Tuesday’s Teaser with Kathleen Neely

Tuesday’s Teaser with Kathleen Neely

I have Kathleen Neely here today sharing her new release In Search of True North and giving us a glimpse at her characters. Welcome, Kathleen!


I’m pleased to introduce you to Mallory Rose Carter. Actually, please skip the middle name Rose. Although her mother insisted on the full name, Mallory deplored it.

If I had to describe Mallory in three words, they would be bitter, passive-aggressive, and insecure. I know that sounds like a downer, but please don’t stop reading. It’s a starting place with room to grow. After all, who wants to be remembered for attributes from their teenage years?

As layers of bitterness begin to unfold, Mallory finds hope. When circumstances allow her to be a mother to the child she gave up in her teen years, Mallory discovers a fiercely protective maternal nature. It’s not easy for her to trust. Too many people have failed her. The question Mallory must answer is this—can Brady Donaldson be trusted? Will she allow him to pierce the self-protective armor that she’s worn for a dozen years?

Mallory begins to trade her bitterness for hope. She begins taking responsibility for the past after years of shifting blame. Then the unthinkable happens. Will she lose her son again? You will find the answer in the pages of my novel, In Search of True North.

Secondary characters add so much to a novel. You will meet Samuel, the child Mallory gave up twelve years ago; Brady Donaldson, Samuel’s paternal uncle; Savannah Joy, the sister who continually challenges Mallory; Elliott Moore, Samuel’s biological father and political pundit for a national cable network; Chloe, Mallory’s free-spirited friend; and Liam, whom some might call a beach bum.

I loved writing Liam’s part in Mallory’s story. His role is small but significant. Liam offers a contrast to the life that the Carter family embraced. While Mallory was raised to be goal-driven, Liam embraced living day to day. No competition. No ladder climbing. Just enough industry to support his surfing lifestyle. Samuel thought Liam was way cool!

This story has something for everyone. The overriding themes include overcoming a victim mentality, taking responsibility, and a mother’s love. Added to that, readers will find a sub-theme of astronomy. Mallory teaches Samuel to love the wonders of the heavens through the lens of her homemade telescope. While they take a peek at the stars and planets, here’s a sneak peek for readers.


Excerpt

Excerpt from Chapter 12

Jolene had taken a picture of Samuel on the first day of school each year since kindergarten. Mallory downloaded them from Facebook and kept them in her picture album. That tradition wouldn’t die with Jolene. Her sister probably had a high-end camera, but Mallory’s cell phone would have to do.

She snapped a picture of Samuel with his backpack and another as he entered the school bus. He paused to say something to the driver. Then with a brief wave of his hand, he disappeared from sight. Mallory scanned the seats for one more glimpse. The blinking lights of the school bus stopped as it started in motion, leaving a scent of diesel behind.

What would Elliott think of their son? Would his heart swell with love as Mallory’s did? Would he agree that she had made the right decision? A cold chill sent shivers down her arms. What if she had done as he’d asked? That thought was too horrific to entertain.

Samuel had been in school for a week, long enough for Mallory to realize she needed something to fill those hours. Why not research career options so she could plot out a schedule for her coursework before the spring semester? But today, she’d tackle the laundry. She went upstairs to gather Samuel’s clothes.

As she came down with a laundry basket perched on her hip, the doorbell sounded. The front door got very little use. She peeked out the window to see a man carrying a portfolio. A salesman? Soliciting was prohibited in this neighborhood. Mallory eased the door open a few inches. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, are you Mallory Rose Carter?”

“Yes, I am.” He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him.

“Legal guardian of Samuel Donaldson?”

“Yes.” This must be someone from Social Services. She opened the door wider. “How can I help you?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

He seemed perfectly safe, but Mallory hesitated inviting him in. She was ready to ask for ID when he motioned toward the porch chairs.

“This would be fine.”

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jeremy. Jeremy Edwards. I believe you know my wife, Lauren.”

All defenses went on high alert. Mallory fought the urge to run back inside and lock the door between them. She sat straight up in her chair. “Yes, I know Lauren.”

He slowly unzipped the portfolio and removed a burgundy file folder. Then he pulled out a digital recorder from its Velcro holder. “May I record?”

Mallory stood up. “No, you may not. What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Please have a seat. I’m working on a story and would like to give you an opportunity to confirm or refute the information that I’ve uncovered.” He turned a copy of Samuel’s birth certificate so she could see it.

A pounding drum beat in her ears. Her knees weakened and she eased herself into the chair.

He shuffled through the other pages. “It seems that the signature on this birth certificate has been forged.” He turned two copies of Jolene’s signature for her to see. A marriage certificate and a high school term paper.

Mallory gave him the same response she had given to Samuel. “She had just given birth. Of course, her signature would be sloppier.”

Wordlessly, he turned a photocopy of the information that she had given Lauren at lunch, the bed and breakfast, Airlie Gardens, and Bellamy Mansion. Jeremy held them side by side along with a copy of Mallory’s GED application.

“Where did you get these documents?”

“Journalists always have sources. Everything you say is on the record. This report is from a forensic handwriting expert.” He retrieved a document with columns of data. You can read over his findings, but this…” He pointed toward the closing paragraph. “…shows his summation. The confidence level is 99.04% that this was signed by the same person who signed your GED application.”

Rage built up inside of Mallory. With one quick movement, she swiped the folder from his hands.

His lips turned up in a smirk. “You can keep those. They’re your copies.”

“You’re making inferences that you know nothing about. Even if they had any merit, which they don’t, there’s no story here. No one would care enough for a newspaper to print it.”

He reached into his portfolio and retrieved another paper. As he turned it over, the faces of Samuel and Elliott sat side-by-side. “I think they’ll care.”

Mallory felt the blood rush from her head, certain that it left her pallor white. “The Charlotte Post would never print that.”

“Oh, you’re correct on that. I have a source in Washington that will print it.”

Washington? Not the Washington Post. Suddenly it came to her. “A scandal magazine.” She spit the words out through tight lips.

“Well, that’s not a very complimentary term. Let’s say, a magazine that prints what people love to read.”

Mallory stood. “This meeting’s over.”

“Can you confirm that you falsified the birth certificate of a son you had with Elliott Moore?”

She turned toward the door. “No comment.”

Mallory reached for the doorknob, but stopped short at his next words. “Thank you. I’ll see Elliott Moore tomorrow. We’ll see if he has a comment.”

She would plead and beg, if it would help. But a man who could do this would have no compassion. Her shaking hand barely managed to turn the doorknob. She opened it and stepped inside without looking back. Once the door closed, she locked the deadbolt, then leaned against the wall for support. Mallory took deep breaths trying to regain her composure.

Elliott. She had imagined the scene so many times. Imagined looking into his face and telling him they had a son. In her fairytale imagination, he’d pull her into his arms and thank her for not listening to him. He’d profess his love and they’d ride off into some happily-ever-after world.

She never imagined he’d find out from a low-life reporter looking to make a name and a few bucks by spreading gossip. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to tell him.

Mallory paced in circles trying to form a plan. She could call him, but this kind of news needed a face-to-face encounter. She couldn’t take Samuel, but where could she leave him? Certainly not with Savannah. Was it feasible to drive to Washington and back in a day? And how in the world would she arrange a meeting?

Twelve years ago, her dad pressed her to tell him the father’s name. Mallory had remained silent, determined not to tell anyone it was Elliott. Now her parents would find out. They’d never read that type of magazine, but if the story gained momentum, if it hit the news, Dad would know. All that secrecy twelve years ago and now it had the potential to become nationwide news. Would Alzheimer’s protect her mother from understanding?

Brady. Perhaps he would come and stay overnight. She couldn’t tell him why. But then, if it became news, he’d find out. Everyone would. Mallory lowered herself to the sofa in the family room and cried.

When she calmed her panic, Mallory took a moment to look at the documents. A professional letterhead had the company name of the handwriting expert. With great detail, the report analyzed size, spacing, slant, and pressure. Columns of letters were graphed to compare the letters that were connected and disconnected, wide and narrow loops, and pointed tops. It was irrefutable.

She lifted the photocopy of her scribbled information about Wilmington attractions. Lauren. Her best friend for years. Did she harbor that much bitterness over Mallory’s departure? Enough to ruin three lives? The lunch had been a set-up. An intentional ruse to get her handwriting. Mallory and Elliott may deserve that, but Samuel didn’t. He was the victim of Lauren’s revenge. She surely knew the havoc that she’d set in motion.

Her hands shook as she picked up the receiver of the landline. “Brady, it’s Mallory.”

“Hi, Mallory. Something wrong? You sound upset.”

Mallory attempted to laugh it off. “No, just trying to make some plans. Hey, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need someone to stay with Samuel, hopefully tonight. I have to make a short trip and don’t want to ask my parents.”

“Actually, I’m on the road right now headed in your direction. I have to meet with the project manager. I’ll be happy to stay there tonight.”

“Thanks, Brady. I can have Samuel go to the neighbor’s until you’re finished.”

“No need. My meeting’s tomorrow. I’m headed in today to check things out before the meeting. I had planned to call you later.”

“I’m leaving in about an hour. I’ll leave the door unlocked from the garage. Do you have the garage keycode?”

“Yep. I’m all set.”

Mallory sat down to write a note to Samuel explaining that she needed to see a friend about something important.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t wait until after school. I’m sure you won’t be too disappointed to find your Uncle Brady here.

She left the note with his name on it, written in her sloppy left-handed back slant. She hated her handwriting more each day.


Where to get your copy

You can purchase your copy of In Search of True North at:

https://www.amazon.com/Search-True-North

About Kathleen

Kathleen Neely is a retired elementary principal, and enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading.

She is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes, The Least of These, and In Search of True North. Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions.

Kathleen continues to speak to students about writing and publication processes. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers.

Where to find Kathleen online

Website – www.KathleenNeely.com

Facebook – www.facebook.com/kathy.neely.98

Twitter – https://twitter.com/NeelyKneely3628

Instagram – www.Instagram.com/KathleenNeelyAuthor

Tuesday’s Teaser with Donna Schlachter

Double Jeopardy

 

Today I have Donna Schlachter talking about her new book, Double Jeopardy Welcome, Donna.

How would you describe your main character(s)?

Becky is naïve about a lot of things, but she loves her daddy. Despite her mother’s warnings, she heads off to Colorado certain she’s going to find what she’s looking for.

Zeke lives, eats, and breathes cattle ranching. He won’t fail his parents, and he won’t lose his legacy. And nobody better get in his way. Not even that pretty girl from New York City.

What is the problem your character(s) face in your book?

Becky wants to keep her father’s dream alive, but she doesn’t have a clue how to go about doing that. She also vows to find her father’s killer, something else she’s ill-equipped for.

Zeke wants to save his ranch, but for that, he needs money. He’s not afraid of hard work, but falling for his friend’s daughter—well, that’s something else. And to make matters worse, she’d make a poor rancher’s wife.

What would you like your readers to know about your character(s)?

They are just like us, full of dreams and ideas about how life should be. And when the truth hits them square in the face, they don’t know where to turn. But God doesn’t let them wallow in their despair. He is ever present, leading them to a good outcome in Him.


Read a free chapter excerpt from Double Jeopardy.

Dead. Dead as her dreams and her hopes.

Dead as a doornail, as her mother would say.

Just thinking about the woman drove a steel rod through Becky Campbell’s slumping back.

Perched on a chair in the sheriff’s office, she drew a deep breath, lifted her shoulders, and raised her chin a notch. She would not be like the woman who birthed her. Pretty and pampered. A silly socialite finding nothing better to do with her days than tea with the mayor’s spinster daughter or bridge with the banker’s wife.

No, she’d much rather be like her father. Adventuresome. Charismatic. Always on the lookout for the next big thing.

Now her breath came in a shudder, and down went her shoulders again. She tied her fingers into knots before looking up at the grizzled lawman across the desk from her. “There’s no chance there’s been a mistake in identification, is there?”

He slid open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a pocket watch, a lapel pin, and a fountain pen, which he pushed across the desk to her. “He was pretty well-known around here. I’m really sorry, miss.”

Becky picked up the timepiece and flicked open the cover. Inside was a photograph of her family, taken about ten years earlier when she was a mere child of eight and Father stayed around long enough to sit still for the portrait. Her mother, petite and somber, and she, all ringlets and ribbons. She rubbed a finger across the engraving. To R. Love M. Always.

Yes, this was his.

And the lapel pin, a tiny silver basket designed to hold a sprig of baby’s breath or a miniature rosebud—a wedding gift from her mother twenty years before.

She looked up at the sheriff, tears blurring her vision. “And his ring?”

The lawman shook his head. “No ring. Not on his body or in his shack.”

“But he always wore it. Never took it off.”

He shrugged. “Maybe he lost it. Or sold it.”

“I doubt he’d do either. My mother gave it to him when I was born.”

She peered at him. Had he stolen her father’s ring?

Or maybe Sheriff Freemont was correct. Maybe something as important as her birth hadn’t meant much to her father. Maybe she didn’t either. Was that why he left?


Get your copy here:

https://shoplpc.com/double-jeopardy/

https://www.amazon.com/Double-Jeopardy-Donna-Schlachter/dp/1645260836

Tuesday’s Teaser with LoRee Peery

Hiding from Christmas

After her grandparents as forced to live apart through assisted living, and then die within nine days of each other, intrepid entrepreneur Calissa Ladd is devastated. She’s always wanted to experience the same lifelong love modeled by her grandparents, but her heart isn’t where it needs to be as she clings to the past for answers and then starts having vivid dreams of a long-ago time period.

Deferential banker Monte McQueen has loved Calissa since they were children, but he procrastinates making a commitment to her. He stands by as Calissa gets stuck in the past.

Calissa clings to the decrepit homestead that belonged to her family, searching and seeing visions into the past. Will she overcome her skewed beliefs and reclaim her relationship with the Lord as Monte pushes his love of Christmas on her? Or will she forfeit her happily-ever-after?


Read an excerpt from Chapter 3 of Hiding from Christmas

Chapter 3

The girls blew into Calissa’s apartment from the patio entrance, where they toed off their boots.

Hadley tossed a beige envelope on the table in front of Calissa. “Card for you, auntie. Stuck in the front door.”

She’d gone through the garage yesterday upon her return from the homestead, without a glance at the front entrance. Otherwise, she might have seen the envelope herself.

“Something about love, I’ll bet.” Brittany giggled and shrugged out of her hoodie.

Calissa slid off her thimble and accepted it. The paper was damp and cold to the touch. Flimsy. But she made out Monte’s handwriting. “I’ll set it next to the floor vent so it dries off. Then, I’ll open it.”

The girls looked at one another and burst out in song. “Monte and Calissa sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Kids in your generation still say that?” She waited for their giggles to die down. “I need a good three hours’ production from you two today so let’s get crackin’.”

Brittany tossed their coats on the sofa. “Something on the floor, Aunt Calissa. Looks like another card.”

“Oh, it must have slipped out of my purse. It’s also from Monte. Set it on the coffee table, please.”

“Two cards from your man?” Brittany fanned her face with the envelope. “Why don’t you set them out?”

“Because I’m working.”

Hadley took her seat at the long work table Calissa had set up in the dining area, and selected a variety of blue beads with matching thread. “I’m glad you’re getting cards. Hope they’re Christmas. Mom said you need the holiday spirit in your life.”

Calissa scowled. Was Monte pushing Christmas on her by giving cards? She jolted at Hadley’s loud voice.

“Brit, get your butt over here.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re not the boss of me, little sis.”

“Any boss we had wouldn’t treat us the way our aunt does. She gives us something new and sparkly every month to embellish our clothes.”

Calissa smiled at their banter and bent her head over her needle.

Three crystal beads secured.

The girls spoke at once.

“How come Monte sent you two cards?”

“Why aren’t you together now? Even if he is old, he always looks good.”

Out of the mouths of babes. “Girls. We’ve been through this. I can’t tell you why Monte has given me two cards, or why we aren’t engaged. We’ve been friends forever. We’re comfortable together. The romantic side of the guy appears infrequently. He’s a good man. Respected with an admirable job.”

“But you love each other,” Hadley whined. “You’re supposed to get all gooey-eyed and blush when you talk about him.”

They shared a laugh.

“You don’t have to remind us that adult relationships can be complicated.” Brittany grinned at Calissa. “I’ll bet that second card is dry now.”

To settle the subject, Calissa stuck her needle in the denim pocket and retrieved the envelope. She drew out another old-fashioned card. The cover showed a hunched youth laden with gaily-wrapped packages wishing the recipient a Christmas filled with joy. She held it toward the girls then flipped it open.

I want to shower you with Christmas wishes. Just say the word, and I’ll come over to decorate. Love, Monte

“I don’t need help to decorate.” She went to the open galley kitchen and took the cups off the mug tree. Paused. What was wrong with her that kept him from proposing? Should she come right out and ask him if they had a future together? Could the problem be on both their sides? Calissa grabbed a paper punch and strung a narrow ribbon through the hole in the card. She extracted the first one from the envelope Monte gave her at the homestead, and did the same. Now the metal branches of the mug tree were adorned with two cards…they looked lopsided and bare, but too bad. A glance at the girls made her giggle. She shrugged and sat. “I have work to do. Close your mouth, Hadley. A bug could fly in.”

Brittany sputtered and bowed her head over her emerging peacock in varied greens. Her cheeks puffed out. “You may not want to say, but I have to know. Tell us why you don’t like Christmas.”

Calissa poked her needle from the bottom up through the denim fabric before answering. “It’s not that I don’t care for it, exactly. I don’t see a reason to take time for all the hoopla.” And I hate to relive the devastating disappointment of my teen years over and over.

“Tell us about Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa and where Grandma grew up.” Brittany made her statement with her needle poised in the air.

Both girls loved hearing the stories about their grandparents. Hadley had mentioned more than once that Calissa’s stories made the pictures of various people in old family photo albums more real to them.

Calissa chose a black bead to accent the purple peacock. “Yes, my mom, your grandmother, was the youngest of a large family. Due to the wide span of ages between the siblings, the oldest was married and living in the house with his wife, when your grandmother came along. Your great-grandfather built the house and added on a couple times to accommodate everyone.”

“All of them in the same house.” Hadley tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I hope they each had their own room. I wouldn’t want to share a room with Brittany.”

“And I’d never share a room with you,” Brittany said with mock sarcasm. “Ewwww.”

“Well, Grandpa farmed, so I’ll bet the only time you’d be in your rooms would be to sleep. Everyone helped back then. Kids worked on the farm, just as adults did. There were hard years and snowed-in times, but there was always love. And enough to eat, because they grew their own food, including meat. They canned everything themselves, vegetables and fruits too.”

“Sounds like hard work all the time to me.” Hadley grimaced. “And that house is nothing special. Mom’s driven by there a couple times.”

“Mom says you love the place.” Brittany stood to reach a spool of turquoise thread.

“Yes.” Calissa exhaled. “Somehow the building and the land settle me. Knowing who lived there once breathes a sense of belonging to my soul. Our ancestors thrived between the crumbling walls of that place. They fused their lives together as they shared warmth from the fireplace and whispered dreams beneath piled-on quilts in the beds above the parlor.” Calissa’s fancy imaginings had taken her right out of her own apartment.

“It sounds like something I could write about in my journal.” Brittany grinned. “There’s always a teacher who wants to know if we discovered new adventures or did anything exciting over Christmas break.”

“Would you drive us out there, auntie?” Hadley raised her head. “Maybe we could get our Christmas essays done early.”

“I’d be glad to drive you out. The place isn’t pretty. Don’t make fun of me, though. I look through the knot holes of the aged wood and glassless windows and feel love. I don’t see the rot. I see roots.”

*

Those roots called to her, even in her dreams, a longing that wouldn’t let Calissa go. Today, she drove the boxes of filled orders to the post office, and then headed over the familiar country roads. Cold weather allowed only glimpses of green grass now. Naked tree branches beckoned her nearer the abandoned house.

Calissa bypassed the front room window. She approached the original entrance, and propped open the door with a rock. She scanned the rectangular room, noting doorways and faint remnants of torn, floral wallpaper. The stone fireplace against the far wall drew her closer, and she walked into the house farther than she’d ever dared.

No glowing embers came to life. No fire sparked burning logs to glow. The vision of Grandma and Grandpa didn’t repeat itself the same as on her last visit.

Carissa blinked. A chill ran up her spine. Not a dangerous, scary kind, but one of intense yearning. She glanced over her shoulder. And froze.

In the corner before a raggedy branched cedar tree decorated in gold balls and dripping icicle trim, her grandparents appeared. They laughed with open smiles. Grandma’s eyes were squinted shut, and her hands were on Grandpa’s shoulders. Even seated in the chair, he seemed tall.

Happy. Their happiness rang from the rafters.

The deep desire for lasting love and a sense of belonging created an ache within, strong enough to stun Calissa. She swiped a gloved hand over her eyes, positive time travel was an incorrect assumption. They obviously couldn’t see her. The cedar scent of the Christmas tree filled the December air. The great love between the handsome man and joyful woman washed through Calissa’s heart. Her senses were more alive than they’d ever been.

The fairy-tale scene faded.

Monte would never believe her. Why did she think of him? Deep down, she wanted to be happy with him the same way she remembered the love of her grandparents. Did he balk at commitment due to his parents?

Calissa pivoted. Her toe struck a loose hearth stone. She bent to fix it back in place but it wouldn’t resettle. Hefting it for a better angle, she eyed a rusty tin rather than finely ground mortar. Trembling with anticipation, she shook the box to loosen the dirt, and withdrew it.

The lid was rusted shut.

*

Back in her apartment, Calissa ignored the cards from Monte. She cleared a collection of glass bottles from an antique gate leg table near the patio door and spread newspapers. Over it, and then positioned the tin on the pages. Using a hammer and screwdriver to loosen rust along the edges, she pried off the lid.

Christmas came at her from all sides. She put away her tools, brushed the powdered rust debris and dirt into the trash, and lifted out a vintage card. More lay beneath. Though holiday themed, the whimsical pictures and clever words drew a smile. Predominantly red and green on tan or white backgrounds, a Santa on one card, and a pretty girl with golden curls adorned the other. The models smiled their greetings of love and joy and goodwill. Why had the cards been stored under a loose hearth stone at the homestead?

As much as she longed to explore them one by one, orders awaited. She headed for the work table, but Monte’s cards caught her eye. She reached for her phone to text a thank-you.

The phone rang.

“Hi, Monte. I’ll put you on speaker and pick up my needle.”

“That’s fine. I’m looking at the empty lobby. How are you this sunny December day?”

“I hope you aren’t upset about this, but I’ve been back to the homestead twice since our picnic.”

“You’re too smart to go inside, I hope. That house isn’t safe, Calissa.”

“I was careful. And as weird as this sounds, I’ve had some sort of visions or something unexplainable.” She relayed both to him.

Monte went silent. She wanted to see his face.

“I know that it’s a little girl’s dream to imagine them dying together.” She drew in a quivery breath. “True love is so hard to find these days.”

“Marriages don’t last. If they do, one tolerates the other. Love becomes a figment of the other’s imagination.”

She hated the bitterness that colored Monte’s tone. “I’m sorry you have such a jaded attitude toward marriage.”

“We’ve talked about it enough over the years.”

Calissa pictured Monte running his hand down his tie.

“I’ve seen my share of financial messes between divorced couples,” he ground out.

“I get that. Let’s talk about this later. We both have work to do. And I want to show you what I found at the house.” If she didn’t have a needle in her hand, she’d slap her forehead. “Thanks for calling. And thanks for the cards.”

“Will the girls be there to work tonight, or can I bring food so we can talk?”

“They have a church youth gathering tonight so supper sounds good. If you make that a Reuben sandwich, we can dig into my discovery together.”

“I hope you’re about done going out there. It isn’t healthy for you, or safe, at the homestead, especially after dark. And it certainly doesn’t do you any good to continually dwell on your grandparents as much as you do. High school was over ten years ago.”

“It’s not unhealthy to search for the meaning of love.”

“You’ll find it if you renew your relationship with God and change your attitude toward Christmas.”

He repeated that topic as much as she talked about Grandma and Grandpa.


About Loree

Christian romance author LoRee Peery writes to feel alive, as a way of contributing, and to pass forward the hope of rescue from sin. She writes of redeeming grace with a sense of place. LoRee clings to 1 John 5:4 and prays her family sees that faith. She has authored the Frivolities Series and other e-books. Her desire for readers, the same as for her characters, is to discover where they fit in this life journey to best work out the Lord’s life plan. She is who she is by the grace of God: Christian, country girl, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, friend, and author. She’s been a reader since before kindergarten. Connect with LoRee through these links:

www.loreepeery.com

Twitter

Facebook

Find her publications at Pelican Book Group And Amazon