBMISSIONS PAGE.