Books for The Coming Season

It’s always a delight to talk about author Jodi Thomas and her feel-good books. Today I want to let you know what Jodi has in store for us this coming season.

First, PICNIC IN SOMEDAY VALLEY, the next book in Jodi’s Honey Creek series, will be released April 27, 2021. You may remember the first book in the series, BREAKFAST AT THE HONEY CREEK CAFE that was featured here back in May. Jodi is also currently writing Book 3 in that series with more wonderful characters to entertain us.

In the meantime, A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS which came out last October recently won first place at the National Federation of Press Women's Communications Contest. Now it will be a re-release on September 29^th.

A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS

By Jodi Thomas, Celia Bonaduce, & Rachael Miles

*Zebra Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishing

*On Sale: September 29^th, 2020

*Mass Market Max/Fiction$8.99($10.90CAN)

*978-1-4201-4869-5

*Setting: Dallas, TX –1859

Jodi headlines a Christmas Collection with three connected stories featuring a historic Dallas hotel in 1859, built and managed by a fascinating local widow, Sarah Cockrell. Sarah was a Texan businesswoman known for her contributions to the development of the state, the famed St. Nicholas was one of the most fashionable, grand hotels of its time.

It’s Christmas Eve, 1859, and everyone who is anyone is headed to the glorious St. Nicolas Hotel for the most talked about ball of the season. A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS, a holiday-themed collection of three connected stories based on the true history of the St. Nicholas Hotel.

In the hands of Jodi Thomas, Celia Bonaduce, and historian and novelist Rachael Miles, this real-life setting comes to life in three romantic tales infused with vivid imagery and witty prose. A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS evokes the grandeur of a bygone era and the indomitable pioneer spirit of the region and is sure to be the fan favorite romance collection of the Christmas season.

THE HISTORY BEHIND A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS

➢Sarah Horton Cockrell opened the St. Nicholas Hotel in 1859 under her own management, one year after her husband, Alex Cockrell, died at the hands of a Dallas sheriff. It was known as one of the most fashionable, grand hotels of its time until it burned down in the Dallas Fire of 1860. It was the first building constructed taller than two stories and the crowning social event Dallas society was the grand ball with which it made its debut. Sarah Horton Cockrell named the hotel after the man she chose as its manager –Nicholas H. Darnell, a captain in the Indian wars of 1839, Speaker of the House of Representatives in the Texas Congress of 1842, and Lieutenant Governor elected in the first state election of 1846.

➢An astute businesswoman, real estate maven and transportation pioneer whose wealth and power defied gender conventions of the time, Sarah Horton Cockrell went on to own nearly ¼ of Downtown Dallas, opening the Dallas Hotel (later known as the St. Charles), a number of flour mills and other businesses. She constructed the first iron bridge across the Trinity, leading to enormous economic development for the state.

➢After Sarah Horton Cockrell’s death in 1892, The Dallas Morning News’s obituary stated that her funeral procession and floral tributes were among the largest ever seen in Dallas.

Meet the Authors

Jodi Thomas is a New York Times bestselling author and fifth-generation Texan who sets many of her award-winning stories in her home state, where her grandmother was born in a covered wagon. A multi-RITA Award winner and member of the prestigious Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame, she’s written over 50 novels with millions of copies in print. Her most recent releases are The Little Tea Shop on Main and the first book in her new Honey Creek series, Breakfast at the Honey Creek Café is out now. Please visit her at www.JodiThomas.com.

Celia Bonaduce, also the author of The Venice Beach Romances and the Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas series, has always had a love affair with houses. Her credits as a television field producer include such house-heavy hits as Extreme Makeover: Home Edition; HGTV’s House Hunters and Tiny House Hunters. She lives in Santa Monica, CA, with her husband and dreams of one day traveling with him in their own tiny house. She can be found online www.CeliaBonaduce.com.   

Rachael Miles is an acclaimed romance novelist and historian specializing in the 19thcentury, as well as a professor of literary history. A fifth-generation Texan and native of Dallas, she now lives and teaches in New York. Visit her online at www.RachaelMiles.com.

Jodi’s newest historical short story "Father Goose" will be featured in THE COWBOY WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS. It will be released October 27.  You’ll love reading about Trapper Morgan who must deliver five little girls back to Dallas after the Civil War

THE COWBOY WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS

By Jodi Thomas, Sharla Lovelace, & Scarlett Dunn

*Kensington Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishing

*On Sale: October 27^th, 2020

*Trade Paperback/Fiction$15.95($21.95CAN)

*978-1-4967-2549-3

Jodi headlines a new Christmas anthology celebrating heroic cowboys and all things Texas.

The Lone Star State doesn't have to be lonely during Christmas time! Legendary author Jodi Thomas headlines a new holiday-themed Western historical romance collection featuring three Texas-set stories of romance and adventure.

The Civil War is over, Christmas is coming—and it's time for three rugged cowboys to hang-up their spurs and settle down. These authors combine their talents and excel at creating atmosphere and complex characters which infuse these stories with Texas history and evoke the grandeur of a bygone era and the indomitable pioneer spirit of the region.

Prepare to be swept off your feet by these heroic cowboys who will stop at nothing to make sure this Christmas is one to remember. Ideal for gift giving, The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas will be the fan favorite collection of romance forthe2020 Christmas season!

ABOUT THE NOVEL

In these Texas-set stories of romance and adventure, the Civil War is over, Christmas is coming—and it’s time for three rugged fighters to become lovers . . .

FATHER GOOSE *Jodi Thomas

Dispirited by war, when Trapper Morgan accepts a job hauling five little rich girls to Dallas, all he cares about is the money.

He doesn’t expect they’ll awaken his spirit—or that their intriguing nursemaid, Carolina, will awaken his heart. And when danger strikes as Christmas Eve nears, he definitely doesn’t expect Carolina and the girls to risk their lives—for him.

THE MISTLETOE PROMISE * Sharla Lovelace

A catastrophic storm, an ailing herd, and a failing cattle ranch have left Texas rancher Josie Bancroft in danger of losing everything her father worked for. Still, she’d rather die than merge with her neighbor rancher Benjamin Mason, the man who broke her heart years ago, on Christmas Eve.

As old sparks fly and secrets are revealed, however, Ben is determined to help Josie—and prove that this time around can be different. That the misunderstandings of Christmas past need not define their future . . .

CHRISTMAS ROAD * Scarlett Dunn

Yellow Fever has hit Clint Mitchum’s Texas hometown and taken his father and siblings, leaving Clint evermore cynical. Racing homeward to be by his mother’s side, Clint finds only a note from her, asking that he help her caregiver, a young woman named Amelia.

Assuming his mother has passed, in his grief Clint ventures out to search for Amelia—and finds the best of gifts—just in time for Christmas.

Meet the Authors with Jodi

Sharla Lovelace is the bestselling, award-winning author of sassy, sexy love stories. Being a Texas girl through and through, she’s proud to say she lives in Southeast Texas with her retired husband, a tricked-out golf cart, and two crazy dogs. She is the author of the exciting Heart of the Storm series, the fun and sexy Charmed in Texas series, and five stand-alone novels. Connect with Sharla at www.sharlalovelace.com or find her on social media as @sharlalovelace at all the places!

Before becoming a published author, Scarlett Dunn was an entrepreneur. Her love of history and the adventurous souls who settled the West inspired her to write historical inspirational romance novels. She lives in Kentucky, and as an avid outdoorswoman she enjoys any activity under the sun where she develops her characters and plots. Readers can find her at www.scarlettdunn.com or on Facebook, Twitter (scarlettdunn2), or Instagram.

Thanks so much for stopping by today. I hope I’ve enticed you to check out one or all of these heart-warming tales. Isn’t the history behind A TEXAS KIND OF CHRISTMAS fascinating?

Bel, Book, and Scandal

I’m delighted to be participating in author Maggie McConnon’s BEL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL tour today in keeping with the Christmas spirit.

Maggie McConnon rings in Christmas in Bel, Book, and Scandal, the third adventure for everybody’s favorite Irish-American culinary artist turned amateur sleuth.

Bel McGrath tries her best to keep herself on the straight and narrow but she just has a taste for trouble. This time danger arrives in the form of a newspaper left behind by visitors to Shamrock Manor—and a photograph that jolts Bel out of the present and back into a dark chapter from her past.

The person in the photo is Bel’s best friend Amy Mitchell, long gone from Foster’s Landing, at a commune in upstate New York shortly after her disappearance. The picture, and Bel’s burning desire to find out what happened to Amy—and whether she may still be alive—is the catalyst for a story in which old secrets are revealed, little by little…and certain characters are shown to not be as genuine as Bel once thought.

Now here’s an excerpt from this tantalizing story for your reading pleasure.

Chapter One

I was wet, cold, and tired, but despite the fact that she was ready to kill me with her bare hands for staying out all night, my mother addressed all three of my immediate needs before saying anything else.

A towel to dry my hair.

Clean clothes in the form of a pair of jeans, a T- shirt, and a pair of socks. An Irish sweater, the most uncomfortable item of clothing ever made—a hair shirt, really— but welcomed, and probably deserved, at that moment.

A bologna sandwich. It would be the last time I would eat bologna, for many reasons, the most significant being that the smell would forever after remind me of Amy. And how she had disappeared the night before and would always be gone.

Mom was worrying a rosary in one hand, the other securely placed in one of my father’s meaty ones. She turned and looked at me, asking me a question she had already asked and would continue to ask, along with everyone  else even vaguely connected to Foster’s Landing. “Where is she?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t think I would never know.

My brother Cargan, the closest to me in age and the one who had found me beside the Foster’s Landing River, was across the room, looking out the window, his violin strapped to his back; he had a lesson later that morning and wouldn’t miss it for anything, even if Amy Mitchell was missing and never to be seen again. No, he was gearing up for a big competition in Ireland and nothing stopped him from his lessons or his practicing. Although the mood was somber in the police station, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had whipped the instrument out right then and there and started playing a tune, a sad one, the type I had grown up listening to.

My other brothers were out and about in town now. They, too, had come running when Cargan first discovered me but were less concerned about me now but had joined the hunt for Amy. It was another night for Bel, one said. She was going to be in a lot of trouble, said another. They were both right: It had been another typical night and now I was in a lot of trouble, the last to have seen Amy alive with nothing to tell that might lead to her whereabouts. They were a self-protective bunch, caring little as to why I would be hauled into the police station, happy that, for once, they were not the ones in trouble. Feeney, especially. He was always in trouble. Derry and Arney, not as much, but both had a way of finding their way into situations that were beyond their control. Feeney was a much more calculated and deliberate hooligan.

Next to Mom, Dad let out a barely audible sob, the kind that told me that he was, first and foremost, a father and one who felt the pain of a missing child. He looked over at me, almost as if he wanted to confirm that I was still there, and reached out the hand that didn’t hold Mom’s, patting me awkwardly on the thigh.

“Ah, Belfast,” he said. “Ah, girl.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” I said. “They’ll find her.  They’ll bring her back.” I thought about those words a lot over the years, wondering where that confidence came from. Youth, I eventually decided. When you’re young and nothing bad has ever happened, you think everything will always be better, every wrong will be righted. It’s only with age that I realized that that wouldn’t always be the case and that disappointments would stack up, like the layers of my famous mille-feuille cake, the one with seemingly a thousand layers of goodness that cracked upon the first dip of the fork. But even then, in my heart, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to turn out the way we all wanted, something I couldn’t give voice to at that moment.

Lieutenant D’Amato came out of the conference room at the Foster’s Landing police station and looked at me, frowning. Behind me the door opened, and his expression suddenly lightened, the sight of his only child, his daughter, coming through the doors with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bag of something delicious in the other, the greasy stain at the bottom indicating that it was probably a Danish from the local bagel store. It smelled better than my bologna sandwich, which I wrapped up in the wax paper that Mom had put it in and stuffed under my thigh.

Mary Ann handed her father the food and then turned to me, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Bel,” she said, and ran toward me, enveloping me in a hug. She smelled good, not like river water and stale beer like I did, but more like the soft grass that I felt beneath my feet when I ran from my house down the steep hill toward the river.  Beside me, my mother’s silent reproach hung over me like a fetid cloud.

Why can’t you be more like Mary Ann D’Amato?

I had heard it more than once in my seventeen years and hoped eventually it would die a natural death as I got older and more accomplished, setting off to take the culinary world by storm, another thing that left a distinct distaste in my mother’s mouth. I was supposed to be a nurse. A teacher. A wife, mother. Not a chef.

It was your idea to open a catering hall, I wanted to say. Your idea to have me in the kitchen every moment I wasn’t studying or swimming on the varsity team. Your idea to ask me how the potatoes tasted, if the carrots needed another minute. Your idea to let my brothers learn the traditional Irish tunes and put me in an invisible, yet highly important, role— that of sous chef to you and a myriad of other cooks who had come through the doors of Shamrock Manor, only to discover that yes, our family was crazy, and no, they didn’t really care all that much about haute cuisine.

Mary Ann was going to nursing school; of course she was. She was the daughter that my parents never had and she would make everyone in this town proud.

Years later, in what could only be from the “you can’t make this stuff up” files, Mary Ann would marry Kevin Hanson—my Kevin Hanson— and I would cook the food for their wedding. We would all be friends and we would laugh together and eat together and have a generally good time in one another’s company. Before, I felt the lesser, but in the future, the now, I would be equal, the one who had gone away and come back, realizing that my heart was in this little village, at least for a time. But back then, Amy was still missing and everyone thought I had the key.

“Where is she?” Mary Ann whispered into my curly hair.

“I don’t know,” I said. And I didn’t. Amy Mitchell was my best friend, my confidante, my sister from another mother, and she hadn’t said a word about where she would go after a night on Eden Island. My last words to her, an angry sentence (You’ll be sorry. . . .  ), burned in my gray matter. I don’t know where she is, I wanted to scream. It had been just fun and games until I had seen her kissing my boyfriend, Kevin Hanson. We had been celebrating our waning days at FLHS, and it was the best night we had ever had up until that point.

I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell me where she was going, but maybe I did.

Maybe of everyone here in the police station, she wanted me to be the last to know.

I broke the embrace with Mary Ann and sat down again; I would never smell a certain floral-scented shampoo again without thinking of that morning. I would never feel the grass beneath my feet without thinking of the smell and where it brought me in my mind. Mary Ann’s face, tear streaked and pale, made me feel bad about my own: dry as a bone, not a tear in sight, stunned, resigned. Amy was gone, and deep down I knew that she was never coming back. How I knew it so well in the early morning hours I had no idea. Why I had told Dad things would be fine was a mystery. But I knew it as well as I knew my own name that it was over and wondered how everyone else was still clueless to that fact. “Belfast McGrath?”

I looked up at a cop who clearly didn’t know who I was but whose face told me he knew why I was there.

“That’s me,” I said, and walked into the room where I would tell them everything and nothing.

BEL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL is available at the following links:

                         

Amazon

B&N

iBooks

Powells

IndieBound

For those not familiar with Maggie McConnon, here’s a bit of background on her.

MAGGIE MCCONNON grew up in New York immersed in Irish culture and tradition. A former Irish stepdancer, she was surrounded by a family of Irish musicians who still play at family gatherings.

She credits her Irish grandparents with providing the stories of their homeland and their extended families as the basis for the stories she tells in her Belfast McGrath novels, beginning with Wedding Bel Blues.

For more on Maggie and her writing, visit with her on Facebook.

Thanks for stopping by today and I hope I’ve enticed you to check out Maggie’s new release, BEL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL. Are you reading Christmas themed stories?

Sugarplum Way {+ Giveaway}

As we begin November you can’t help but think of the holidays and author Debbie Mason has a new release, SUGARPLUM WAY, to get us in the spirit.

To help celebrate the release, you could win one of 10 finished copies of SUGARPLUM WAY.

◊ SUGARPLUM WAY

◊ by Debbie Mason

◊ Harmony Harbor series

◊ October 31, 2017 by Forever

◊ Mass Market: $7.99

◊ eBook: $5.99

◊ ISBN: 9781538744154

Add SUGARPLUM WAY to your bookshelf on Goodreads.

"Heartfelt and delightful!" -RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author

Romance writer Julia Landon knows how to write a happily-ever-after. Creating one for herself is a whole different story. But after a surprising--and surprisingly passionate--kiss under the mistletoe at Harmony Harbor's holiday party last year, Julia thought she might have finally found her very own chance at true love. Until she learns her Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broodingly Handsome has sworn off relationships. Well, if she can't have him in real life, Julia knows just how to get the next best thing....

          Aidan's only priority is to be the best single dad ever. And this year, he plans to make the holidays magical for his little girl, Ella Rose. But visions of stolen kisses under the mistletoe keep dancing in his head, and when he finds out Julia has written him into her latest novel, he can't help imagining the possibilities of a future together. Little does he know, though, Julia has been keeping a secret that threatens all their dreams. Luckily, 'tis the season for a little Christmas magic.

Here is an excerpt from this delightful story for your reading pleasure.

Aidan smiled that slow, sexy smile of his just before he lifted his gun and fired. The glass shattered, and the. . .

A shrill beeping sound pulled Julia out of the story. Startled, she jumped. Her initial thought was that she’d put on the teapot and had forgotten to turn off the burner. She blinked and opened her eyes. She’d been trying to get deeper into her character’s point of view by typing with her eyes closed. It hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped. But it had ensured that she didn’t see the smoke . . . Smoke! There was smoke filling her living room. Again.

Duckety, duck, duck, duck. 

The annoying voice on the smoke detector bleated fire, fire.

“Julia, open the damn door!”

          Frantically searching under the papers littering her desk for her cell phone, she ignored the voice. Though she was impressed. It was amazing how real Adrian sounded. Like he was right outside . . . Wait a minute. He was calling her name, not Gillian’s. Crap, it was Aidan. Double crap, she knew why he was here. She’d thought she’d have until morning to face him.

          “Hang on! I—” She heard a loud bang at the same time she found her phone. “I’m coming!” she called, running to the outside entry door as she punched in the assigned number for the alarm company.

At the same time she realized there was no dial tone, Aidan kicked in her door. It bounced off the wall and the hulking shadow of a man filled the open doorway. If she hadn’t recognized his voice, she’d be terrified. Given the intimidating expression on his face, she wondered if maybe she should still be afraid.

          Fire, the smoke detector bleated again. Right, fire, smoke. “Hurry, I need your phone!” She made grabby motions with her fingers.

          He looked at her like she’d lost it and strode into the room. “Your alarm is connected to the station. They’ll be on their way. Where’s the fire? Do you have an extinguisher?”

          “No, no, I don’t need the fire department. I need your phone.” She rushed forward. He didn’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation, and she began patting him down.

          He reached in his pocket, punching in a code before handing her his phone. Of course his would be password protected.

          “Thanks,” she said to his back as he prowled around her apartment, no doubt looking for the source of the smoke. “Um, I think my nachos are on fire.”

She made a face at his muttered, “You have got to be shitting me.” And then went to look up the alarm company’s number on her phone, only to realize she couldn’t access it because her cell was dead. “Duck.”

She raced to her desk searching for the alarm company’s business card while muttering to herself, “I need the number. Where would I put the number for the alarm company? Laptop. Of course.” Laptop, no! It was on and open for him to see. She slammed the lid shut at the same time the oven door bang closed.

Aidan strode from the kitchen wearing her burned oven mitt and carrying a charbroiled tray of smoking ash. “It’s usually on the unit,” he said dryly before heading out the door.

Which went to prove that the man didn’t miss a thing, even her half-whispered conversation with herself.

At the return of his heavy footsteps, she turned her back to her desk, attempting to use her body as a shield. Widening her stance and her arms, she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the desk and leaned back in hopes of concealing any evidence of her book from his all-seeing cop’s eyes. 

          He glanced at her and then did a double take. She thought she heard a muttered, “Jesus,” before he retrieved his phone from her hand and continued across the living room, dodging a basket of laundry, a box of decorations she’d yet to put up on the tree, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal.

Wondering what was with the double take, she looked around. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Sure her place was a little messy, but he was a guy. He probably wouldn’t even notice. She thought of something he might notice and looked down.

Yep, that was probably the reason for the look. It was obvious she was cold, and her body-hugging black T-shirt read “Santa’s Favorite Ho” with the jolly old elf ho, ho, hoing, paired with black-and-white plaid flannel sleep pants.

When Aidan reached the other side of the living room, he placed the cell phone between his shoulder and ear and raised the window. “Yeah, it’s Aidan Gallagher. The call from 232 Main Street is a false alarm. That’s her. Five times, is that so? I’ll tell her, thanks.”

          “It wasn’t five false alarms. It was four.” She faced her desk to quickly bury a paperback copy of Warrior’s Kiss and her contract for Warrior’s Touch under some paper and turn her notepad upside down while doing a visual search for any other incriminating evidence.

“Doesn’t matter. You still broke the record for false alarms in a six-week timeframe. Dispatch says Mrs. Rosenbloom had three.”

“Are they charging me?”

“No” He answered his ringing phone and then bowed his head. “Hello, Dad. Yes, she’s fine. Is that right? Nachos. No, smoke’s not too bad. Okay, I’ll do that. Don’t remind me,” he grumbled and then disconnected.

Whatever his dad said to Aidan didn’t improve his already not-so-happy mood. She really didn’t feel like talking about the suggestion she’d made to Harper and why. Fending off his probing questions would be difficult, and she wasn’t exactly equipped to handle him tonight. She was tired, and her throat had passed sore an hour before. 

 “I really appreciate you dropping by, but it’s late, and I have an early day.” She forced a smile and moved to see him . . . out her broken door. She barely managed to stifle an anguished moan. She couldn’t face the thought of dealing with repairing the door tonight.

He lifted his chin to the left of the kitchen. “Is that your bedroom?”

She ignored her inner hussy who yelled who needs a bed and suggested Julia throw herself on the floor at his feet. Her inner hussy was way more optimistic about their chances of getting lucky tonight.

“Yes, but I don’t see . . . What do you think you’re doing?” she said as he walked over and opened her bedroom door. Umm, more like shoved it open. The clothes that had been hanging over her door this morning had fallen off when she closed it, and she’d been running late.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you said to Harper and why. You’re tired? Fine, you can talk to me from your bed while I fix your door.” He looked around her bedroom. “If we can find your bed.”

She grabbed a pink lacy bra off the doorknob and held it behind her back. “I’ve been busy. I haven’t had time to tidy up.”

“What, like in a year?”

“Very funny. I’m sure your room isn’t any better.”

“Sugarplum, my bedroom didn’t look this bad when I was a kid.”

She kind of liked that he called her sugarplum but could do without the sarcasm. She scooted past him to scoop up her bras and panties and any other embarrassing items that were lying on the floor . . . and on the bed . . . and on her dresser. And half sticking out of her nightstand drawer! As breezily as she could, she moved to the front of the nightstand in hopes of blocking his view. “It’s a little smoky in here. Maybe you should open that window too?”

She smiled. He sighed.

As soon as his back was turned, she thigh-checked the nightstand drawer closed. Only it didn’t close. Instead it acted like a rocket launcher, and her fluorescent pink vibrator sailed through the air to land with a splash in the goldfish bowl sitting on the bench at the end of her bed. Her mouth fell open, and then she covered it, releasing a muffled, “I’ve killed Eric and Ariel!”

Aidan looked from the fish bowl to her and started to laugh, a deep rumbly sound that she would have enjoyed if it wasn’t at her expense and if . . . “It’s not funny! My fish are drowning. Save them!”

That made him laugh harder, and his shoulders started to shake. “Death by vibrator. Not a bad way to go.”
           “That’s a horrible thing to say, Aidan Gallagher.” She cautiously removed the vibrator from the water, her shoulders sagging in relief when Erik and Ariel swam to the surface. “And FYI, this is not a vibrator. It’s a personal massager.” She rubbed it against the back of her neck. “See, you should try it.”

Author Debbie Mason CREDIT Debbie Mazzura

Debbie Mason is the USA Today bestselling author of the Christmas, Colorado and Harmony Harbor series. Her books have been praised for their "likable characters, clever dialogue and juicy plots" (RT Book Reviews).

When she isn't writing or reading, Debbie enjoys spending time with her very own real-life hero, three wonderful children, two adorable grandbabies, and a yappy Yorkie named Bella in Ontario, Canada.

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 The Series

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GIVEAWAY INFO

The tour-wide giveaway is for one of 10 finished copies of SUGARPLUM WAY. To enter CLICK HERE.

Thanks for stopping by today. Are you getting into the holiday spirit yet?