Dog Crazy by Meg Donohue

by Sarah | Mar 11, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Buy Links:  Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Blurb

The USA Today bestselling author of How to Eat a Cupcake and All the Summer Girls returns with an unforgettably poignant and funny tale of love and loss, confronting our fears, and moving on . . . with the help of a poodle, a mutt, and a Basset retriever named Seymour

As a pet bereavement counselor, Maggie Brennan uses a combination of empathy, insight, and humor to help patients cope with the anguish of losing their beloved four-legged friends. Though she has a gift for guiding others through difficult situations, Maggie has major troubles of her own that threaten the success of her counseling practice and her volunteer work with a dog rescue organization.

Everything changes when a distraught woman shows up at Maggie’s office and claims that her dog has been stolen. Searching the streets of San Francisco for the missing pooch, Maggie finds herself entangled in a mystery that forces her to finally face her biggest fear-and to open her heart to new love.

Packed with deep emotion and charming surprises, Dog Crazy is a bighearted and entertaining story that skillfully captures the bonds of love, the pain of separation, and the power of our dogs to heal us.

Link to Follow Tour:  http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/02/dog-crazy-novel-of-love-lost-and-found.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22573873-dog-crazy?from_search=true

Author Info

Meg Donohue is the USA Today bestselling author of How to Eat a Cupcake and All the Summer Girls. She has an MFA in creative writing from Columbia University and a BA in comparative literature from Dartmouth College. Born and raised in Philadelphia, she now lives in San Francisco with her husband, three young daughters, and dog.

Author Links:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads  

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EXCERPT

Leanne’s  face softens into a smile, but I can tell there’s  still a note of concern there, so I force myself tostay and watch as she searches in her bag for her car keys and then noses her old green Mercedes back andforth what seems like a hundred times, providing plenty of ammunition for my theory that there’s  an inversecorrelation between driving skill and vehicle size. When she finally frees the car from its parking spot, shebeeps and gives a jaunty wave.

I plaster on a grin and wave both of my trembling hands in the air above my head. It’s only when I catch aglimpse of Leanne’s face screwing into a puzzled expression that I realize I must look like one of those peoplewho direct planes out of air- port gates. Or maybe a Bhangra dancer.

I wait until her car turns out of sight before spinning around and hurrying back down the path to myapartment.

The relief floods through me as soon as I’m inside. I make a beeline for the bathroom and scrub my hands inthe sink. Leanne looked like the picture of health, but you never know the truth until it’s too late. The water is sohot that my skin turns pink. I persevere, humming the “Happy Birthday” song twice under my breath—a handylittle tip I picked up during a recent study of the Centers for Disease Control’s website. When I read the CDC’sadvice, I immediately wondered if my mother knew it. I managed to stop myself from calling her in Philadelphiaand asking, but I can’t stop myself from thinking of her every time I put my hands below that scalding waterand watch my skin change color.

I shut off the water and listen as my shallow, uneven breathing slowly quiets.

Ninety–eight, I think.

I look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I’m paler now than I was when I moved here, but my eyebrows are un-changed: amber-colored,  well defined, expressive. My best friend, Lourdes, tells me I have trustworthy brows. She calls themmy moneymakers. Who knows? She might be right. Even the most reticent patient eventually  reveals her secrets to me . . .black pieces of coal held so tight they’ve turned into sharp, gleaming diamonds.

“Ninety-eight,” I say aloud. It’s an interesting number, the silky shimmy of ninety, the slammed door of eight. Isay the number again. Tomorrow a new one will take its place and it seems impor- tant I keep track. “Ninety-eight.”

It’s been ninety-eight  days since I set foot beyond that gate at the sidewalk.

I’ve Got My Duke To Keep Me Warm by Kelly Bowen

by Sarah | Feb 17, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Buy Links:   Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Blurb

Where Secrets Smolder… 

Calm. Cool. Collected. Gisele Whitby has perfected the art of illusion—her survival, after all, has depended upon it. Years ago, to escape an abusive husband, Gisele “disappeared.” Now she must risk revealing her new identity to save another innocent girl from the same fate. But she needs a daring man for her scheme, and the rogue in question shows a remarkable talent . . . for shattering Gisele’s carefully constructed façade and igniting her deepest desires. 

…Passion Ignites. 

This isn’t the first time Jamie Montcrief has awakened naked and confused from a night of drinking. It is, however, the first time a stunningly beautiful woman offers him payment afterward. Gisele has a business proposition for him, a mission involving cunning thievery and a brazen rescue. How can he say no to a plot this dangerous . . . and a woman this delectable? 

Link to Follow Tour:  http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/01/ive-got-my-duke-to-keep-me-warm-lords.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21857233-i-ve-got-my-duke-to-keep-me-warm?from_search=true
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/126031-the-lords-of-worth

Author Info

Kelly Bowen grew up in Manitoba, Canada. She worked her way through her teenage years as a back country trail guide and ranch hand. She attended the University of Manitoba and earned a Master of Science degree in veterinary physiology and endocrinology.

But it was Kelly’s infatuation with history and a weakness for a good love story that led her down the path of historical romance. When she is not writing, she seizes every opportunity to explore ruins and battlefields.

Currently, Kelly lives in Winnipeg with her husband and two boys, all of whom are wonderfully patient with the writing process. Except, that is, when they need a goalie for street hockey. 

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Excerpt

Well, shit.  He deserved that.  “Who are you?”

She smiled at him, the first genuine smile he had seen, and it did strange things to his chest.

“I am… just Gisele.”

That was helpful.  He knew nothing more about her than he knew last night.  Annoyance bubbled up again.  “Very well then Just-Gisele, since you won’t tell me anything useful about yourself, would you be so kind as to enlighten me as to what it is you’d like me to do should I accept your generous offer of employment?”

Her smile turned brittle.  “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”  Jamie’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.  “How the hell am I supposed to make a decision based on not yet?”

The ice queen shrugged.  “You’ll have to trust me.”

Jamie closed his eyes, fighting for patience.  “Will I need to steal something?”

“Unlikely.”

“Kill someone?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Blow something up?”

“You’re familiar with explosives?”

His eyes popped open at the undisguised interest in her last question.   What the hell kind of woman used the word explosives the way most used the word marmalade?  Or teapot?

Runaway Cowboy by T.J. Kline

by Sarah | Feb 12, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Buy Links:   Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Blurb 

”You had your chance, and you threw it away…“ 

Five years ago, Jen woke up with a ring on her finger and her fiancé nowhere to be found. She swore she’d gotten over the betrayal, but when Clay unexpectedly hires on with the rodeo for a week, she finds herself torn between passion and regret.

Clay left intending never to see Jen again. He’s been running from his troubled past for far too long, and it’s not a life he wants for her. But it’s hard to run from the past when the past is your own family, and Clay finds himself thrown back into the chaos he thought he’d finally left behind.

Will the truth drive Jen away, or is there a second chance at happily ever after for this runaway cowboy? 

Link to Follow Tour:  http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/01/runaway-cowboy-by-tj-kline.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23587127-runaway-cowboy?from_search=true

*~*

Author Info

T. J. Kline was raised competing in rodeos and rodeo queen competitions since the age of 14, She has thorough knowledge of the sport as well as the culture involved. She has had several articles about rodeo published in the past in small periodicals as well as a more recent how-to article for RevWriter. She is also an avid reader and book reviewer for both Tyndale and Multnomah. 

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Excerpt 

“Mind if I get a refill?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes at Clay but slid the pitcher toward him. “Be my guest.” She turned to leave. The less time she spent near him, the easier it would be to get through the next week.

“Do you realize everyone is making bets on how long it will take before you slap me?”

She arched a brow at him and leaned her hip against the table. “Really? Who has five minutes?”

“I think that would be me.” A smile curved his lips. It made him look younger and less cynical. He was always so damn handsome when he smiled.

She forced herself to look away, busying herself with shifting the food on the table and stacking empty bowls. “Then I’ll wait a few more minutes so someone I like wins the money.” She gripped the edge of a half-empty bowl of potato salad.

He tried to hide the frown that furrowed his brow and turned his lips down again. It only lasted a second before he grinned and shot a glance at her brothers, still seated near Mike’s trailer. “Come on, Jen. How can you say you don’t like me?” He moved a step closer to her, his fingers toying at the side of the bowl, over hers.

Her gaze bounced from their hands to his green eyes. “It’s real easy. I. Don’t. Like. You.” She made sure to enunciate every word. Why couldn’t he get the hint? She didn’t want anything to do with him, not now, not ever again.

Jen pulled her hand from under his, but he took a step closer, his gaze holding her own. “You used to be friendlier,” he pointed out.

“And you used to be charming.”

Clay straightened his shoulders and took another step toward her as she backed away. “I’m still charming, with people who aren’t antagonistic.”

How dare he insinuate that she was being antagonistic? Okay, well, maybe she was, but he deserved every bit of resentment she directed at him. The man left her lying in his bed after proposing and never gave her any explanation for his departure. She narrowed her eyes for a moment before she allowed a sweet smile to curve her lips.

“I’m so sorry, Clay. I didn’t mean to be so hostile.” She reached again for the potato salad. “You’re right, I used to be friendlier. Let’s start again. I’m Jen,” she said, thrusting her right hand out.

He eyed her suspiciously but took the bait, curling his fingers around her hand. “I’m Clay. Jen, do you realize you have the most amazing eyes?” He flirted with her.

“Thank you.” She gave him her most engaging smile and leaned toward him. “Tell me, Clay, who had the bet that I’d dump potato salad on your head?”

“What?”

He barely opened his mouth before she upended the plastic bowl over him. Bits of mayonnaise, carrots, and potatoes dripped down his face, and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud as she quickly moved from his reach. Clay swiped at the mess on his face, flinging it from his hands to the ground. She heard the laughter from her brothers behind her and looked over at them.

“Next time, don’t make bets about me.” She shoved the bowl into Clay’s chest. “And the three of you can clean up this mess. I’m leaving.”

Heir of the Dog by Hailey Edwards

by Sarah | Feb 4, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Purchase (pre-order) Links
Amazon ♦ B & N ♦ iTunes ♦ Kobo

BLURB:

When the wrong fae answers her summons, Thierry finds herself saddled with a royal pain bent on making her life difficult. Well, more difficult. Her ex is back in town, her best friend is heartbroken and to top it all off, the Faerie High Court has issued her a summons.

Black Dog is missing, and the only hope of negotiating a truce between the light and dark fae vanished with him. Eager to avoid another Thousand Years War, the High Court reached out to the one person they believe can track him down–the daughter who shares his curse.

Author Bio: 

A cupcake enthusiast and funky sock lover possessed of an overactive imagination, Hailey lives in Alabama with her handcuff-OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA carrying hubby, her fluty-tooting daughter and their herd of dachshunds.

Her desire to explore without leaving the comforts of home fueled her love of reading and writing. Whenever the itch for adventure strikes, Hailey can be found with her nose glued to her Kindle’s screen or squinting at her monitor as she writes her next happily-ever-after.

Author Social Links
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Newsletter | Goodreads

Quinn’s startled bellow when my magic threaded through his veins to his heart was deafening.

My ears rang as much from his screams as the collapse of his charm. Moonlight filtered through the fading tendrils of darkness, casting faint light between the squat buildings sandwiching the alley.

Glittering bones, each one picked clean and most gnawed to splinters, littered the street. Tossed aside like trash to rot among the wet newspapers and crumpled soda cans. Hard to know who or what left those behind. They weren’t troll kills. That much was for certain. They weren’t fresh kills, either.

Trolls were opportunistic. The odds Quinn had squatted in another fae’s territory were high. Yet another use for that blackout charm. Tack it up, say a Word to activate it, and the charm did the rest.

Power that rich could make any spot with a kernel of darkness blossom into an abyss.

One corpse, the girl whose disappearance tipped off the conclave about our rogue troll problem, sprawled in a heap of broken limbs. The toothpaste trick didn’t work as well on humans as it did on fae. Poor kid. I hated breaking bad news to parents who actually cared whether their children lived or died.

The troll’s wheezing forced my attention back to him. Enough stalling. Time to finish this.

“By the power vested in me as a marshal of the Southwestern Conclave, I condemn you to death for your crimes against humanity.” I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached and braced against the coming pain. “Your soul will now be extinguished and your remains claimed by the Morrigan, as is your right as a subject of House Unseelie. If you have sworn fealty to another deity, and if you wish your remains to be an offering to them, speak their name now or forever hold your peace.”

I took his silence as consent and willed a pulse of magic through the runes contacting his skin. A heartbeat later, searing heat cut across my jaw, a scalpel-sharp ache zigzagging past my temple and over my scalp. Razors slashed under my skin with every wicked slice my magic dealt O’Shea.

I hated this part, the severing of a soul from its host, the trimming away of the fat of life and the cauterizing of immortality. Fae were built to weather eternity. Few grasped true death in any context.

But we were all tangles of muscle and bone, flesh and blood, heads and hearts, weren’t we?

We could all die if the time was right. Sometimes we did even if it wasn’t.

I held O’Shea’s terrified gaze while the top layers of his skin peeled away from muscle like ripping off an old bandage. I owed him that. I was ending a man’s life and could damn well look him in the eye while I did it. The vicious teeth of my magic savaged his soul, rent the tatters of his self and devoured it whole.

Pleasant warmth suffused my limbs, sating the darker part of me who stared at carnage a little too long, watched each death a too closely and enjoyed a soul-induced high just enough to shove me spinning down a shame spiral only one person could stop.

I wish Shaw was here.

No. No, I didn’t. Sure he might pull me out of my guilt tailspin, but that meant talking to him, and if he got me on the phone, I knew what he would want to talk about. Us. Except there was no us. Not anymore.

The troll’s pupils had faded to milky white. He was an empty shell suspended by an intricate web of misery. Magic knifed under his flesh, jolting his corpse, seeping out his pores until his skin released with a wet kiss of sound and puddled at his ankles where the pinky-white folds withered into a dried husk.

What remained was a meat and bone sculpture of troll musculature ready for disposal. Time to ring the dinner bell.

Before gloving my hand, I tugged a quarter-size silver medallion from my shirt by its chain and palmed the cool metal. Rubbing a rune-covered thumb across the triskele stamped into its center, I summoned the Morrigan.

A breeze smelling of wood smoke and embers ruffled my hair. A pulse of black magic beat in the air before me. The ball of swirling mist drifted on the breeze. That…wasn’t right.

A carrion crow swarm that blotted out the sky then swooped to encircle an offering in a cawing black feather tornado complete with glowing ruby eyes? That was more her style.

This was something else—someone else. But who had the balls to claim her feast in their name?

I lowered my hand to my side where its luminescent threat remained visible.

“You summoned the Morrigan.” A thickly accented voice throbbed across my skin.

“I did, and you aren’t her.” The cadence of those words shivered through me. “Who are you?”

“Whoever you want, a stór.” His chuckle was worse, all buttery rich and inviting. Dangerous.

“I’m not your darling.” I raised my left hand. “By whose authority have you answered my call?”

A moment of silence passed. “I am the Morrigan’s son.”

“The Raven,” I breathed.

Her son and heir, Raven, an Unseelie prince. A prickle of unease quivered along my nape. A prince in the mortal realm. What on earth had lured him here? And did the conclave know? They had to, right? The prince must have used a tether to get here, and for visiting dignitaries, that required permission from the Faerie High Court on his side and the Earthen Conclave on this one.

Straightening my shoulders, I gestured toward the body. “Then you are welcome to your feast.”

“Who do I owe for this offering?” Amusement throbbed in that nebulous swirl of magic.

“Thierry Thackeray.” Not my Name, but a name nonetheless.

“Tee-air-ree.” He dragged out each syllable as if savoring the sound on his…well, he had no lips in this form.

“Let me grab this…” I knelt and rolled up the troll’s skin, “…and I’ll leave you to it.” Tucking the proof of death under my arm, I saluted the magic blob. “Enjoy your feast.”

Eager to put Raven behind me, I turned on my heel and strode toward the mouth of the alley, tugging my glove back in place. His mother tended to rip off limbs and gnaw on them like chicken wings instead of, oh, I don’t know, someone’s arm. I shuddered and kept on walking. However her son chose to dine, he was doing it alone.

“I will savor every bite.” His voice dogged my heels. “Go bhfeicfidh mé arís thú.”

Until we meet again.

Heir of the Dog: Copyright © 2015 by Hailey Edwards used with permission.

Grave Vengeance by Lori Sjoberg

by Sarah | Jan 23, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Buy Links:  Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Blurb

Handsome and haunted, he’s a reaper who prefers to work alone. But Fate has other plans for him and the sassy secret agent who shot him in another life—if their pasts don’t catch up with them first.

Dmitri Stavitsky has never played well with others—a Soviet KGB spy in life turned reaper after death, his work of bringing souls to the other side is best done alone. But orders from the top soon place him alongside fellow reaper Gwen Peterson, the American counter intelligence agent who took his life so many years ago.

Now, as a ghost from Gwen’s past resurfaces with the power to steal reapers’ souls, the two have no choice but to set aside their differences and apprehend the rogue together. But their cross-country mission soon ignites feelings Dmitri thought he was no longer capable of—for the woman who helped destroy him. With an ancient force and a small army against them, he’ll have to let go of old grudges or risk his future with Gwen…as Fate hangs dangerously in the balance.

Link to Follow Tour:  http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/01/grave-vengeance-grave-3-by-lori-sjoberg.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23404029-grave-vengeance?from_search=true

Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/114553-grave

*~*

Author Info

Lori was a born a coal miner’s daughter. No wait, that’s not right.  Actually, she was born a carpenter’s daughter. Her mother was a housewife/homemaker/stay-at-home mom – whatever the politically correct term is these days.  Basically, she made sure Lori didn’t get into too much trouble, a task easier said than done.

Growing up the youngest of three girls, Lori never had control of the remote. (Not that she’s bitter about that. Really. Okay, maybe a little, but it’s not like she’s scarred for life or anything.) That meant a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy. Star Trek, Star Wars, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits – you name it, she watched it. It fed her imagination, and that came in handy when the hormones kicked in and she needed a creative excuse for being out past curfew.

After completing her first manuscript, she joined the Romance Writers of America and Central Florida Romance Writers. Now she exercises the analytical half of her brain at work, and the creative half writing paranormal romance. When she’s not doing either one of those, she’s usually spending time with her husband and children of the four-legged variety 

Author Links:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

*~*

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*~*

Excerpt 

People this side of town had a nasty habit of killing each other. Dmitri Stavitsky leaned against the wall of the Gas ’N Grub and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. Stores around here closed before dark, with their doors double-bolted and metal gates rolled over the windows. The ice machine to his left made a continuous thunk-thunk-thunk sound that drowned out some of the traffic noise from the county road less than a hundred yards away. To his right, a group of teenage boys played basketball in front of a house no bigger than a two-car garage. The court was dirt and the hoop had no net, but the kids didn’t seem to mind.

The area was a familiar work site for reapers. Things had always leaned toward the dangerous side in the Midway district, but turf wars had claimed twelve lives in the past two weeks and even the police were keeping their distance after dusk. And with so many people dying in the streets, Dmitri had no choice but to rotate reapers into the area so no face would become too familiar with the locals.

Dmitri stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away from the flashing blue lights. Without so much as a backward glance, he shuffled toward the main road. The police didn’t notice him and even if they did, they would assume he was just another vagrant passing through town. They’d never suspect his true nature, the predator lurking in plain sight. He reached the gas station about fifteen minutes later, the parking lot brightly lit and only one truck at the pumps.

Some sorry excuse for a human being had boosted his pride and joy. He’d left his classic Dodge Challenger coupe parked along the north side of the building by the pay phone, but now the spot sat empty.

Temper flaring, he kicked the nearby trash can. He’d put a lot of work into that fucking car. Last summer, he rebuilt the transmission and reupholstered the interior. It had taken him weeks to find the parts needed to fix the carburetor. Whoever stole it was in for a world of pain when he hunted them down. And he would. It was only a matter of time.

Dmitri retrieved his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through his list of contacts. All of the reapers in his unit were booked solid tonight, but a few were working in the general vicinity. Ruby had an eleven-fifteen down by Walt Disney World, but Adam wasn’t due to his appointment in Lake Mary for another ninety minutes.

Plenty of time to swing by and give him a lift.

He was waiting for Adam to pick up when a familiar rumble caught his attention. His head whipped toward the sound, his blood pressure spiking when he saw his own car swinging into the lot. The Challenger veered around the gas pumps and headed straight to where he stood. With the dark tint he couldn’t make out the driver right away, but as the car rolled closer, the person slowly came into view.

The driver’s side window rolled down, and an unwelcome blast from the past stared back at him. During their mortal lifetimes, she’d worked counterintelligence for the United States government. She’d updated her hairstyle since the last time they crossed paths, but other – wise she looked exactly the same. Same hazel eyes and angular face. Athletic build. Zero makeup. And judging by the condition of her fingernails, she still bit them regularly. Like most creatures of habit, Gwen Peterson abhorred change.

“That’s my car,” he bit out through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I know. I got bored waiting around for you, so I decided to take it out for a little spin.” After all these years, she still hadn’t lost an ounce of that grating New England accent. The honey-blond nightmare flashed him a grin, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

She drummed her fingers against the top of the steering wheel. “It’s a really sweet ride, Red. You must have put a lot of work into it. Hop in. We’re late.”

“For what?”

Her grin widened to a smile. “You’ll see.”

Riding for Redemption by Bonnie R. Paulson

by Sarah | Jan 6, 2015 | Book Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Authors, Writing

Desperate to find her place in the world, Sara Beth dreams of applying for the Miss Wrangler Montana competition that tours with the rodeo circuit.

Riding horses has become her anchor until a near fatal accident takes more from her than she’d ever willingly sacrifice.

Determined to prove his business training, Johnny seeks out the Rourke family to call in an old favor. When he embroils himself in Sara Beth’s life, he has to prove they’re nothing more than friends.
Seeking independence, both Sara Beth and Johnny lean on each other more and more, until love threatens their friendship. Will they seek out each other or be confused by their dreams?
Can either of them leave their past and embrace their future?

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Bonnie R. Paulson mixes her science and medical background with reality and possibilities to make even myths seem likely and give every romance the genetic strength to survive. Bonnie has discovered a dark and twisty turn in her writing that she hopes you enjoy as much as she has enjoyed uncovering it. Dirt biking with her family in the Northwest keeps her sane.

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Excerpt:

Rosie bent at the waist to place herself directly in Sara Beth’s view. “Sara Beth? We know you’re not doing well.” She shook off Michael’s warning hand on her arm. Her voice rose an octave – okay, maybe two. “You don’t do anything but sit here and abuse your chair. I know it’s been three weeks, but come on, you have to try. You have to do something.” She slammed her hands on either of the armrests of Sara Beth’s chair.
Disbelief warred with anger inside Sara Beth. Like Rosie had stolen her ability to breathe, Sara Beth panted louder and harder as she allowed Rosie’s words to enflame her always-present anger. “What would you like me to do, Rosie? Go for a ride? How about a run? I know! I’ll help you plant things in your garden.”
Crossing her arms, Rosie stood, thrusting her hip out. “I’m sick of fighting with you. Michael and I just wanted to know if you needed us to wait until you got better for the wedding or…” She glanced at Michael as if seeking help on the phrasing.
“Or if I don’t think I’m going to get better?” Sara Beth adjusted her gaze to watch the roving winds playing in the leaves along the maple trees at the edge of the property line. “I don’t care. If you wait until I’m better, you’ll never get hitched.”
One more thing they’d be able to blame on her. Sara Beth could only imagine what they talked about when she wasn’t within earshot – which was all the time. They had to bemoan the fact that they had an invalid living under their roof. And the ever-present nurse who didn’t say much, even when sitting behind Sara Beth for hours on end.
“Are you even doing the physical therapy? He comes out but I haven’t seen you doing anything, like trying to walk or… anything.” Rosie checked her watch, turning to glance toward the drive. “He’s supposed to be here any minute. Are you going to sit there and do nothing again?”
But Sara Beth ignored her.
She just shut down. Three weeks of Rosie’s constant nagging had worn Sara Beth down and she slipped into silence when she was done with her sister.
Choking on emotion, Rosie coughed. “Can you talk to me? I need to know what you’re thinking.” And like every time when the sisters fought, Rosie started to cry.
Sara Beth rolled her eyes – the only indication that she even acknowledged Rosie’s presence.