This Canadian Thanksgiving, Go Undercover with The Last Timekeepers...

This particular Canadian Thanksgiving, I'm so grateful to find a new home for my young adult time travel adventure reads, and would love to share the premise of Book 2 with you on our bountiful and blessed holiday... 

Did you ever wonder what it was like to fight the Nazis on your home soil during World War Two? 

In the second installment of my YA time travel adventure series, The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret, my characters must join forces with the Dutch Resistance in order to figure out their Timekeeper mission while in Amsterdam during 1942. It was sure a different world through their adolescent eyes, and trying to keep one step ahead of the Nazis proved to be quite a dangerous challenge.

Only a true hero can shine the light in humanity’s darkest time.

When fourteen-year-old Jordan joins his second mission with the Last Timekeepers, he and his companions are thrust into Nazi-occupied Amsterdam during World War 2. 

Tasked with locating a powerful, ancient book before it falls into enemy hands, Jordan and his fellow Timekeepers are plunged into a fight far more dangerous than anything they’ve faced before. With help from the Dutch Resistance and a mysterious baron, they must stay one step ahead of a regime determined to silence the truth. 

As danger closes in, Jordan discovers that true courage is forged through trust, sacrifice, and the strength of those beside you. But will that be enough to change the past - and protect the future? 

A fast-paced adventure rich with historical detail, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS AND THE DARK SECRET is the second book in Sharon Ledwith's series of novels for middle grade and adult readers alike.

EXCERPT

“I wonder what else is down here.” Drake beamed his cell phone across the basement, hitting jars of jams, pickles, and relishes. His stomach growled.

Jordan pulled the cheese from his pocket and handed it to Drake. “Trade you for your phone.”

“Best. Trade. Ever.” Drake passed his phone to Jordan.

Jordan walked over and grabbed a jar of pickles off the dusty shelf. At least they wouldn’t arrive at the baron’s place hungry. He hoped his uncle had managed to stop Amanda’s bleeding. His hand tightened over the jar, the ridges of the lid cutting into his palm. A scrape from behind the shelves made Jordan jump.

“Hello?” he asked, pushing jars aside. He flashed the cell phone into the small, dark area.

“Who ya talking to, Jordan?” Drake asked with his mouth full of cheese.

“Shhh, Drake.” Jordan listened. Hearing nothing, he shrugged and turned back around.

“I thought I heard—” Jordan stopped and pointed the phone at Ravi. His jaw dropped. “A-Are you serious, Sharma?”

Drake spat out his cheese, snorting with laughter.

“Is there a problem?” Ravi asked, tying the bowtie of his tuxedo.

“You look like a penguin with attitude!” Drake slapped his knee.

“Say what you want, but I’m glad we didn’t hit the cleaners on the way to school now,” Ravi replied, pulling down his sleeves, “or else I wouldn’t have these dry clothes.”

Jordan chuckled. Suddenly, he heard a door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps squeaking down the stairs. Panicking, Jordan stuffed Drake’s phone in his track suit jacket’s pocket and waved Drake over by the shelves. Drake slipped behind Jordan just in time, before the small light bulb above the bottom of the stairs clicked on. Jordan swallowed hard. There, staring directly at Ravi was a portly man in a blood-stained apron. Tufts of blond hair sprouted from the sides of his balding head. His brown trousers were pulled up past his waist, making him resemble an evil garden gnome. In one of his hands, he held a huge butcher knife, its blade flecked with blood.

Wielding the knife, the man pointed at Ravi. “Who are you?”

Ravi licked his thick lips nervously. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK

The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventures…

Chosen by an Atlantean Magus to be Timekeepers—legendary time travelers sworn to keep history safe from the evil Belial—five classmates are sent into the past to restore balance, and bring order back into the world, one mission at a time.

Children are the key to our future. And now, they are the only hope for our past.

The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventure Series:

The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave, Book 3

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret, Book 2 Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, Book 1 Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

Legend of the Timekeepers, Prequel Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

A Recipe and a Read: Homemade Hummus and a Time Travel Romance Read by Author Stella May...

There is a lot of debate about the origin of hummus; whether it’s Greek, Egyptian, or Lebanese. It is thought to have originated in Lebanon and traveled all over the Middle Eastern regions. This unique food has been prepared for hundreds of years and is well-loved around the world.

So, what is hummus? Hummus is a bean dip made primarily by blending cooked chickpeas, tahini (a creamy sesame seed paste), garlic, lemon juice, extra virgin olive oil, and seasonings. Once you make it at home, I promise you will never return to store bought.

There are wonderful foods you can dip into hummus. They include broccoli, carrot and celery sticks, cauliflower, cukes, pita chips, pretzels, radishes, and any other crunchy veggie. Let your imagination soar.

Stella’s Easy Hummus

5-6 tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice

1½ tsp. sea salt

2 lg garlic cloves, finely minced or grated

⅔ cup Tahini 

6-8 tbsp. ice water

3 cups of cooked (pre-soaked overnight) chickpeas or 30 oz canned chickpeas

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

1 pinch black pepper

paprika and freshly chopped parsley for garnish

In a food processor – combine 5 tablespoons lemon juice, salt, and garlic. Pulse to combine then let it rest for a few minutes.

Add Tahini and blend until thick and smooth, scraping down the bowl as needed with a spatula.

Add ice water 1 tablespoon at a time with the blender running. Stop and scrape down the bowl as needed.

Drain the chickpeas then pour them into the food processor along with the olive oil and pepper. Blend until completely smooth, about 5 minutes. Scrape down the bowl a couple of times. Add more ice water to reach your desired consistency.

Season to taste with more salt and lemon juice if needed.

To Serve – transfer to a serving bowl, sprinkle the top with paprika and sprinkle parsley.

Enjoy!

A jaded CEO. A fiercely focused ballerina. A love that defies all society’s rules.

SoHo, 1962

JJ Morris, successful CEO, leads a secret double life, playing saxophone to his heart’s content in his hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Yet he can’t escape the feeling he’s slowly petrifying into just another jaded millionaire. 

Then a gorgeous blonde steps into his bar and shakes up his world. Certain this fierce little swan of a woman is exactly what’s missing in his life, he maps out a plan to wed her by Christmas. With or without his snobby mother’s approval.

Most women would be thrilled to learn that the tall, handsome bar musician is, in fact, a wealthy prince charming. Verochka Osipoff is less than impressed. She’s focused on becoming a prima ballerina, and everything hinges on her next audition. She can’t afford distractions, especially a rich playboy slumming it in SoHo.

Yet the heat of their attraction melts Verochka’s heart like warm chocolate. But JJ’s world is a cold, glittering nest of vipers. And their venom could destroy their love song before the first movement ends.

EXCERPT

The sound of a saxophone halted her steps. That deep, velvety voice grabbed her by her throat, and refused to let go. Holding her breath, mesmerized, Verochka stopped, then pivoted. Where did it come from? Straining her ears, she looked around, searching the almost empty street. Guided by her hearing, she glanced at the closed doors on her right. The Broome Street Bar. Inside, the sax murmured its enchanting tale, sad, and touching, and heartbreaking.

Mon Dieu! What must one feel to play like that?

Verochka closed her eyes and swayed to the music. Her arms by their own volition lifted and moved in a lazy, unhurried wave. She visualized the dance in her mind, something slow and sensual. Strange, but she never paid attention to jazz before. Then again, she was never partial to any music except classical.

To her there was nothing and no one compared to Tchaikovsky. But the soulful notes of that sax fascinated her as much as the famous opening theme from Swan Lake. When the sound trailed off, she felt almost bereft. She craved to hear more. Will the musician play again? Oh, she hopped so. She’d wait for it.

Outside? On the sidewalk at almost ten at night?

Unwise, not to mention quite dangerous. Granted, this spot in SoHo was not prone to crime. But still. A young woman alone was bound to attract some attention.  Verochka looked at the closed door of the bar, biting her lip.

To go inside, or continue on her way? The wisest thing to do, of course, was to turn around, and go home, to her tiny apartment. It was late. She must rest before her wake-up call at 5:30 AM. All morning classes of Madame Valeska started at precisely 6 AM, and God forbid if any of the dancers were late even by a minute. The wrath of her teacher definitely equaled to her worldwide fame as a former principal dancer of The Royal Ballet.

Tired after the long day of classes and rehearsals, then cleaning the premises, Verochka barely kept upright. She hated her after- hours janitorial obligations, but promise was a promise. And Verochka Osipoff never broke her word.

No matter how spent she was, each and every evening, after all the dancers went home, and the school was closed, she headed to the closet for a broom and a bucket. At first, she didn’t mind it at all. It was an arrangement made in heaven. An eighteen-year-old orphan from France, determined to reach her dream, Verochka arrived at the doors of the famous New York ballet school with nothing but fifty dollars to her name and a small satchel that belonged to her father.

After her initial shock faded, the formidable Madame Valeska, the owner of the school, ordered Verochka to change into her leotards, and dance.

Her final verdict delivered in a grumbling voice was like a heavenly music to Verochka’s ears.

“You have a potential, Miss Osipoff. I’ll take a chance on you, and let you stay for a probationary period of three months. After that, we’ll see.”

Verochka’s elation was huge, but temporary. The school was obscenely expensive. No way she was able to afford the tuition. There was a stipend, but applying for it took only God knew how long, with no guarantee that it will be granted in the end.

On top of it, she was a foreigner, all alone in the strange country, and barely able to speak English.

Madame Valeska, quickly assessing the situation— more accurately, feeling sorry for her— offered Verochka a deal: the education in exchange for cleaning services. A tiny room in the attic as a temporary place to live was added to that offer. To Verochka, it was like a Christmas gift she could never have dreamt about.

Overwhelmed, moved to tears, Verochka grabbed the opportunity with both hands. After a while, she got her stipend for the gifted and unprivileged students, thanks to Madame Valeska’s help, and was able to cover most of her tuition.

The convenience of living on the premises saved her the expense of a rent, and occasional participation in corps de ballet’s performances made everything else manageable. She didn’t need a lot of food, as her extremely strict diet fell mostly into yogurt and fruit category. As to clothes— she learned at her dancing parents knee the skill to mend tears and repair pointe shoes.

Two years later, Verochka was still living in the attic, and still mopped the floors, and cleaned the premises. But it didn’t matter. Her main goal to become a prima ballerina of The Royal Ballet took the precedence over everything else.

Ambitious? Maybe. But, as her father always said, you must dream big. Otherwise, what was the point? So, she dreamed big, and worked like a woman possessed in order to reach that dream. She was content, and happy, and along the way, fell in love with New York, her new home. Her only home. She learned English, and became quite fluent in it, even though her accent stubbornly refused to be erased.

Of course, she missed France, and Paris, and small street cafes, and long strolls along the Seine. Oh, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sprinkled with powdered sugar beignets! Sometimes, she could smell them in her dreams.

But most of all, she missed her parents. She was sure they were looking at her from heaven, smiling, proud of her accomplishments.

Her occasional nostalgia was usually sweet, and short, like a children’s lullaby.

But not tonight.

After finishing her duties, Verochka was ambushed by a sadness so huge, she almost doubled down with it. Suffocated in the large empty building that housed the ballet school, she was lonely, isolated, until she couldn’t bear another minute longer locked inside. Hence, her impromptu evening walk that brought her in the middle of SoHo, to the Broome Street Bar.

The plaintive sounds of sax reached her ears again.

Oh, yeas, please.

Listening to those seductive low rumbles, she wondered about the player.

Available at BOOKStoREAD, AMAZON, and GOOGLE PLAY BOOKS.

Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.

Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of 'Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors. 

When not writing, Stella enjoys classical music, reading, and long walks along the ocean with her husband. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband Leo of 25 years and their son George. They are her two best friends and are all partners in their family business. 

Follow Stella on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.  

Author in the Garden: Celebrate Fall with a Garden Full of Mums and a Cozy Mystery Read by Janis Lane...

It’s almost that time of year again. Nothing is more refreshing than a vivid blue sky accented by fiery leaves of the hard woods, yellows of the aspens and some maples, and various reds of the underbrush. Many shades of orange and yellow are accented by the dark greens of spruce and pines. Autumn is foliage showing off and we love it. It’s nature’s last hurrah before the settling of wintertime and rest.

The flower gardens are looking a bit seedy (they have cause as they are making next year’s seeds.) Have your Hibiscus, Rose of Sharon, Obedience Plant finished? Sunflowers are nodding their heavy heads with birds and rodents feasting on the bounty of oil rich seeds. For relief we turn to a plant we nicknamed, MUM, but it is so not mum as it speaks with rich fall colors on a plant that stays tidy and easily tucked into existing gardens. Chrysanthemum has been shortened to mum; the real name almost forgotten.

Are mums perennial? Do they survive the freezing temps and come back next year. The answer is . . . maybe. Indeed, the plant is cold hardy at least to agricultural zone 4/5. So why have so many gardeners been disappointed when the mums succumb to the cold? Might be from too much love? Actually, mums are fairly tough plants that need little attention to thrive. The problem is a shallow root system. Simply put, it cannot stay in the ground during frost heaves which come and go with a changing temperature.

Give it up. You aren’t about to run out every time a warm day and a frost freeze night happens. It’s probably many more nights than you suspect. Mulch is the best remedy. A good mulch will cut down on the possibility of the shallow rooted plant being thrust out of the ground and left high and dry to die.

 Two other remedies: Stick a pot or two of your favorite colors in a corner of the garage and give a sip of water occasionally. It might work; worth a try.

Next is treat the low-cost mum plant like an annual and don’t worry about it. Just buy new next year.

 I’ve done all of the above with various successes. I refuse to give up new and different colors, so I buy every year. I, also, cover my favorite yellows with solid mulch and try to remember to trim until the 4^th of July. (Otherwise, they grow leggy and unattractive.) I’ve been known to pot up an unusual color I want to try and save and tuck it into a corner of the garage. It works maybe half the time. I don’t get upset with failures, as I remember mums are not expensive and I can replace them as autumn approaches. It’s a lovely plant; indulge and enjoy.

Here's a look at one of my cozy mysteries to warm your heart: MURDER AT THE LOOKOUT, 4^TH in the Detective Kevin Fowler series. 

When is it not fun to be a blond? 

What happens when a blond beauty hits town like a tornado stirring up memories and causing turmoil? Detective Kevin Fowler and his wife, the former Beverly Hampton, owner of the local newspaper, are settling into blissful married life. Although Beverly is sanguine over the demand on Kevin’s time by the good people of Hubbard, she is more than dubious when his duties include the escort of a drop-dead gorgeous female from his past.

There is some concern over the persistent vandalism of residential mailboxes, but an infamous arsonist has decided peaceful but dull Hubbard would make a great place from which to operate. He brazenly locates down the block from the detective and his wife.

What bait and tackle shop in the village has a dual purpose? Kevin ponders why two goons have invaded town shooting at and attempting to kidnap and murder three women. A state patrolman, aptly nick named Rooster, teases Fowler at the riotous scene of a traffic accident where the press, not the police, wins the day.

Another mystery and adventure with a satisfying ending unfolds in peaceful Hubbard, New York, small-town Americana, where Detective Kevin Fowler keeps an ever-vigilant watch.

Amazon Buy Link

Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes cozy mysteries as Janis Lane, Regency as Emma, and spice as Sunny Lane. 

She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourage Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own. 

Look for information about writing and plants on Emma's new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma's face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out the things that make Emma smile on Pinterest.

Now that School's Back, Cookbook Author Sloane Taylor Serves Up a Pizzeria Perfect Recipe...

This easy recipe is perfect for busy weekends when all you want is a tasty meal and a cold beverage. I use sausage, but don’t let that stop you. Add on whatever toppings suit you right after the meat. The cooking time remains the same. The secret to making this pizza extra good is the grated Parmesan cheese. Our grandson, Dakota, works at an Italian restaurant and offered this suggestion. GREAT addition.

MENU

Quick & Easy Pizza

Salad with Creamy Garlic Dressing

Dry White Wine – Pinto Grigio or Cold Peroni Beer

 

Quick & Easy Pizza

1 lb. Italian sausage, preferably bulk type
1 tube refrigerated pizza dough
2 oz. tomato paste, freeze remainder to use in other recipes

Chicken stock, not broth

1 tbsp. garlic powder, not salt

1 tbsp. oregano1 tbsp. basil

1 tsp. sugar

Freshly ground pepper to taste

Parmesan cheese, grated

Olive oil to drizzle

1 ½ cups mozzarella cheese, shredded 

Preheat oven to 425°. 

Place sausage in cold frying pan set over medium heat. Break into small chunks as you sauté it until no longer pink, about 15 minutes. Adjust heat so as not to burn sausage. If you use link sausage then squeeze it from the casing before frying. 

Scoop tomato paste into a measuring cup. Stir in enough chicken stock to bring the blend to just under two-thirds cup. Mix in garlic, oregano, basil, sugar, and pepper until well blended. You may need a little more stock to make the mixture more sauce like. Don’t add too much or your crust will soggy. 

If you use a pizza pan then sprinkle just a little cornmeal or flour on. This helps absorb the moisture while baking to maintain a crisp crust. It isn’t necessary with a pizza stone. 

Spread out the dough on the pan/stone. Smear sauce on top and spread to the edges. Grate a healthy amount of Parmesan over the dough. 

Cascade sausage and your other toppings onto the pie. Drizzle with oil. Bake 12 minutes. 

Remove pan/stone from oven. Scatter mozzarella across the top. Turn off the oven then set the pizza inside. Allow pizza to remain until the cheese is melted, about 5 minutes. 

Cut into squares and enjoy!

May you enjoy all the days of your life filled with good friends, laughter, and seated around a well-laden table!

Sloane

Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning author with a second passion in her life. She is an avid cook and posts new recipes on her blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, meaning easy.

To learn more about Taylor go to her website Stay in touch on Blogger, Twitter, and LinkedIn.

Taylor's cookbooks, Hot Mean Wear Aprons, Date Night Dinners, Date Night Dinners Italian Style, Sizzling Summer, and Recipes to Create Holidays Extraordinaire are released by Toque & Dagger Publishing and available at all book vendors.

Guest Post: Dedicated to the One I Love by Epic Fantasy Author Carol Browne...

When you pick up a book, do you turn quickly to chapter one, or do you check out the dedication first? Perhaps, like me, you are intrigued to know who the book is dedicated to and why? If there is a name but no explanation for it, I always wonder what that person did to have their name immortalised in this way.

If you’re an author, your work might not necessarily be dedicated to the one you love. It could be to someone you respect, admire, or have reason to thank. Many dedications are humorous and playful and there are many examples of these online, but if you have put your passion and energy into a novel, which is a time-consuming and difficult undertaking, the dedication ought to be as weighty as the dedication you needed to write it.

In my first book, The Exile of Elindel, the dedication reads, ‘For Harry’, and readers might speculate that he is my husband, son, brother, or whatever. Actually, Harry was my dog for sixteen years and he saw me through one of the most challenging periods of my life. I don’t think The Exile of Elindel would exist had I not had Harry to give me a reason to get up every morning when everything was falling apart.

After Book 1, my ideas for a sequel solidified into a novel mainly because a close friend wanted to read it. So, Book 2, Gateway to Elvendom, was dedicated to that friend, Pat Longmuir. Even an audience of one is sufficient reason to write a book!

Books 1 and 2 called for a third book to tie up all the loose ends and bring everything to a satisfying conclusion. When it was written, I knew it should be dedicated to the memory of my niece, Bryony Cawley, who was tragically killed while only in her early 30s. She had left England while very young and lived a fearless, adventurous life in other lands, so we were apart, but I remembered a conversation we had two weeks before her death. It occurred to me at the time that she was wise beyond her years and when she died, I wondered if she had learned everything she needed to and gone on to something better. I didn’t know what to do to honour her life, but I wanted it to be recorded somewhere. Dedicating Wyrd’s End, the third book in my trilogy, to Bryony seemed to be a good way for me to pay tribute to the memory of this very special human being.

As writers we can always thank people in the acknowledgements at the end of the book, but to dedicate an entire book to someone is a unique tribute and a lasting memorial to a person who has had a significant impact on the author’s life. After all, when you have put something out into the world which will exist as long as literature does, it seems fitting to make your dedication a special gift to posterity.

Here is a brief intro to Book One of Carol's exciting trilogy.

Banished from Elvendom and forced to seek refuge among the Saxons, young Elgiva faces a grim future - until she crosses paths with Godwin, a Briton enslaved by the people she must now call allies.

When a dark power rises to claim dominion over Elvendom, Elgiva and Godwin set off on a dangerous quest for the legendary Lorestone: the only thing that can stop the looming darkness. With a reluctant elf boy as their guide and a stubborn pony by their side, they must navigate the treacherous land and harness ancient magic before it’s too late.

As battle lines are drawn, Elgiva must embrace her true heritage, and Godwin must learn to wield the secret power he possesses. But can they find the Lorestone in time - or will Elvendom fall forever?

An historical fantasy adventure set in 6th century Britain, THE EXILE OF ELINDEL is the first book in Carol Browne's The Elwardain Chronicles series.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK

Once upon a time a little girl wrote a poem about a flower. Impressed, her teacher pinned it to the wall and, in doing so, showed the child which path to follow.

Over the years poems and stories flowed from her pen like magic from a wizard’s wand.

She is much older now, a little wiser too, and she lives in rural Cambridgeshire, where there are many trees to hug.

But inside her still is that little girl who loved Nature and discovered the magic of words.

She hopes to live happily ever after.

Stay connected with Carol on her website and blog, Facebook, and Twitter. 

Author in the Kitchen: A Zucchini Spaghetti Carbonara Recipe and a Sweet Romance Snippet by Catherine Castle...

Traditional carbonara sauce has an egg and cheese sauce added to the spaghetti just before serving. I don’t care for eggs added to things at the last minute, so I eliminated the eggs and sauce and came up with my own version of carbonara. I hope you’ll like it as much as we do.

Zucchini Spaghetti Carbonara ala Catherine

6 slices thick bacon

4 oz. whole wheat spaghetti

2.5 oz. can sliced black olives, drained

1 cup diced or chunked ham

1 med. zucchini, cut lengthwise and sliced thin

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese 

Divide bacon into 4 and 2 slices. Prepare 4 slices for microwaving by placing between 2 paper towels on a microwave safe plate. Microwave for 3 minutes until crisp. Remove from paper while still warm and crumble. 

Dice remaining 2 slices and place in a large skillet, cooking until crisp. 

While bacon is cooking, boil water for spaghetti and cook as directed on package until pasta is firm. Drain fully when cooked. 

While pasta is cooking, sauté ham and zucchini with diced bacon until zucchini is tender. 

Drain any excess liquid from the pan. 

Add olives and cooked drained spaghetti to zucchini and bacon, tossing to mix. 

Remove from heat and add parmesan cheese, tossing quickly to keep cheese from clumping. 

Top with crumbled bacon and serve. 

Makes 2 generous main dish servings or 4 side dishes. 

Note: additional cheese may be sprinkled on top of pasta after serving, if desired. 

This dish makes up quick, so you won’t have time to read a book while it’s cooking, but after the dishes are done, check out Catherine’s sweet romantic comedy with a touch of drama, A Groom For Mama. Here's a snippet... 

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend. 

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness. 

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama. 

Second Edition Coming Soon

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

Five Classmates. Two Time Portals. What Could Possibly Go Wrong…

The month of September marks new beginnings. For some it’s their very first day of school. For others, it’s moving up a grade or even on to high school, college or university. For many, it’s back to work, a return to routines, and moving forward in the new season. However, autumn also marks the harvest season for hard-working farmers who reap what they have sown throughout the late spring and summer. I’m harvesting my own kind of crop by bundling Books 1-3 of the Last Timekeepers series so readers can escape to the past, and have a blast anytime of the year. Your reading adventure awaits…

Blurbs:

Books 1-3 in the Last Timekeepers series now available in one volume. Escape to the past and have a blast!

The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis: After 13-year-old Amanda Sault and her classmates uncover a mysterious stone arch, they learn that it's an ancient portal created by the lost civilization of Atlantis. Chosen by an Atlantean Magus, Amanda and her companions are swept into the secret world of the Timekeepers: legendary guardians entrusted with preserving history from a sinister force known as Belial.

The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret: In Nazi-occupied Amsterdam during World War 2, the Last Timekeepers are tasked with locating an ancient book before it falls into enemy hands. With help from the Dutch Resistance and a mysterious baron, they must stay one step ahead of a regime determined to silence the truth.

The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave: On his third Timekeeper mission, eleven-year-old Drake Bailey must confront a dark chapter of history: the antebellum South. In a time of fear and cruelty, Drake must outwit his captors, protect a vital bloodline, and find the courage to break the chains that threaten to destroy him. Do the Timekeepers have what it takes to complete their mission and protect the timeline?

Excerpt from The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis:

They were almost inside the glowing archway. Its light felt warm and welcoming, like the rising summer sun. Treena stuck her thumbs in the straps of her khaki backpack as if it doubled as a magic parachute. Amanda mimicked Treena and grasped the straps on Jordan’s backpack that she was still wearing. Ravi was the only other person wearing one, so all the rest had nothing to break their fall if that light suddenly cut them loose.

The brilliant, fathomless glow swallowed Amanda, blinding her. Calm and silence overrode her senses. In that moment, two things happened—Amanda sensed that there was no separation between her and the others—as if they were all connected by these tiny threads of light. Second, she started to feel as though she were free falling, moving fast and out of control. She regained her vision, just as the white light exploded into a whirling rainbow.

Drake laughed. “Wicked! This feels like a ride at Disneyland!”

“It feels better than that!” Jordan replied. “I’ve been to Disneyland twice, and there’s no ride that even comes close to this!”

“It’s as if we can fly!” Treena shouted, doing a somersault in mid-air.

“It does feel wonderful, doesn’t it?” Melody said dreamily.

Amanda grabbed both ankles and flipped herself over. She giggled. This freedom, this feeling, this flux was awesome. The huge, spiraling rainbow surrounding the group of seven gently juggled them in mid-air like floating balls in a never-ending lottery game. She glanced over at Jordan’s uncle. His cheeks were sucked in, and his body flopped one way then another like a fish out of water.

“Is your uncle okay, Jordan?” she asked.

Jordan maneuvered over to his uncle by spreading his arms and legs wide as if he were a free-falling parachutist. He grasped his uncle’s shoulder and shook him. “Uncle John? Uncle John! Don’t make me slap you again!”

He reached over, grabbed Jordan, and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s all true, Jordan! It’s all true!”

Jordan squirmed. “What’s true?”

“Time flows through us,” he answered, his voice cracking as if he were a young boy again.

The whirling rainbow burst into shards of light, and they all touched bottom.

It felt soft—like a cushy trampoline—as Amanda, her classmates, Melody, and Professor Lucas bounced easily until they all stood still. Then the ground became solid again. Polished marble walls and finely crafted pillars materialized through the fading light. A sudden high-pitched buzzing noise made her wince. Everyone seemed to hear it too; they cringed in unison. The sound of waves crashing against a shore replaced the buzzing, and a set of deep purple curtains miraculously appeared in front of them. Amanda rubbed her eyes. In the time it took her to take a breath, the curtains were drawn. The brilliant white light that had pulled them into the stone arch now hovered between the open curtains. It started to radiate out, then draw in, out, then in, changing its shape with each rhythmic movement, until it finally transformed into a woman.

The woman was beautiful in an otherworldly way. She had long, fair, flowing hair adorned with quartz crystals. Piercing blue eyes stared back at Amanda like she was peering into her soul. She had a long narrow face with high cheek bones that tapered down to a firm chin. Her nose was long and slender. Amanda smiled at her. The woman smiled back. Her teeth were white, small, and even. She was perfect in every way. A rich-blue sleeveless linen robe adorned her slim body, accentuating her ivory skin.

I wonder if she’s a princess. Amanda didn’t doubt it, especially with all the jewelry the woman wore. A sparkling metallic snake bracelet wound around her left arm, a string of gleaming pearls and shells hung around her neck, and a silver belt strewn with various green, blue, and red gems hugged her waist. The only piece of clothing that didn’t seem to belong was a plain pair of woven sandals.

Melody pushed Drake behind her and took a few steps forward. “I demand that you tell us where we are!”

The beautiful woman gave Melody a gentle smile, and nodded. She opened her arms wide and said, “Welcome to the Temple of Poseidon, in the City of the Golden Gates.”

Melody jerked. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“Atlantis,” Professor Lucas answered in a whisper. “We’re in Atlantis.”

Excerpt from The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret:

“I wonder what else is down here.” Drake beamed his cell phone across the basement, hitting jars of jams, pickles, and relishes. His stomach growled.

Jordan pulled the cheese from his pocket and handed it to Drake. “Trade you for your phone.”

“Best. Trade. Ever.” Drake passed his phone to Jordan.

Jordan walked over and grabbed a jar of pickles off the dusty shelf. At least they wouldn’t arrive at the baron’s place hungry. He hoped his uncle had managed to stop Amanda’s bleeding. His hand tightened over the jar, the ridges of the lid cutting into his palm. A scrape from behind the shelves made Jordan jump.

“Hello?” he asked, pushing jars aside. He flashed the cell phone into the small, dark area.

“Who ya talking to, Jordan?” Drake asked with his mouth full of cheese.

“Shhh, Drake.” Jordan listened. Hearing nothing, he shrugged and turned back around.

“I thought I heard—” Jordan stopped and pointed the phone at Ravi. His jaw dropped. “A-Are you serious, Sharma?”

Drake spat out his cheese, snorting with laughter.

“Is there a problem?” Ravi asked, tying the bowtie of his tuxedo.

“You look like a penguin with attitude!” Drake slapped his knee.

“Say what you want, but I’m glad we didn’t hit the cleaners on the way to school now,” Ravi replied, pulling down his sleeves, “or else I wouldn’t have these dry clothes.”

Jordan chuckled. Suddenly, he heard a door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps squeaking down the stairs. Panicking, Jordan stuffed Drake’s phone in his track suit jacket’s pocket and waved Drake over by the shelves. Drake slipped behind Jordan just in time, before the small light bulb above the bottom of the stairs clicked on. Jordan swallowed hard. There, staring directly at Ravi was a portly man in a blood-stained apron. Tufts of blond hair sprouted from the sides of his balding head. His brown trousers were pulled up past his waist, making him resemble an evil garden gnome. In one of his hands, he held a huge butcher knife, its blade flecked with blood.

Wielding the knife, the man pointed at Ravi. “Who are you?”

Ravi licked his thick lips nervously. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”

Excerpt from The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave:

Drake glanced at Elvis standing by the back of the wagon, and their eyes locked. He didn’t appear to be dressed like the slaves Drake remembered in movies or had seen in textbooks. Wearing a dark frock coat over a white linen shirt, and a pair of tan trousers, Elvis seemed dressed more for city living instead of country life. He smiled at Drake and tipped his charcoal derby at him again. “Is…is Elvis your slave?” Drake asked.

“He’ll be free once I pass on.” The sides of Dixie’s hazel eyes crinkled. “But Elvis sometimes thinks he’s the one who wears the pants on account he takes care of me. Taught him how to read and write as best I could, but as you see, people don’t know what to make of him. His skin’s lighter than some white folks I know.”

“So Elvis is an albino.” Drake rubbed his chin. “I thought so. His skin would be the same color as mine if it wasn’t for the lack of a particular enzyme in his body.”

“Not sure what the devil you said, but sounds like you’re one smart boy. If I was you, I wouldn’t show off your schooling to the people ’round here. Folks don’t take too kindly to educated blacks, free or not.” 

“Don’t worry, Dixie, he’ll keep his mouth shut.” Jordan nudged Drake. “Right?”

“When hell freezes over,” Drake whispered to Jordan. He looked up at Dixie and grinned. “Right.”

“Let’s go, children, into the wagon.” Melody gave them the come along sign. “We don’t want to take up any more of Dixie’s valuable time.”

Dixie guffawed. “Pay no mind to the time, Melody. My pappy taught me that you get what you need in life, and I got plenty of time to help others get to where they need to be.”

The sound of Treena grunting into the back of the wagon made Amanda giggle. Drake caught Treena scowling at Amanda while Jordan helped her in. Ravi followed Jordan, careful not to brush his sherwani against the rough wooden sides. The wagon creaked against the added weight, but it seemed sturdy enough to transport them on the rugged dirt road. The Prof assisted Melody into the wagon, and she found a place next to Treena near the front. Jordan and Amanda sat next to each other near the back gate, while Ravi brushed away the dust from one of the sacks of grain before he planted his butt on it. Drake had never known Ravi to be this anal about anything, especially clothes.

“Come on, Drake,” The Prof held out his hand, “last but not least.”

Drake started toward the wagon and stopped, feeling a twinge in his bladder. Looking both ways, he spied a copse of tall shrubs leafy enough to allow him some privacy. “Um, give me a sec, Prof. Nature calls.”

“Hold on, I’ll come with you.”

“No thanks. I think I can handle this task.” 

Drake darted toward the shrubs before Professor Lucas or Melody could protest. Finding the most appropriate spot, he unzipped his pants and proceeded with his business. As soon as he was done, he zipped up his pants the same time a calloused hand roughly covered his mouth. Drake’s neck muscles corded while he was dragged deeper into the forest with what felt like a gun shoved between his shoulder blades.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK:  https://books2read.com/u/b5ExvR