Monday, June 25, 2012
Don't you just love this title and gorgeous cover?
Here's more about this recommended book from outstanding author, Maureen Lang:
A note from Maureen:
I always say whatever book I'm working on is my favorite, but even though I'm on to a new project I readily admit having had special fun with Bees In The Butterfly Garden.
First, it's set in New York City's Gilded Age—a time easy to romanticize if you stick to those who gilded the era. Lots of wealth to be found amid a developing brand of American aristocracy . . . a world in which a thief's daughter never should have been invited.
That's right, my heroine Meg is the daughter of thief. Only Meg never knew that her father has been a thief since she was a bit older than a toddler, after the death of her mother. He protected her from the truth by sending her to be raised at an exclusive New England school for girls. Living among the rich, trained to be a lady, Meg nonetheless missed the one thing she's never had in her life: a father's love. Little did she know he loved her in the only way he knew how, by shielding her from himself.
So when he dies and his young and handsome protege tries—but fails—to keep the truth hidden from her, she is enraged but determined to prove her father wrong for having barred her from his life.
Although her father had asked Ian, his young protege, to keep an eye on his daughter, Ian was told to do it from afar . . . The message was clear enough: Ian clearly isn't good enough for her. She's a lady and he's a thief, just like her father was.
Meg's determination to prove her father wrong inspires her to become just like him, even posthumously. And Ian is presented with one temptation he can't pass up: not only working with the girl he's secretly loved since he was a boy—but through her gaining access to some of Fifth Avenue's wealthiest residents.
Who will catch them first? The Law . . . or God?
Not only was this book a lot of fun to write, it reminded me of the depth and availability of God's grace. Enough grace to cover a multitude of sins.
Early reviews for Bees In the Butterfly Garden:
This character-driven historical set in the American Gilded Age represents Lang (Look to the East; Whisper on the Wind) at her best.
“Lang’s talent shines through in this first of the Gilded Legacy series. She clearly depicts the difference between grace – an undeserved gift – and mercy – when one is spared a deserved punishment. The grandeur of the era is evident in the story, the charming characters, the beautifully descriptive prose and even the cover!” - Leslie L. McKee, RT Book Reviews, July 2012
Special Bonus Recipe
The fictitious school in Bees In The Butterfly Garden is "Madame Marisse's School For Girls." My heroine, Meg, would have received a special cookie recipe awarded to each graduate, meant to be given to whatever staff the wealthy heiresses would oversee. Although this recipe doesn't appear in the book, this is what I imagine it might have been:
Madame Marisse's Morsels
1/2 Cup Oleo*
1/2 Cup butter
1 Cup Powdered Sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons extract of Almond
1 teaspoon extract of Vanilla
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 Cups Flour
Mix all ingredients thoroughly. Using a teaspoon, shape 1 inch sized balls and place on baking sheet. Press lightly with thumb.
Bake in 375 degree oven for 9 minutes, until lightly browned on the bottom.
Dust with more powdered sugar if desired.
*Note from Madame Marisse: although Oleo will be hard for your staff to find, especially without the added unpalatable pink coloring that competing butter manufactures demand must be added, it is well worth the extra tax if your staff can acquire it. If they cannot find Oleo, they may use Lard instead. An entire Cup of butter is discouraged; using half Oleo or Lard along with flavorful butter will allow your cookies to maintain a softer consistency and not entirely flatten.
Note from Maureen Lang: Oleo is margarine and we no longer have any trouble finding it—or any added taxes or coloring other than yellow to make it look like butter. Oleo (margarine) or lard really does provide cookies with a softer consistency than using all butter.
Maureen Langis a reader who figured out at a very young age how to write what she wants toread. She penned her first novel at age ten, and has been writing ever since.In fact, she’d rather be writing or reading than doing just about anythingelse—but with a family and a dog depending on her for breakfast, lunch anddinner, she feels like she’s in the kitchen more often than at her desk or inher favorite chair with a book. Maureen is the author of a dozen books and hasbeen nominated for a Christy, Rita and Carol. She’s won a Holt Medallion andthe Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award, but none of that compare to the dayher daughter told her she was a good writer. Ah, recognition at home is rareindeed. Visit Maureen on the web at maureenlang.com
Bees In The Butterfly Garden can be purchased wherever fine books are sold, or online at:
Pick up this book and enjoy!
Friday, June 15, 2012
Hey all! Here's info on another great book by a beloved Love Inspired author, Gail Gaymer Martin. Enjoy!
Trust and giving of talent, time and treasures opens doors to God's love and a love neither expected.
Back cover blurb:
The only thing philanthropist Quinn O'Neill wants is to forget the accident that took his wife and son. He doesn't expect a fender bender with a lovely stranger to change his life in a major way. Struggling single mom Ava Darnell and her teenage son have their own hardships.
What better way for him to lend a hand than through the Dreams Come True Foundation? But helping Ava means earning her trust…and having faith that dreams of healing and family just might become reality.
Touching finale. 4-1/2 Stars from Romantic Times
A Dream of His Own was everything I was hoping it would be another sweet and sentimental book that speaks of the love that can be found even in the heart of someone who has known great pain. I loved this book just as much as I have loved this entire series. I highly recommend it! from Carly Bird's Home
Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and has written for Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has sold over fifty novels with three and a half million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest’s Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Christian Authors Network, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations and a workshop presenter at conference across the US. She was named one of the four best novelists in the Detroit area by CBS local news. Gail lives with her husband in a northwest Detroit suburb.
Purchase where all books are sold or at online bookstores. Available on Kindle and other ebooks. Order http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B007JJEVQO/novelistrgailgaymermartin
Saturday, June 09, 2012
Hey all! Here's an excerpt of my upcoming novel! The Doctor's Devotion is available for pre-order now and will be on sale and in stores, wherever books are sold, on July 1, 2012. Maybe sooner in digital version for those of you who prefer ebooks.
Without further ado...here's Chapter One. Be sure to let me know what you think!
"Change of plans, carrottop."
Suitcase in tow, Lauren Bates smiled at Grandpa Lem's voice coming through her cell phone. "What, you're picking me up in your tractor?" She exited Refuge Airport.
Southern Illinois welcomed her with breezy warmth and a bouquet of bright June colors she wasn't accustomed to in Texas.
Lem chuckled. "Ought to since you haven't come to see me in five years."
Guilt whooshed in like planes on runways nearby. "I know, Grandpa. I'm sorry. What's this plan change?"
"Accompany me to the ribbon-cutting of a new trauma center Doc Wellington founded at Eagle Point? Starts in half an hour."
Anxiety knotted her gut. Not only was she weary hearing about Dr. Wellington, a medical facility was the last place she wanted to be. She sighed. "For you, Grandpa, I'll endure it."
"Good. We're in a blue Dodge Ram. See you in a few."
"We?" She maneuvered past people cluttering the sidewalk.
"Yes. Dr. Wellington's helping me pick you up."
"Why would you need help?" Lauren canvassed curbside cars and spotted a spiffy blue truck near the front.
"I don't drive on streets anymore. Only fields."
Alarm slowed her steps. "Why not?"
"In case you forgot, I'm nearing a hundred."
She almost pointed out he was only turning seventy, but swift remembrance of her reason for this spur-of-the-moment trip halted her. Anticipation spiked as Lem exited the truck.
"Look who's here!" Grinning and hunched, he seemed older and slower than she remembered.
Lauren rushed him with a hug. His bear strength was gone. Tears welling, she squeezed thin ribs.
She'd come because of his sudden uncharacteristic fear over turning seventy. Terror struck her now, too, but according to that Dr. Wellington he always spoke of, Lem was healthy. Still, she'd had to come see for herself. She should've come sooner.
"I'll take your bags," a deep voice said behind her. Strong hands reached around and deftly lifted Lauren's purse and colossal suitcase from between her and Grandpa.
Lauren turned. Grandpa leaned aside. Up stepped the most gorgeous creature ever.
Lauren gulped then remembered her manners. The tall man looked less like a doctor and more like a landscaper, with his deep tan and fit build. Intense and chiseled, yet polished like an airbrushed movie star. And he was her age. Not Grandpa's.
The doctor's easy smile tilted her world. His eyes were a stunning mixture of mostly silver with hints of blue. She gawked like a junior high geek facing the football captain.
"Mitch, this is my granddaughter," Lem said.
"Lauren, pleased to finally meet you."
Ooh, his voice! Pleasant. Deep. And, wow. He knew her name? She blinked. He blinked.
Her gaze inched to the hot pink handbag draped over his manly shoulder. She tried not to laugh at the sharp contrast of megamuscles toting a tiny pink purse.
As though the striking doctor with the black hair cut in a military buzz and epic
eyes suddenly caught on about the purse—and also diagnosed this weirdness between them as attraction—he lowered her handbag. He offered a sheepish grin and a masculine hand. When she settled hers into the strength of his, the warmth flowing from it enveloped her entire being.
No dead-fish handshake here. His was firm. Confident. Alabaster teeth gleamed from a mouth framed by a strong jaw. His grin gave way to a shy laugh.
She knew the feeling. She'd been bamboozled by attraction, too. "Nice to meet you,
Dr. Wellington." She rescued his endangered ego by retrieving her purse from his fingers.
"It's Mitch." He tilted his head, openly assessing her. His hearty smile expanded and he seemed in no hurry to look away.
She cleared her throat and searched for something else exciting to stare at.
Unfortunately, sidewalk cracks weren't near as interesting to behold as the dashing doctor.
Observing them, Grandpa chuckled as if having a private party with himself. Mitch moved first. He placed her suitcase behind the seat then assisted her in so she sat in the middle of the truck's seat. His grip was as sturdy, warm and steady as his fond gaze.
Mitch approached Lem. "Up you go, Gramps."
Lauren's irritation overrode Mitch's appeal, as he helped Grandpa in, then approached the driver's side. His shoulders were broad enough to require a rather pleasant pivot to enter the vehicle and, once inside, for her to move closer to Grandpa.
Not that she noticed.
"Where to?" Mitch asked Lem.
"Since Lauren's flight was delayed, she's coming to the ribbon-cutting so you're not late to your own party," Lem said.
Mitch laughed. The sound both grated and soothed. Grated because of the closeness he obviously shared with her grandpa, which stirred a surprise pot of jealousy. Soothing because Mitch's Grand Canyon voice could make a typhoon swoon.
At a red light, Mitch caught her stare. The corner of his mouth slid into a colossal smile.
"I expected you to be older," Lauren explained. "Grandpa talks about you nonstop."
"Likewise," Mitch said. "I feel like I know you."
Yikes! What all did he know? The failure she'd been?
"So, Lauren, how long will you be in town?" Mitch asked.
"Three months!" Lem announced. "I couldn't be happier." He beamed. Mitch did, too, which meant he obviously cared about Lem. How close were they? Drizzles of dread seeped into her stomach.
"How'd you manage to get so much time off?" Mitch asked.
"I'm between jobs right now. I'm opening a specialty shop in Houston with a friend this fall. We started the business from scratch in her home a year ago. Our client list and workload grew to the point where we needed more space."
"What's the specialty?" Mitch kept a keen eye on traffic.
"Sewing. We're leasing an historic building in town after receiving permission from local government and the Historical Society to open it. It'll be called Ye Olde Time Seamstress Shoppe. We're restoring the building's nineteenth-century period decor. Took a lot of wrangling and red tape but it's in the renovation stage now, so this was a perfect opportunity to finally visit Grandpa."
"She's getting over a much-needed breakup," Lem inserted.
Lauren smirked. "Grandpa's not letting me live it down."
Lem harrumphed. "Told you from the start he was no good."
Lauren noticed that Mitch navigated the roads with extra care. "You're a very safe driver," she commented. "I like that."
"A welcome change from her ex who regularly drove ninety. I know because she called me, often upset," Lem announced.
"My ex got arrested for speeding past a school bus and almost striking a child. That was my last straw," she explained.
"He was reckless in general. With others' lives and their relationship." Lem relaxed. "I'm glad she refused to marry a man who'll have little regard for his future children's safety."
While Grandpa was right, Lauren felt like sinking into the seat. She didn't like
Mitch knowing about the poor judgments she'd made.
"Do you miss him?" Mitch asked gently.
"No, actually I don't."
He'd not only ignored Lauren's frequent pleas to slow down, he'd ridiculed her for caring. Mitch was obviously the precise opposite kind of person. One who cared deeply about the safety of others. If only that would ease her concern over his closeness with Lem. Maybe in time. Right now, it hurt. Badly. Still
"It makes me feel better knowing Grandpa has someone like you looking out for him." Lauren meant it. She shouldn't be jealous. The men's friendship should ease her guilt about living in Texas. But being here with Grandpa and the fear that he contended with made her never want to leave him again.
Unfortunately she'd given her word to her best friend, who'd forfeited her career to start the specialty business with Lauren. They'd poured their talents, time and savings into it. The first pangs of doubt about her decision assailed Lauren.
Lauren studied Mitch. Did he know why Grandpa's fear surfaced now? He needed to. Maybe he could help alleviate Grandpa's anxiety. Just because Lem's grandfather and father died in their seventieth year didn't mean Lem would. Right?
For a fleeting moment, she hated that she'd taken out a loan to start her seamstress shop and bound herself to be a business partner with her friend. It hog-tied her to Texas.
"He misses his only granddaughter." Mitch raised his chin in a perceiving manner. "Lem tells me your parents died within hours of one another. I'm deeply sorry. What was it?"
His frankness surprised her. "Carbon monoxide poisoning. Their room sat over the garage of a house we'd moved into that winter. Daddy started the car to warm it up before taking me to school and Mom to work. They lay back down and never woke up."
Lauren blinked swiftly against a wave of emotion.
"Losing her mama and daddy made Lauren want to become a nurse to help people," Lem inserted. "And educate on safety and accident prevention."
"I hear you," Mitch said soberly. "I believe every accident is one-hundred-percent preventable. My dad perished in a motorcycle wreck."
"Across the road from the trauma center site," Lem added.
Had that inspired Mitch to build it? Lauren studied him.
Mitch turned onto the interstate that led Refuge to Eagle Point. "Dad was critically wounded. He could've been saved by surgery, had a hospital been closer, and if the person who pulled out in front of him had been looking."
Lem clicked his tongue. "He also lost his mama. She died from cancer not caught in time. She didn't have insurance and put off going to the doctor until too late."
"But thanks to Lem inviting me to church chili-suppers and becoming like a second dad, I turned out all right." He grinned.
Lauren's heart arched toward Mitch. "I know what it feels like to lose someone to something preventable."
Lem harrumphed. "Yeah, preventable like me losing you to Texas again when your building renovations are complete. I hope you hired horrible contractors who delay the timeline."
"Grandpaaaa. Don't be cranky. My friend sacrificed a lot to go into business with me. She'd be devastated if I bailed."
"Yes, it's prudent to honor your word, but that doesn't make up for the fact that you made this big decision out of duress."
"I'm glad you're here, Lauren." Mitch's chuckle dissolved the squabble. He sounded like he really meant his words.
She crammed her hands under her knees. "Thanks. The seamstress shop will specialize in costumes and uniforms. A percentage goes toward charities for children who've lost parents." For some reason her formerly noble plans felt barren.
"She makes specialty clothes for free to needy little kids and nursing home patrons, too," Lem added. "Nice, although I hate that she's not using her nursing skills like her sewing gift."
"Grandpa! We don't discuss that," she remarked gently. Futile since she inherited her stubborn streak from Lem.
A determined scowl bore down on Lem's bulbous nose and farm-freckled grin. "She don't like me pestering her about it."
"So I won't tread there, either," Mitch said with another tension-diffusing smile, which thinned into a tenacious line as his gaze gripped Lauren's in the mirror. "Yet."
What did that mean? She eyed Lem, smug now, then Mitch. Neither man's expression offered clues. "This smacks of conspiracy." She folded her arms and refused to look into that mirror, or Mitch's arresting eyes, again.
Her resolve lasted an entire eighth of a mile.
At the next red light, she caught Mitch studying her through the rearview mirror. He said nothing at first, then, "Feels almost like we're having a family spat here."
"Yeah. Hatfield and McCoy caliber," she quipped. Especially if he joined forces with Grandpa and tried to talk her back into nursing. Not happening. Even if Lem put him up to it. And no one softened her like Grandpa could.
He'd essentially raised her every summer since her tenth birthday after her parents died. She spent the rest of the year changing homes with the seasons, depending on which relative had room. Lauren's mom was Lem's only daughter. Grieving over her had bonded the two like suture glue.
Now it seemed as if Mitch's bond with Grandpa was stronger.
She shifted in her seat to put some distance between herself and Mitch. His overwhelming presence in the truck's cab made her feel snuggled next to a nuclear reactor with a compromised cooling system. Lem stretched, scooting her closer to Mitch again. She shot Lem a that-did-not-help look.
Which he ignored with fervor.
The whistling old scamp clearly had matchmaking in mind, which meant he was out of his mind. Lauren would no more date a doctor than Grandpa would give up his greasy biscuits and gravy.
These last twenty minutes were going to be one long ride.
Despite her pulse pounding, the ribbon-cutting was not something she could bring herself to joyfully anticipate. Hopefully her unruly heart rate had nothing to do with notions of romance.
Mitch never thought this day would come. Or end.
But here he was, standing at the door of a dream. He poised an outrageously large pair of scissors over the ribbon. “They’re heavier than my military rifle.”
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Bulb lights flashed and popped from every angle. Townspeople and reporters snapped images of Eagle Point Trauma Center’s grand opening.
Surgery tech Kate Dalton leaned over the microphone. “You’d think our top trauma surgeon would slice right the first time,” she teased in reference to this being Mitch’s second attempt.
“Cut me some slack. These are duller than your bedtime stories.”
Actually Kate’s stories coaxed countless soldiers to sleep, though she claimed she bored them into oblivion instead.
“Come on, Mitch! Those scissors can’t be older’n me,” Lem heckled good-heartedly from the crowd.
Laughing, Mitch sought out his friend in a sea of onlookers but snagged on a stunning redhead instead. Her gaze hit the ground like platelets in a blood storm, and her face turned just as red.
Same attraction that had jolted them earlier. Mitch hadn’t counted on this distraction.
Therefore his inner guard better be on its best behavior.
Lauren was profoundly attractive in pictures Lem so proudly displayed, but exponentially more beautiful in person. Her eyes were so unique he could barely look away. Mitch diverted attention to Lem, who watched him studying Lauren with peculiar interest. Lem’s grin heated Mitch’s neck.
He shifted uncomfortably at the podium, unable to recall the last time
“To-day, Dr. Wellington.” Kate gave a dramatic sigh.
Though the sash-cutting delay was staged by request of news camera crews, Mitch’s team joined the crowd in genuine laughter.
Getting cues from reporters to continue the stall, Mitch pivoted. “If I had a scalpel rather than these turn-of-the-century scissors, I’d be set.”
Kate’s eyebrow cocked. Having worked with her in Afghanistan performing combat surgeries, he knew the look.
Mitch turned his palm up. “Scalpel?” He used his official surgeon voice. Kate produced the stainless steel instrument.
The crowd went wild. Cheers and clapping abounded. Jubilation escalated when Kate raised the blade and saluted the building’s flag with it. The curved edge glinted in sunlight.
“Scalpel,” she repeated per surgery protocol and gently smacked its handle into Mitch’s palm.
How he loved that feeling. Only this was epic. The moment turned surreal. Mitch hardly believed they were standing at the newly built trauma center, set to open part-time the first of next month. Seventeen days, and his team’s battlefield dream would become reality.
Next the mayor started a speech about how the center would bring their town economy-reviving revenue.
Mitch’s gaze drifted to the building, an undeniable answer to prayer.
Awe for God engulfed him as he studied the magnificent steel and glass structure. It took his breath away, because despite titanium faith, he was a frontline fighter who’d wondered if he’d ever live to see this day.
Thank You, God, for bringing us through and to.
His eyes caressed a scripture etched above the Eagle Point Emergency entrance logo. A battlefield promise he’d clung to and prayed over every service member his scalpel came in contact with. His architect cousin had engraved it on the building: “The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Numbers 6:26”
Speech ended, the mayor left the podium.
Ian Shupe, Mitch’s best friend and head anesthesiologist on his trauma team, stepped up and pulled the ribbon taut. “Ready?”
Mitch drew an elated breath and inhaled pure joy. “Ready.”
“Don’t amputate your fingers.” Ian slid his hands farther apart and grinned, evoking more crowd laughter. “Or mine.”
Mitch chuckled and set scalpel to ribbon, camouflage to celebrate the team’s war veteran status.
He opened his mouth to utter the dedication, but sounds of distantly approaching helicopters ripped wings from his words. Probably news choppers.
Mitch didn’t look because he really didn’t fancy the notion of slicing or suturing his best friend’s finger.
That instant, Ian’s hands went lax. The uncut ribbon fluttered like a feather to the ground. Mitch looked up at Ian.
But Ian wasn’t looking at the fallen ribbon.
He stared at the sky. And he definitely wasn’t smiling.
Mitch turned, saw what Ian saw and straightened. Sheathed the scalpel and handed it to Kate who said, “Hey, are those…?”
“Trauma choppers,” Mitch finished for her.
“What a show!” a crowd member yelled. Mitch and Ian stared at the two incoming helicopters. Medical, not news.
If this was part of the show, Mitch had missed the memo. He faced Ian.
“You set this up?”
“No, you?” Ian followed Mitch, who stepped off the stage. They headed toward an adjacent field where the choppers seemed destined to land within minutes.
“What, have mock trauma teams come?” Mitch shook his head, adrenaline surging. “No. This is no drill. This is the real deal.”
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Thank you sooo much!