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SNIPPET:

“I don’t believe it… Today, of all days–” Stomach churning, she cut off her thread of monologue. The thought of being caught talking to herself again, with him so close, was mortifying. Twisting away, she continued searching her bag with dogged determination, unable to accept defeat just yet.

I could swear I brought it.

While she searched, he stayed seated beside her, glancing around at other travelers, from time to time sending an indulgent smile in her direction. She thought he had the amused air of someone waiting for his companion to finish an unexpected, fussy task.

What nerve he has—and where do Italians learn that smirk, anyway? Is it genetic or something? If I never see that look again, it’ll be too soon.

In time, he faced her and cleared his throat before he spoke softly. “Parli italiano?”

“Posso, ma non voglio.” Facing him, she enunciated each word with exaggerated care, since he had so spectacularly failed to get the hint so far.

How dare he address me so informally? How rude is that, using ‘tu’ instead of ‘Lei’?

Untroubled, the man from the train nodded. “Vuoi parlare inglese?”

SNIPPET:

I spin away from him, tears threatening again. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” I mumble, rolling my pant legs back down.

“Yeah? Why not?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way things are at school. I’m everyone’s favorite loser. There isn’t anyone more fun to pick on than me.”

He’s silent so long, I finally turn back toward him, and see anger on his face again, jaw clenching. I’m taken aback, worried that he’s angry with me. I glance at the bank on the other side of the stream again, wondering if I can make a run for it with my knees so sore. I know I can, of course I can. I’ve had to run other times with worse pain than this.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. It really ticks me off.”

I choke out a strangled laugh at that. He’s ticked about that? I shake my head.

“I want to be your friend,” he says, and my stomach tightens.

“You can’t be my friend. No one can be my friend. It’s social suicide.”

He reaches out and brushes his finger lightly over the bandage knotted on my hand, leaving an improbable trail of fire.

“I can honestly say that even if that is true, I don’t care.”

SNIPPET:

Determined to take charge of her own life after her family is slaughtered before her eyes, Sabrina Lovett heads west and disembarks from a train to start anew. Hiding from her affluent brother she takes on the guise of a boy. Everything is going well until the exasperating new Sheriff comes to town. His name is Brock Stafford and he's used to being in control. He's irritated to no end by the stable boy, Will, who challenges him at every turn. Aggravated by his own reaction to the boy, he tries to ignore him completely until tragedy brings them together. Sabrina trusts Brock with her life; but can she trust him with her secret?

SNIPPET:

Cinderella sat on the floor against the wall and watched, trying not to laugh, as he almost tripped at least three other couples. His hands got stepped on several times in the process, but he finally made it to the runaway shoe and held it high above his head in triumph. When he finally returned, a little bruised, he untied the laces and held the shoe up.

“I think this is yours, Princess.” Cinderella didn’t normally like being called ‘princess’. But when Scott said it, his voice didn’t carry the mocking tone she was used to. His way sounded sweeter, almost like he was complimenting her. He then slipped the shoe back on and covered his open mouth with a hand in mock surprise. “It fits!” Cinderella rolled her eyes at him and the two laughed again as he pulled her back to her feet.

“I’ll catch ya later,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. Then almost immediately he looked surprised at himself and apologized. “Sorry,” he said, seeming embarrassed. Cinderella brushed it off with a wave of her hand before Scott took off again into the crowd. Cinderella stood against the wall for several minutes without moving, a hand on her cheek where he had kissed her. For the first time in her life, she was glad she had lost a shoe.

BLURB:

A Treespeaker is one with his forest, moving with its spirit, inseparably bound to it.

Terrifying visions warn Jakan that a visitor to his tribe is not who he claims to be. As the villagers fall under the spell of the stranger’s mind-bending sorcery, Jakan grows desperate to be rid of him. Events take a sinister turn when he accuses the stranger of sacrilege — and it is Jakan, not the outsider, who is expelled from the forest.

Join Jakan on his perilous journey across a blighted land as he searches for the secret that will save his people — and himself.

Treespeaker is suitable for all ages 12 and up.

SNIPPET:

Pevliz stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Jakan’s shirtfront.

“Who are you? These aren’t the clothes of an Arrakeshi.”

Jakan kept his face as straight as he could. This man must not sense his fear. “My name is Rivakgol of the Fifth Tribe of Arrakesh. I fell as I came down from the forest. A Carlikan woman who helped me gave me these clothes.”

The man behind him laughed. “’E’s certainly got the build of an Arrakeshi, Captain. Look at ’im. ’Ardly bigger than a flea.” He pushed Jakan forward, his knee in his back.

The captain took Jakan’s face in one huge hand and turned it towards him. He stared into his eyes as he spoke. “Tell me, Rivakgol of the Fifth Tribe of the Arrakesh, what are your women like?” He leered at the other men.

Jakan swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Women?”

“Yes, women. Are they beautiful?”

Jakan closed his eyes, wincing with pain as the man behind him wrenched his arm further up his back. He thought of Jalena. Forgive me. “Yes,” he whispered. “Very beautiful.”

Pevliz let go of his face, grinning. “Good. They’ll be worth the wait. Now, come and eat with us. We’ll take you to the escarpment tomorrow.”

Jakan’s heart thudded in his chest. His mind whirled as he tried to think quickly. “I…I must return. Beldror said I must be back within four days. I must give you the message and come straight back. I need to go now.”

BLURB:

Four women, once best friends, have not spoken to each other in ten years. A drunken, decade old promise and a class reunion will bring them together again. A story of forgiveness, acceptance, the bonds of friendship and the age old question of whether you can go home again.

SNIPPET:

“How about Jordan?” Sarah asked. “Is she going to make it tonight?”

Beth winced as the name of her one-time best friend was brought up. “Don’t know, don’t care,” she said brusquely. But knowing Jordan, she’d be here, fashionably late, ready to make a grand entrance and show everyone else up. It sometimes surprised Beth that they had ever been friends at all. It was a long time ago, and she doubted they ever would be again. “Next subject, please.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge that up.” Sarah looked relieved when Rich brought her nachos to the table and set the big plate in front of her, and Beth felt a little guilty for snapping at her.

“Forget it. I have petty moments sometimes.” Beth took another bite of her pizza.

“We all do.” Sarah took the first big, heaping chip from her plate and sampled, letting out a little sigh. “Oh yeah. These are still delicious. It was worth coming back here just for these.”

 Beth laughed, happy to be off the subject of Jordan for the moment. ”If nothing else, at least we know the food’s the same here. It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed.”

 “Even if everything else has,” Sarah agreed, sounding somewhat wistful. “Can you believe it’s been ten years since graduation?”

 “No. In some ways, it seems like just yesterday that we finished first year exams...”

 “And the four of us gathered here to celebrate,” Sarah continued, finishing the thought.

 “We all had a little too much wine that night. I’m a little surprised any of even remember the promise we made.”

“It was a great night.”

“It was,” Beth agreed. “It’s a shame none of it could last.”