Sneak Peek at Posioned Secrets by Margaret Daley

Poisoned Secrets by Margaret Daley

Maggie Ridgeway has spent years searching for her birth mother. And now, thanks to an anonymous tip, she's finally found her. Taking the apartment across the hall from her mother's family, Maggie is determined not to leave until she gets some questions answered. Who is her father? Why did her parents abandon her? And what item in her new apartment is provoking multiple burglaries? After an interrupted break-in leaves Maggie unconscious, the building's owner, Kane McDowell, promises to protect her. But then he learns who she really is. When the past is unveiled, the shocking disclosures could tear Maggie and Kane apart.

Excerpt from Poisoned Secrets by Margaret Daley:

Aloud thud from the apartment above made Kane McDowell flinch and sit straight up in the lounger.

"What was that?" Edwina Bacon asked, putting her teacup down on the table next to her.Kane's gaze riveted to the ceiling of Edwina's place. "Maybe Henry dropped something."

"I don't know. He didn't look well tonight when I saw him go upstairs. That's the second strange sound I've heard coming from the apartment above. What if he fell and hurt himself?"

"You worry too much about the tenants, Edwina. Henry's certainly capable of taking care of himself." His words didn't erase the worry on the elderly woman's face. Kane pushed to his feet. "But if it will make you feel better, I'll go upstairs and check."

"Oh, thank you. I wouldn't want anything to happen to someone here. Even Henry.""You read too many mysteries," Kane said as he headed for the foyer of the apartment building he owned.

Kane's leg ached as he mounted the stairs to the second floor of the converted mansion. He'd overdone it today. Covering the short distance to apartment 2A, he knocked. He waited a minute and then rang the bell. Nothing.Henry Payne sometimes was out late. But if that were the case, then what made the crashing sound? Reluctantly Kane dug into his pocket for the master key. He fit it into the lock and turned it, but the door was already unlocked.

Alarmed, he thrust the door open, every skill he'd learned in the military activated. The overpowering odors of cigars and lemon polish assailed his nostrils. The complete chaos scattered about this usually tidy, orderly place put Kane on alert. This definitely wasn't a heart attack. Cautiously he moved into the lighted living area, listening for any sounds coming from the rest of the apartment. Silence greeted him.

"Henry," he called out while scanning the room where every book the man owned, which had to be hundreds, seemed to be tossed on the floor. Drawer contents littered the beige area rug, and all the cabinets were emptied. The crunch of glass beneath his feet drew his glance. The mirror over the table in the small entryway lay on the hardwood floor in shattered pieces. Probably the crash Edwina heard.

Maybe Henry's gone.

Or maybe not.

Coveting his own privacy, Kane hated invading another's, but it was obvious something had gone terribly wrong here. He headed down the short hallway to investigate the two bedrooms. Each one was as neat and tidy as he knew Henry to be.

Back in the living room, Kane limped toward the kitchen to check out the rest of the place. When he swung the door open, the stench of blood—something he would never forget from his time in Iraq—accosted him. The cool breeze from an open window that led to the balcony chilled the room. As Kane inched forward, the door swung closed. The sound of its swish drew his attention behind him. He froze.

On the floor in a crimson pool lay Henry, his dark eyes staring at the ceiling, his arm flung out at an odd angle, a patch of light blue fabric clutched in his hand.

Maggie Ridgeway stared at the Twin Oaks Apartments. The converted late nineteenth century mansion's brick was painted a flesh tone, and its trim and shutters a snowy white. Three stories tall with a porch that ran almost the full length of its front, the building dominated the spacious yard with multicolored spring flowers blooming in the well-tended beds. Two massive oaks stood sentinel. A stained glass window with a pastoral scene was above the entrance, and below it were double, dark brown doors with beveled glass.

Finally!

She was here and intended to stay.

Maggie marched up the stairs to find the manager and secure the vacant apartment before someone else did. A friend she worked with at the hospital told her a vacancy in this building was rare and didn't last long. Afraid she'd never get the opportunity, she was ready to pounce on the opening she'd been anxiously waiting several months for since moving to Seven Oaks, Kentucky.

She stepped into the spacious foyer, a wide staircase directly in front of her sweeping up to the second floor. A gleaming chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a huge round cherry table with a bouquet of expensive silk flowers in a crystal vase sat under the light, adding a splash of vivid colors to the entrance. An ornate Persian rug, predominantly navy-blue and maroon, covered the marble floor in the center, giving off a warm, cozy feeling.

Surveying the first floor, she found the door with a brass plaque with the word manager engraved on it. She covered the short distance to the apartment and rang the bell.

"She's not home," a child's voice said behind her.

Maggie turned around and saw a thin boy with brown hair standing on the staircase, gripping the wooden balustrade. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. Only a few yards away. Staring into his dark eyes, she felt as though she were staring into her own. Kenny! The thought made her take a step back until she pressed up against the manager's door.

She'd imagined meeting and talking to him for the first time. But now no words would come to mind. Emotions, held at bay, crashed down on her. Emptiness, anger, elation, all swirling around in her, made a knot form in her stomach.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" His freckled face scrunched up into a worried look.

Maggie continued to peer at the boy. Her smile faltered while her heartbeat began to hammer against her rib cage. She'd told herself this would happen and thought she'd prepared herself for it.

The child shifted, alarm flittering across his features. "Lady?"

With her pulse thundering in her ears, she finally replied, "I want to rent the vacant apartment. Do you know when the manager will be back?" Amazingly her voice didn't quaver although her hands did. She clutched her purse straps to keep the trembling under control.

Besides his eyes, his hair's the same shade of brown as mine. And I used to have freckles the way he does. She swallowed the lump in her throat. I should leave. Let it go. She rubbed her damp palms together, fighting the urge to scrap her plan.

"She'll probably be gone for another hour or so." The child moved forward. "Uncle Kane's here, though."

"Uncle?" Maggie pushed herself away from the door and moved several paces toward the eleven-year-old boy. Her legs quaked.

"Well, he's not really my uncle, but I call him that. He owns the building. He can help you."

"Where is he?"

He jerked his thumb toward a door down the hall at the back of the building. "In his shop downstairs." Gesturing with his hand, he spun around on his heel. "C'mon. I'll show you."

"I'm Maggie Ridgeway. What's your name?" she asked although she was ninety-nine percent sure she already knew it.

"Kenny Pennington."

Even though she'd expected him to say that, the name brought an added joy to her. That feeling tangled with the others—uncertainty, even anger—firming in her mind told her she had to continue with her plan. She'd dreamed about this moment for too long to turn back now.

The sound of sandpaper sliding over wood filled the workroom. The scent of sawdust and linseed oil peppered the air. Repeatedly Kane McDowell ran the block along the groove in the piece of furniture, smoothing the rough texture.

The rhythmic motion of the sanding—back and forth— relaxed Kane, his thoughts wandering as his hands automatically repeated the action. The tension slipped from his shoulders and neck while he proceeded from one chair leg to the next. As the tautness eased completely from his body, his awareness of his surroundings faded, too. The movement of his arm was hypnotic, the gritty sound almost soothing.

The memory came unexpectedly as it so often did. His thoughts were at peace one second, and the next, he flinched, stopped his sanding and closed his eyes as though that could shut it out. It never did…

"I can't do it. I thought I could. I don't want to marry you anymore. I'm moving to Dallas, Kane." Ruth indicated the luggage at the door.He stood in his parents' living room, having been at their home for the past month to continue his convalescence after his injury in Iraq. Last week his fiancée had come to help nurse him back to full health. Now she was leaving him.

At the door she paused and looked back at him. "I need a whole man. I tried. I really did. You aren't the same person you were when you went to war." Her gaze swept down his length, his body propped up by crutches, his left leg gone from just below the knee dangling uselessly next to his good one…

Kane shook his head as if he could physically drive the memory from his thoughts. The sanding block fell from his hand, thumping to the concrete, its sound reverberating through his mind. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them.

A knock jarred the silence.

"Not now," he muttered, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He needed to escape; he didn't want to see anyone.

Another knock echoed through his workshop.

Trapped.

Maggie raised her hand one final time to rap on the door when it suddenly opened. She stared into the face of a man who didn't look too happy to see her. His dark expression didn't soften as she cleared her throat and said, "I came about renting your apartment.

"The man's hard gaze bore into her. The taut set of his body, his grip on the door handle, conveyed tension. Then his attention fixed on Kenny, and the owner's stiff stance melted, the frown wiped away to be replaced with an expression just short of a smile.Kenny looked at Maggie. "Miss Edwina's at church so I brought her down here to see you."

The man who owned the apartment building finally smiled— a fully fledged one that lit his whole face and dimpled his cheeks. "I'll take it from here, Kenny. Thanks."

The boy spun around and raced up the stairs. The second he disappeared the strain returned to the owner's face, his gaze directed at her.

Suddenly the small hallway in the basement closed in on Maggie. She glanced around, noting three other doors, one of them leading outside. A bank of windows on each side of it afforded a view of the back of the building and a glimpse of the lake beyond.

"Dale Franklin told me there was an apartment in your building for rent. He was supposed to call you about me coming to see the place."

The man, over six feet tall, eased his grip on the door and relaxed against it. "Edwina Bacon, my manager, must have talked with Dale. I don't usually handle anything having to do with the apartment building.""Then should I wait for her to return?"

"Suit yourself, but frankly I'm surprised you'd want to rent it. I haven't even put an advertisement in the paper yet. Not sure I am for a while. Are you aware of what happened in it a few weeks back? The police just released it a couple of days ago."

Yes, she'd known that and had barely been able to wait the few days before coming to see about the apartment. The headlines that had occupied the newspaper for a week flashed into her thoughts, bringing forth a momentary surge of anxiety until she remembered the reason she wanted to live here.

"Yes, but I'm living in a dorm connected with the hospital right now. I need a more permanent place to live, and there are few available in Seven Oaks at this time of year with the university in full swing."

"Hospital? Are you a nurse?"

"No, a speech therapist, Mr.—"

"Kane McDowell."

Before her courage totally failed her, she said, "I didn't want anyone else to get the apartment, so I took some time off from work to come here. I really need a place to live. My privacy means a lot to me, and I have none where I'm living right now." His eyes lit with understanding. "May I look at the apartment?"

"Give me a moment, and I'll show it to you."

He left her standing by the door while he sauntered to the sink. His chest, covered by a white T-shirt, revealed his wide expanse of muscles. His faded jeans hugged slim hips and the long legs of a runner.

He splashed water on his face, then reached for a towel. His damp black hair curled at his nape in ringlets as he dried it. When he retrieved his blue short-sleeve polo shirt from an unfinished chair and shrugged into it, his sheer male power transfixed her. He was in top physical condition.As he faced her, she hastily pretended an interest in the far wall with a myriad of tools hanging on it, fighting the heat of a blush that suffused her cheeks. "You're a carpenter?"

"Some of the time."

"And the other times?" Finally she looked into his slate-gray eyes and wished she hadn't. They were startling against the darkness of his features, their color like polished pewter.

"I'm the admissions director at the university." He walked past her into the hallway. "I'll show you the apartment now."

As she followed him, she got the distinct impression that was all the chitchat she would get out of the man.

"The apartment is on the second floor, Miss—" He peered back at her, snaring her within his flintlike gaze."Maggie Ridgeway."

His guarded look conveyed the message: stay away. The silent statement pulsated in the air between them, intriguing her, tempting her. She knew all the signs of someone who kept himself apart from others. She was a master at it. He could do nothing she hadn't done herself at some time in her past.

As she mounted the staircase to the second floor, she firmed her determination. She couldn't afford to be sidetracked. Which one is it? she thought as she passed a closed door. "How many apartments are in this building?"

"Six on three floors. I occupy the basement." He unlocked apartment 2A and pushed the door open. "As you can see, they're big. I have three families in my building. Some furniture comes with the apartment if you want to use it."

"It'll just be me, and yes, the furniture would be appreciated."

She entered the living room and surveyed the oblong configuration with a marble fireplace on the outer wall, a brass screen across its front. The carved mantel would be a perfect place to set family pictures. But who would be in those photo frames? The question came unbidden into her mind.

"I just finished having the place cleaned," Mr. McDowell said, thankfully pulling her attention from the answer to that question.

Sneak Peek at The Marshal Takes a Bride by Renee Ryan

A True Hero Never Leaves a Damsel in Distress--He Marries Her!

U.S. Marshal Trey Scott is fixin' to walk down the aisle just as soon as his stubborn bride-to-be agrees to say "I do." Katherine Taylor's five-year-old sister and an orphanage full of children are depending on her. So why won't the pretty schoolteacher marry him to save her tarnished reputation? Granted, Trey isn't willing to abandon his quest to avenge his first wife's murder. His name alone will protect Katherine until he returns, but she thinks he should leave vengeance to a higher power. Will the sacrifice demanded by the woman he loves be too great to bear...or will it be Trey's ultimate redemption?

An Excerpt From... The Marshal Takes a Bride by Renee Ryan

Denver, Colorado, June 1880

Cornered and nearly out of ideas, U.S. marshal Trey Scott refused to consider retreat. Not while he had a five-year-old little girl counting on him to triumph against the misery that assailed her. What had started as a mere game to the others was a matter of tragic proportions to the child.
Trey would not let her down.

Shivering, Molly Taylor pressed her tiny body closer to him. "You gotta save me, Mr. Trey."
Those big round eyes and that trembling lower lip punched through the last remnants of his resolve to remain neutral in this standoff. He would stick by the kid throughout this battle of hers.

Softening his expression, Trey knuckled a long black braid off her shoulder. "I won't let them get you, kitten. Just stay close."

He scooted Molly behind him, mutiny twisting in his gut. No one would stand in his way as he protected the girl from her dreaded fate. The troubled child deserved some peace and joy in her life.

"Leave this child alone." He fixed an uncompromising glare on the leader—a woman of uncompromising valor—and ignored the half dozen or so others crowding closer.

The pale-eyed, persistent female held firm against him in their battle of wills. Apparently, this was no game to her, either.

Trey widened his stance and folded his arms across his chest, settling into the standoff as though he had all the time in the world. He wrestled against the knot of regret tangling inside his anger. At one time, he'd considered this woman beautiful, godly—even fair-minded.

He'd woefully miscalculated.

At least Molly had him on her side. A swift glimpse to his left revealed an opening in the hedge that ran along the perimeter of the yard. Mentally, he measured the dimensions and came up victorious. The hole was the perfect size for a forty-pound slip of a girl to glide through to freedom. He'd catch up with her before she made it halfway down Larimer Street and long before she hit the bedlam of horse-drawn taxis on Tabor Block in the business district.

Comfortable with his plan, Trey inched across the grass, tugging Molly along with him.

The boss matched him step for step.

Shooting the woman a warning glare, Trey then turned to Molly and cocked his head toward the thicket. "You know what to do," he whispered.

Tears wiggled just below long, sooty lashes. "What if they catch me?"

He lowered his voice. "I'll create a diversion."

"What's that?" Molly asked in a whisper loud enough to be heard two counties over.

"Never mind. When I say run, you run."

But the leader—wrapped in that deceptively feminine package—pulled around to the left, effectively closing off the escape. "Don't even think about it."

At the end of his temper, Trey swallowed back a bitter retort.

As though hearing his unspoken words, inflexible blue eyes cut through the distance between them.

"The game is over… Marshal," the woman said.

Although he had at least a hundred pounds on the stormy-eyed sprite, Trey had to stifle the shocking urge to withdraw. He'd stood up against cannons, gross injustice, crooked judges and vicious criminals, but nothing compared to the disapproval of Katherine Taylor—school-marm, official custodian of the Charity House trusts and Molly's overprotective sister.

With that inflexible look on her face, Trey knew he could no longer count on the fact that Miss Taylor would set aside her volatile feelings for him and be reasonable, for Molly's sake.

So be it.

He had to delay. Procrastinate. Postpone the inevitable.

But how?

The late afternoon heat pulled sweat onto his brow. He'd lost his hat long before the battle had begun. A light breeze lifted the hair off the back of his neck, the comforting sensation mocking his inability to think straight.

He circled his gaze around the perimeter of the yard, taking note of the snowcapped mountains in the distance. Too far away. Growing a little more apprehensive and a lot less confident, he focused on the brick, two-story mansions running shoulder to shoulder for several blocks off to his right. Too many questions. As a last resort, Trey shot a quick glance past the manicured lawn and blooming flowers to the large, fancy home behind him. Too risky.

His only hope was to take the woman by surprise.

As covertly as possible, he inched toward the hedge, but an irreverent growl wafted on a cloud of threat. A quick look to his right and Trey's gaze connected with two more villains joining the foe's ranks. Shifting to face these newest threats, he snarled at the man he'd once called friend and the woman who co-owned the Charity House orphanage with him. "Marc and Laney Dupree, this is not your fight."

A grin slid between the two. "It is now," Marc said for them both.

As one, they glanced to Katherine, then separated, covering the gaps she'd left when she'd moved in front of the hedge.

Blowing out a hiss, Trey lowered his head to Molly's. "Don't worry, kitten. I have everything under control."

Various snorts and snickers cut through his words as more joined the enemy's ranks. Katherine spoke for the group. "Just hand her over, and no one will get hurt."

Wrapping all four feet of trembling little girl in his arms, Trey darted a quick glance to the house in front of him. "Not a chance."

"This is ridiculous. Surrender the child, now." Katherine spoke in a flat, no-nonsense tone that made him bristle.

Marc took two steps closer. "Enough, Trey. Hand her over."

Trey eyed his friend turned traitor. Clean-shaven, dressed in a fancy vest and matching tie, Marc Dupree didn't look much like the tough, hardened man Trey had once known, a man who had overcome poverty and… worse. In fact, with the sun winking off the dangling watch fob, Marc looked more like a dandy than a threatening opponent.

But Trey knew the man had hidden skills. Came from living with that wily, unpredictable wife of his, the same woman who was now conspiring openly with the enemy in this standoff.

"All right, Molly," Trey whispered in her ear. "We're going to make a run for it."

Another low whimper slipped from her lips. "But, Mr. Trey, I'm not fast."

He folded her deeper into his embrace. "Don't worry. I'll carry you."

She wrapped her spider-thin arms around his neck, nodding her head against his chest.

Shifting her to a more comfortable position, he studied the biggest threat to the child. Her sister.
Just looking at the woman made his throat ache. Underneath all that prim schoolteacher starch, Katherine Taylor was a lovely, courageous bundle of feminine charm and beauty. Even amidst this contest of wills, Trey found a part of him admiring her moral fortitude and persistence. She'd triumphed over a scandalous childhood and the unspeakable violence committed against her. She was, quite frankly, a woman worthy of his respect.

Then again…

With the wind snapping tendrils of black hair free from that hideously confining hairstyle, she looked a lot like an avenging angel sent to demand his reckoning.

It was always like this between them—volatile, unpredictable, confusing—more so over the past few months.

Alarm spread through him, the physical reaction shocking him. The corresponding ache in his gut warned him that he'd made a mistake challenging Miss Taylor on this matter.

Seeking compassion, Trey pivoted to his right. But another glare of disapproval angled back at him. Carrying thirty or so extra pounds and a rounded belly, Laney O'Connor Dupree was just as relentless as Katherine.

"No way out yet, Molly. The flanks are too formidable for a quick escape."

"Don't let them get me," Molly wailed.

"Don't you worry. I'm a United States marshal. They wouldn't dare take me on."

The scoffing and giggles coming from the crowd behind Katherine didn't seem to fill the little girl with confidence. "They don't sound very worried."

"They are. They just don't know it yet."

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Trey tucked Molly firmly in the crook of his arm. Leading with his shoulder, he charged through the front line. With the element of surprise on his side, he knocked his big, overdressed friend back a few yards.

Marc recovered quickly, and while Trey battled with his childhood friend, two pairs of persistent hands worked from behind to wrestle Molly free.

She kicked and squealed. "No, I don't want to go!"

Trey ground his teeth together and dug his heels into the ground.

"Relent…Marshal," said Katherine.

Trey pressed Molly tighter against his chest.

"You've taken this too far already," Marc said.

Trey dodged a flying elbow. He spun to his right but slipped, dropping to his knees. Next thing he knew, Molly was wrested out of his grip, and he was lying flat on his back.

The impossible had happened. Trey Scott, defender of justice, protector of women and children, had just suffered defeat. At the hands of a schoolmarm, a dandy and a pregnant woman.

Introducing a New Historical Romance Series by Lyn Cote

Don't miss the new series by Christian author Lyn Cote! Texas: Star of Destiny is Lyn's latest historical series.



The Desires of Her Heart ~Texas: Star of Destiny Book 1 by Lyn Cote

A New Orleans lady and a half-breed frontiersman become unlikely allies as they travel the wilds of texas.

In 1821, when circumstances make it impossible for her to remain in New Orleans, Dorritt and her family head west to join Stephen Austin's settlement and recoup their fortune in Texas.

Quinn is a man of the frontier who has made a name for himself as a peerless scout. But as he and Dorritt's party begin a grueling trek across untamed Texas, the success of their journey is in grave doubt. Mexico has broken with the Spanish Crown, and armies from both countries—plus marauding Comanches—roam the pine forests and prairies. And one of the party is plotting destruction.

Now, with their lives joined in a virgin land fraught with peril, can Dorritt and Quinn put all their trust in God and receive the desires of their hearts?

A Sneak Peek at Robin Lee Hatcher's Upcoming Release entitled A Vote of Confidence

I will be posting a review, in the very near future, of Robin Lee Hatcher's upcoming release A Vote of Confidence. I admit that I am enjoying what I have read thus far. Here is a sneak peek:

Who says a woman can’t do a man’s job?

Put up or shut up! Complaining about Bethlehem Springs' dissolute mayoral candidate, Gwen Arlington is challenged to take on the role herself. For seven years, she’s carved out an independent life in the bustling mountain town of Bethlehem Springs, Idaho, teaching piano and writing for the local newspaper. But now she’s a single woman running for mayor — and in 1915 this decision is bound to stir up trouble.

Morgan McKinley is fed up with the delays that hinder the construction of New Hope Health Spa, a place where both rich and poor can come for rest and healing. New to the area, he has determined that serving as mayor would help him push through his agenda for progress.Gwen and Morgan each want to prove they are the most qualified candidate, not only to voters but to each other, and so sparks fly as the two campaign. Although Morgan has learned to guard his heart as fiercely as Gwen guards her independence, could they learn to be allies instead of adversaries?

This first book in the Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Series provides intriguing insights into how women challenged convention and shaped America in the early twentieth century.

Idaho, May 1915

The Torpedo Runabout cut the corner from Shenandoah Street onto Wallula Street, driving over two of the boarding house’s rose bushes in the process. The automobile then weaved dangerously close to Guinevere Arlington’s white picket fence.

With a gasp, Gwen jumped up from the porch swing.

In the nick of time, the Model T Ford veered away from her fence, avoiding disaster.

"Hello, ladies." The driver tipped his hat to Gwen and her sister as if nothing was amiss.

"And there goes our next mayor." Cleo shook her head and cast a look of despair at Gwen. "Ten o’clock in the morning and drunk as a skunk. Can you imagine him holding the reins of government?"

"No, I can’t." Gwen sank onto the porch swing again. "Hiram Tattersall is a fool, not to mention his penchant for strong spirits."

Cleo crossed one booted foot over another as she leaned against the porch railing. "Why don’t you run for office, Gwennie? Not a reason in the world you couldn’t do it."

"Me?" Gwen looked at her twin in disbelief.

"Of course you. There’s nothing in the law that says a woman can’t be the mayor of our fair town. You’re a nicer person than Mayor Hopkins, the old coot?"

"Cleo. Don’t be unkind."

"I’m sorry. I know he’s sick or we wouldn’t be having this special election. But he hasn’t done a single, solitary thing of worth while he’s been mayor, and everybody knows Tattersall will be an even worse mayor than Hopkins."

"I have no qualifications for political office."

"And Tattersall does? You’d do a better job than Hopkins and Tattersall put together. Folks like you." Cleo winked. "Especially the men, pretty as you are."

Gwen wasn’t amused. "If I were to run, I wouldn’t want to be elected for my appearance."

"So don’t let that be why. You got that fancy education burning to be put to use. Why not let folks see you’re as full of information as a mail-order catalog?"

It was a ridiculous idea. Gwen had no intention of running for mayor. She was content giving piano lessons to the children of Bethlehem Springs and writing her columns for the local newspaper.

Cleo drank the last of her iced tea, set the glass on the porch floor, and pushed off from the railing. "I’d best get back to the ranch. I’ve got a load of chores still to be done." She slapped her floppy-brimmed hat onto her head, covering her mop of short, strawberry-blonde curls. "You’d be doing this town a favor if you were its mayor. We could use a little forward thinking, if you ask me."

Gwen smiled as she rose from the swing. "Darling Cleo, I could never be as forward thinking as you."

"Ha!"

Gwen followed her sister off the porch and around to the back of the house where Cleo’s pinto was tethered to a post. Cleo stopped long enough to give Gwen a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then untied her horse, grasped the saddle horn, and swung into the seat. "You think about it, Gwennie. I’m telling you. It’s the right thing to do. You pray and see if the Lord doesn’t agree with me." With a tug on the brim of her hat, she twirled her horse away and cantered down the street.

Gwen shook her head. Cleo could come up with the most outlandish ideas. Imagine: Gwen Arlington, mayor of Bethlehem Springs. It was preposterous. Not that she didn’t believe women should serve in public office. She did, and she was glad she lived in a state where women had the right to vote. But she had no political ambitions.

With a sigh, she returned to the front porch and settled onto the cushioned seat of the swing, giving a little push with her feet to start it in motion.

The air smelled of fresh-turned earth, green grass, and flowers in bloom. The mountains of southern Idaho were enjoying warm weather, although snow could be seen on the highest peaks to the north and east of Bethlehem Springs.

Gwen loved this small town. She loved her neighbors, the children who came for lessons, the women in her church sewing circle. She loved the long, narrow valley, the river that flowed through it, and the tree-covered mountains that overlooked it all. She loved the sense of the old West and the new century that surrounded her, horses and automobiles, outhouses and indoor plumbing, wood-burning stoves and electric lights.

Her mother, Elizabeth Arlington, hadn’t felt the same about Idaho. She despised everything about it, so much so that after four years of marriage, she’d left her husband and returned to her parents’ home in Hoboken, New Jersey, taking two-year-old Gwen with her.

"Be thankful, Guinevere," her mother said on many an occasion over the years, "that your father allowed you to come with me. We’re alike, you and I. We need society and fine culture. Think of the advantages you’ve had that poor Cleopatra has gone without. The opera and the theater. Fine schooling. You would never be suited to live in that backwater town where your father chose to settle."

But her mother was wrong. Bethlehem Springs did suit Gwen — a truth she discovered soon after her arrival in Idaho seven years before. At the age of twenty-one, and with the reluctant blessing of her mother, she had come to Idaho to meet the father and sister she couldn’t remember. She hadn’t intended to stay, but in a few short weeks she’d fallen in love with the area. Her heart felt at home here as it never had in New Jersey.

A frown puckered her forehead. What would happen to Bethlehem Springs if Hiram Tattersall became its mayor? He wouldn’t try to better their schools or improve roads or help those who had lost jobs due to mine closings. And if the governor of the state succeeded in passing prohibition in Idaho, as many thought he would, Tattersall wouldn’t enforce it in Bethlehem Springs. She was convinced of that.

I would do a better job than he would.

But of course she had no intention of running for mayor.

No intention whatsoever.

***

Morgan McKinley wanted nothing more than to punch that artificial smile off Harrison Carter’s face.

"You’ll have to wait until after the election, Mr. McKinley. I’m sorry. The new mayor and the county commissioners must be in agreement on these matters."

Before Morgan did something he would regret—something that would get him tossed into the jail one floor below — he bid a hasty farewell and left the commissioner’s chambers. When he exited the municipal building, he paused on the sidewalk long enough to draw a calming breath.

Harrison Carter had delayed this decision for personal reasons, not for anything to do with an election. Several times over the past year, the commissioner had offered to buy the land where New Hope was being built. If he thought these delays would change Morgan’s mind about selling, he was in for a big disappointment.

With a grunt of frustration, he turned and headed for his automobile, parked on the west side of the sandstone building. Fagan Doyle, Morgan’s business manager and good friend, leaned against the back of the car, his pipe clenched between his teeth.

"Well?" Fagan cocked an eyebrow.

Morgan shook his head.

"Then I’ll be asking what it is you mean to do about it?"

"I don’t know yet."

Morgan got behind the wheel of the Model T while Fagan moved to the crank. Once the engine started, Fagan slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. Morgan turned the automobile around and followed Main Street out to the main road, thankful his friend didn’t ask more questions. He needed to think.

Occasional complications and delays were expected when a man undertook a large building project, but this felt different. Morgan had half expected Harrison to ask for money under the table, but that hadn’t happened. Just as well since Morgan wasn’t the sort who bribed public officials. Nor allowed himself to be blackmailed by them. Not under any circumstance.

Twenty minutes later, the Touring Car arrived on the grounds of what would one day be a unique resort—the New Hope Health Spa. The main lodge had taken shape at the upper end of the compound. Morgan no longer needed to study the architectural renderings to imagine what it would look like when finished.

He wished his mother had lived to see it. This spa had been her dream before it became his.
Before the automobile rolled to a stop, the site foreman, Christopher Vance, ran toward them. "Morgan, we’ve got a problem"

Another one? "What is it?"

"The dam on Crow’s Creek. It’s leaking. I’m not sure it’ll hold. I’ve got a crew up there now working on it."

Morgan’s gaze shifted toward the narrow road at the east end of the compound. About a mile up they’d built the dam that would provide and control the cold water used in conjunction with the natural hot water from the springs.

"I’d better see it for myself. Hop in," he said to the two men, "and we’ll drive up there."
If that dam broke, a good portion of the resort compound could end up covered in several inches of water. Not the end of the world, but it would stop construction until things dried out. Another delay.

"Somebody did this, Morgan," Christopher added. "It’s no accident."

He frowned at his foreman. "Are you sure?"

"Sure enough."

Why would anyone want to sabotage the dam? It was deep into his property, and he hadn’t diverted water that was needed by anyone else. No farmers or ranchers were dependent upon the flow of Crow’s Creek. He’d made sure of that.

Could Harrison Carter be behind it?

Interview with Kathi Macias Regarding Her Book How Can I Run a Tight Ship When I'm Surrounded by Loose Cannons?

About the Book:

(Homeland, CA) - For all the Christian women in the world who dread reading Proverbs 31 and wonder who on earth could ever live up to that woman - this book is for you. Between dirty diapers, complaining children, housework, husbands and a multitude of other attention-grabbing detours women face, award-winning author and speaker, Kathi Macias finds a way to encourage and biblically instruct women of all ages and phases. Women everywhere are the glue that holds their families together. Keeping everything under control challenges even the most organized household CEO. Kathi uses humor, God's Word, as well as practical insight and instruction to lovingly encourage women to grow in this progression of grace.

Readers will find How Can I Run a Tight Ship When I'm Surrounded by Loose Cannons?: Proverbs 31 Discoveries for Yielding to the Master of the Seas, filled with scriptural explanations and journaling pages to process and write their personal feelings and prayers. With sections of the book focused on each step of the learning process to guide our ships to safe harbor, readers will be happily surprised to find the funny without the fluff. Kathi's words are the "spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down." Her vulnerable approach facilitates the teachings of Proverbs 31, making it easier for women to swallow. The truth of the scriptures is very much alive and well throughout the pages, yet the ease and charm of the author's words entice readers to press forward and embrace the plan for God's woman today.

About the Author:

Kathi Macias is a multi-award winning writer who has authored 26 books and ghostwritten several others. A former newspaper columnist and string reporter, Kathi has taught creative and business writing in various venues and has been a guest on many radio and television programs. Kathi is a popular speaker at churches, women's clubs and retreats, and writers' conferences. She recently won the prestigious 2008 member of the year award from AWSA (Advanced Writers and Speakers Association) at the annual Golden Scrolls award banquet. Kathi "Easy Writer" Macias lives in Homeland, CA, with her husband, Al, where the two of them spend free time riding their Harley.


Blog Tour Interview:

I understand you sometimes refer to this book as "discipleship with a grin." What do you mean by that, and why did you choose a humor format for a discipleship book?

Actually, I chose a discipleship theme for a humor title. As much as I hate to admit it, the title came to me one day and I knew I had to do something with it--just too good to pass up! So the more I thought/prayed about it, the more I realized it described my life, both naturally and spiritually. I began to try to lay out my spiritual growth via humorous life stories, and found they produced a natural pattern. From there I developed the five stages of spiritual growth into five sections for the book, and I was off and running! Besides, I learned from a friend/mentor years ago that you can "shove a lot of truth down people's throat when their mouth is open laughing," so I figured, why not???

What are some of the funniest "loose cannons" stories included in your book?

One of my favorites is the story of my very first women's retreat as a brand new Christian back in the "Jesus freak" days of baptisms at the beach and praise-ins at the park. I shared a room with three ladies I had never met, one of whom ended up being my "bunk mate." She snored, she was quite a bit overweight (taking up much more than her side of the bed!), and she "leaked" because she was still weaning her youngest child. You'll have to read the story to see how that experience taught me a lot about "spiritual face plants."

Another favorite story is about the time I took my three sons (two pre-teens and one elementary school age at the time) to the community swimming pool. The older boys decided to use their younger brother as a human beach ball, and when they ignored my cries from the side of the pool to stop, I actually had the nerve to jump into the water and swim right up to them and order them to stop. Their level of humiliation at being seen in the pool with their mother was as close to social suicide as it gets. But we all survived and learned a lot in the process.

Your book is divided into five sections. Can you briefly explain what they are and what they have to do with discipleship and humor?

As I mentioned earlier, the five sections correspond with what I consider the five stages of spiritual growth: crawling (infants or "rugrats") on our knees; walking (toddlers who are still a bit shaky but exploring and learning); running (stronger, more mature believers who are beginning to make a difference in their world); flying or soaring (eagles with a solid foundation and maturity to share with others); resting (back on our knees and realizing that place of utter dependence on Him is really the best place to be after all). The discipleship correlation is, I believe, evident in these stages; the humor comes in simply because I'm one of those slow learners who needs God to "hit me upside the head" at times, and I haven't been bashful about explaining those times in the book.

What advice can you give to the young mom out there who is juggling two kids, a fulltime job outside the home, a husband, housework, pets and church?

Life happens in seasons! You CAN'T be all things to all people at all times. It simply doesn't work. And if you don't believe it, read about my many crash-and-burn episodes as I tried! The Proverbs 31 woman is a composite picture of many women from different walks and stages of life; when we get a grip on that, it releases us to enjoy the season we're in right now, even as we prepare for the next one.

How did raising your own children help prepare you for the parenting side of the proverbial woman? Any tips you'd like to share?

Relax and enjoy them! Yes, even the rugrats and teenagers, because "this too shall pass." There were times I thought I'd go bald from pulling out my own hair over the frustrations and failures of that season of my life, but now it's my grandchildren who are passing through those rugrat-to-teen stages, and hey, I still have my hair! You'll make it--and so will your kids--in spite of your frustrations and failures. And yes, I know there are too many of those to mention (or admit to). I'm the queen of mom-failures, and yet my kids never cease to bless me with words of love and praise. Do I deserve it? Probably not. But I love every minute of it!

Do you have a favorite part of the book or a favorite chapter?

Several, in fact, but one in particular: Chapter 26, "Back Home Again," contains the story of my precious father, a man who lived for 88 years denying God's existence and then finally turning to him in his last week of life. It's one of the more serious stories in the book, but even that one ends on a humorous note.

If the Proverbs 31 woman is alive today, what does she look like?

She looks like me--and you--and every woman whose heart longs to please God and to raise her children according to the Scriptures, even though she knows she's doing well just to make sure they all have their sack lunches before they leave for school in the morning. She's thin, overweight, short, tall, black, white, brown, red, yellow, and polka dot when she catches her kids' chicken pox. And she's absolutely beautiful!!!

Are there some specific lessons you hope readers will learn and apply to their lives after reading your book?

I want them to learn to relax and laugh and enjoy this voyage called "life," and to trust the Captain of our souls to take us home safely when our trip is over, rather than struggling to "man the oars" ourselves.

What makes your book different than other books similar to yours that are in circulation today?

There are countless books written for "control freak" women who want to do it all and be it all--perfectly and completely at all times. This one, however, is not only written with a humorous tone, but it also takes the reader through what I call the five steps of spiritual growth: crawling, walking, running, flying--and back on our knees, totally dependent once again. I do this by exposing many of the sometimes humorous--and sometimes not so humorous--events in my own life as I progressed through the five stages.

Are there any authors that either influenced you personally or influenced your style of writing? Who are they and how did they influence you?

Brennan Manning, Henri J. M. Nouwen, and Max Lucado have to be right at the top of my favorite nonfiction authors list, simply because they call me back to the heart of worship, to a fresh appreciation of grace and a clarion call to rely totally upon God and not myself. I need those reminders on a regular basis. In addition, I love their writing styles. Their words "sing," and it is my goal to do the same with the words I write.

When you are not writing, what do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?

Okay, now I have to 'fess up to how nearly one-dimensional I am. If I'm not writing, I'm...well, reading someone else's writing. That's at the top of my "what I like to do" list. However, I also spend time riding on the back of my husband's 2003 Harley Davidson Road King motorcycle. He's been riding HD's since 1970 and says he will never outgrow that youthful passion. On the road we are known as “Big Al” and Easy Writer…”

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness” (Genesis 1:26) weekly devotional by Kathi Macias

My dear friend, Kathi Macias, writes a weekly devotional. The following is one of the devotionals she has recently written. If you are interested in receiving a copy of this devotional in your inbox, head to her webite http://www.kathimacias.com/ to sign-up. Blessings! K

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness” (Genesis 1:26).

One of our gravest mistakes is forgetting the foundational truth of Genesis 1:26—that God made US in HIS image, and not the other way around. As a result, we go through life imagining God as some larger version of ourselves.

Personally, I’m not too excited about trusting or serving a God who’s just like me, only bigger. I know me, and I’m not worthy of being trusted or served. Neither are you. When we receive Christ as our Savior and begin to grow in our faith, we become more like Him, and that’s a good thing. But if the situation were reversed and God became more like us, wouldn’t you agree that’s NOT such a good thing?

Yet we reverse the process in our minds, each time we question God. When something doesn’t turn out as we hoped or thought it should, we wonder why God let us down. Isn’t that why unbelievers shake their fists at the heavens and declare, “I will never believe in a God who allows such awful things to happen”? Aren’t they really saying, “I know better than God because my ways are the right ways. If He doesn’t line up with what I expect, then He’s either an evil God, or He doesn’t exist at all.”

But how different are we as believers? I doubt I’m the only one who has heard other Christians proclaim, “When I get to heaven, I’m going to ask God why He…” Fill in the blanks: “allowed my business to fail, my health to deteriorate, my child to die.” We are so finite and myopic while we live on this earth—and so me-centered!—that we actually think God owes us an explanation for things that don’t go our way. In reality, He owes us nothing, but we owe Him everything. As a famous preacher used to say, “After all God has done for us, anyone who goes to hell deserves to be there.”

Ah, there it is—what we really deserve. Not answers or explanations from a non-performing God made in our own image, but separation from Him and an eternity in hell because we have marred the image of God stamped upon us at creation. And that, my friends, is where mercy and grace come in. Remember, mercy is not receiving the bad things we deserve; grace is receiving the good things we don’t deserve.

God is not a heavenly butler in the sky, waiting for us to call on Him, demanding blessings and explanations, but a merciful Judge and Redeemer who loved us enough to create us in His image, and then to extend His mercy and grace to us to begin the image-restoration process when we rejected Him.

What an amazing God—and how grateful I am that I am made in His image, and not He in mine! May we all cooperate with Him in that restoration process so that those who are still shaking their fists at the heavens will look at us and see the awesome and magnificent Lord of the universe shining through.

***Please take a moment to visit my website at http://www.kathimacias.com/ to sign my guestbook or leave a comment on my blog for a chance to win one of my new books.

***Also, please visit http://www.setfreetoday.com/, where I serve as Spiritual Director. Come as you are…leave with a new beginning! Drop us a note or prayer request while you’re there.
Communicating the vision… (Hab.2:2) http://us.mc331.mail.yahoo.com/mc/compose?to=alandkathi@comcast.net http://www.kathimacias.com/