Thursday Threads with Author Cathy MacRae


THAB cover art jpgThe Highlander’s Accidental Bride (Book 1 in the Highlander’s Bride series)

by Cathy MacRae

Historical Romance set in the Highlands of Scotland, 1375

 Heat Scale: Sensual

Wed at the king’s command, they entered a marriage neither wanted. Realizing he married the wrong woman, can Laird Scott forge a lasting bond with his new bride and put a long-standing feud to rest?


“Ah, Eaden.” Ranald’s raised voice brought the earl to a halt.

He turned. “What?”

“There may be a problem with your, er, wife.

“I saw her with the servants.” Eaden scowled at the memory. “I’ll speak to her about her duties.”

“Och, ‘tis no’ the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“She’s no’ yer wife.”

“What do ye mean?” Eaden bit out the words. Damn the Barde wench! What kind of trouble had she stirred up in the two weeks he’d been gone?

Ranald squared his shoulders. “I mean, ye married her, but she isnae the woman we thought she was.”


“The day after ye left for Troon, yer bride came running from yer bedroom all in a panic.” He tossed Eaden a wry look. “I wasnae too surprised about that. She kept telling me she wasnae Miriam.”

“What are ye talking about?” Eaden ground out in a voice growing thin with impatience.

“She swears she isnae Miriam Barde, but Mary Marsh, Lady Miriam’s companion.”

Eaden’s face flushed hot with anger as he digested the news and considered the ramifications. “The woman is lying. She has fought me tooth and nail from the beginning. The treacherous wench is trying one last time to put an end to this marriage.” He glared at Ranald, daring him to disagree.

“Nay,” Ranald replied evenly. “You dinnae see or hear her that day. She was pale and trembling. I dinnae think she was lying.”

Eaden didn’t bother to answer. He spun on his heel and strode down the stairs and into the castle, looking for the woman who was turning his life upside down.


Soul Mate Publishing



Random Romance Musings – First Love by Linda Bennett Pennell


This week author Linda Bennett Pennell tells us about her first love . . .

First Love by Linda Bennett Pennell

We met in class as so often happens with first loves. I felt someone’s eyes on me and turned to see who it was. Wow! I was bowled over. He was so cute in that scruffy, cowboy sort of way that we now find so appealing, but at the time was generally frowned upon. I didn’t care that his jeans were torn and his shirt was faded. Or that he had a reputation. John was interested in me. That was all that mattered. We got to know each other over a meal, and then another. Pretty soon, we were an item. He wasn’t afraid to show his affection in public and didn’t seem to care that his friends thought our relationship was silly. He took their teasing with the amused indulgence the noble sometimes bestow on lesser beings. His family wasn’t so pleased. They considered me an uppity city girl.

My friends were at once thrilled and appalled. John was known to be something of a bad boy, but they all agreed he was the best looking guy they knew. Whenever one of my friends decried his lack of suitability, I quietly reminded her that no one else had a boyfriend. The girl would usually sigh meaningfully and nod. John and I became something of a minor celebrity couple among the female population.

I would like to be able to say that the relationship lasted for many years, but alas, it went the way of so many young romances. For a while we were deeply in “like” as we called it in those days, but with the passage of time, the pressures from friends and family became too great. We began to argue and drifted apart.

I occasionally think about John with a touch of nostalgia, but my older, wiser self knows it was not meant to be. We were seven and my mother, who taught John’s first grade brother in the classroom next door, was not amused!


BIO and Links to Buy . . .AlCaponeAtTheBlancheHotel_105

I have been in love with the past for as long as I can remember. Anything with a history, whether shabby or majestic, recent or ancient, instantly draws me in. I suppose it comes from being part of a large extended family that spanned several generations. Long summer afternoons on my grandmother’s porch or winter evenings gathered around her fireplace were filled with stories both entertaining and poignant. Of course being set in the South, those stories were also peopled by some very interesting characters, some of whom have found their way into my work.

As for my venture in writing, it has allowed me to reinvent myself. We humans are truly multifaceted creatures, but unfortunately we tend to sort and categorize each other into neat, easily understood packages that rarely reveal the whole person. Perhaps you, too, want to step out of the box in which you find yourself. I encourage you to look at the possibilities and imagine. Be filled with childlike wonder in your mental wanderings. Envision what might be, not simply what is. Let us never forget, all good fiction begins when someone says to herself or himself, “Let’s pretend.”

I reside in the Houston area with one sweet husband, one German Shorthaired Pointer who thinks she’s a little girl, and one striped yellow cat who knows she’s queen of the house.

Favorite quote regarding my professional passion:  “History is filled with the sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up.” Voltaire  



Twitter:  @LindaPennell

Buy link:

Thursday Threads with Author CD Hersh



The Promised One

By C.D. Hersh

Genre: Paranormal romance suspense

Heat Level: Sensual

When homicide detective Alexi Jordan is forced to use her shape shifting powers to catch a paranormal killer, she risks the two most important things in her life—her badge and the man she loves.


 The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”

With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.

“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.

Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.

He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.

The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.

A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard. Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.

Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?

Terrified, Shaw fled.

The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

Buy our book at Amazon:

Learn more about C.D. Hersh at:


Soul Mate Publishing:

Facebook site:



Random Musings: This week with Author Joanne Guidoccio and her Theme Song For Cancer

Author Joanne Guidoccio

Author Joanne Guidoccio


Searching for a bible reading was the farthest thing from my mind during that first month after receiving the diagnosis of inflammatory breast cancer. Between appointments and all sorts of tests—biopsy, bone density, ultrasounds—I had very little time to do much else. Once the chemo treatments started, I was barely able to focus on my dwindling list of daily tasks.

That period of time between the first and second treatments was the worst. I was spending my nights throwing up and, during the day, I was sweeping loose hair that had found its way onto every surface of my condo. I was getting ready to call Josef about my wig when I noticed the second email from high school chaplain Mike Hamp.

I hadn’t planned on ignoring that first email, but it had come at the most inopportune time. During those two weeks, I stopped answering all calls and emails. But I could no longer ignore Mike’s request, a legitimate one that honored me and my cancer journey. At the end-of-school-year mass, which was less than a week away, Mike wanted to share my favorite bible readings with the staff. I had no problems coming up with the second reading: the parable of the vine and branches. But the first reading was a challenge. Nothing from the Old Testament came to mind and I wasn’t in any mood to read the bible. While I welcomed and appreciated prayers from family and friends, I couldn’t articulate my own.

Hoping to distract myself, I ran several errands in the city. While driving, I heard one of my favorite oldie goldies: Turn! Turn! Turn! As I sang along, I recalled that the lyrics had been taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes.

I had found my first reading.

And strangely enough, I had also found a theme song for my cancer journey.

As I went through my own seasons—chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, recovery—I listened to The Byrds CD. I found solace in those familiar lyrics that Pete Seeger had originally written as a plea for world peace. In fact, the title and the last line: “A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late,” are the only additions that Seeger made to the Bible verses.

My favorite line—“A time to build up, a time to break down”—came in handy while I waited for chemotherapy and radiation, underwent blood transfusions and surgery, and then took six months to recover from the most challenging season of my life.


While I still enjoy listening to Turn! Turn! Turn! I’ve also started listening to other people’s theme songs for cancer. Some favorites include Survivor by Destiny’s Child, Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, and Daydream Believer by The Monkees. Martina McBride’s songs—This One’s for the Girls and I’m Gonna Love You Through It—also resonate with me.


In high school, I dabbled in poetry, but decided to wait until I had more life experiences before writing a novel. The original plan was to get a general arts degree and take a few years off to travel and write. Instead, I gave in to my practical Italian side and obtained degrees in mathematics and education.

While I experienced many satisfying moments during my teaching career, I never found the time and energy to write. In 2008, I took advantage of early retirement. Slowly, a writing practice emerged and my articles and book reviews started appearing in newspapers, magazines and online.

My debut novel, Between Land and Sea, a paranormal romance about a middle-aged mermaid, has just been released by Soul Mate Publishing.

I live and write in Guelph, Ontario.

Where to find Joanne…







YouTube (Trailer #1):

YouTube (Trailer #2):


 After giving up her tail for an international banker, Isabella of the Mediterranean kingdom is aged beyond recognition. The horrified banker abandons her on the fog-drenched shores of southwest England, leaving her to face a difficult human journey as a plain and practically destitute fifty-three-year-old woman.

With the help of a magic tablet and online mermaid support, Isabella evolves into the persona of Barbara Davies. Along the way, she encounters a cast of unforgettable characters, among them former mermaids, supportive and not-so-supportive women, deserving and undeserving men, and several New Agers.

Thursday Threads . . . Author Brenda Stinnett


The King's Vampire

This Thursday features The King’s Vampire, first in an Abyss series

Written by Brenda Stinnett

Historical Paranormal set in London, England, after the Restoration of Charles II.

Heat Scale : Sizzling

Darius Einhard, demon slayer, will stop at nothing to help Elizabeth Curran, immortal vampire, break the bonds of vampirism, even while helping her protect Charles Stuart II, who’s in danger of being entrapped into becoming an immortal vampire and leading his people into the abyss of hell by the psychic vampire demons. 


The ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, England, November, 1675

First to reach the top of the ladder, Elizabeth said, “I see a dim light outside the archways of the church. Follow me.”

They’d almost reached the entrance when a hooded figure came rapidly gliding toward them. In silence, the shadowy figure stepped in front of them, blocking the exit while tossing back its hood. Elizabeth recognized Julian, his horrible eyes blazing blood-red, and his mummified face transformed into a skull whose hinged jaws tantalizingly opened and closed, while his wings beat back and forth.

Fear-frozen, Elizabeth watched the skull increase in size, the jaws continuing to rise and fall. The creature grew until it filled the archway.

With a shout, Darius shoved his three companions away from him and toward the archway. “Run! John, take the women to safety.”

John grabbed both women by the arm and started running with them, dodging the skull and slipping beneath Julian’s enormous wings. Elizabeth pulled back and turned around in time to see the huge jaws closing over Darius. She screamed, but John yanked her back and dragged her and Amelia out of the church forcibly, before she could protest further. He gave a shrill whistle. Darius’s coach appeared in front of the ruins. John shoved the women into the coach, and shouted to the driver, “To the Boar’s Head Inn. Hurry up, my good man.”

In the coach, Elizabeth glared at him with such ferocity that he drew away from her in surprise. “How dare you, John!”

His eyes widened. “What’s wrong? Darius told me to get you and Amelia to safety, and that’s what I’ve done.”

His wife touched his shoulder and gave a shake of her head.

Elizabeth sat up on her knees, pressing her face to the back window of the carriage. Even with her superior vision, she saw neither Darius, nor the huge skull from her vantage point.

“We’ve abandoned him to those horrible demons. We should have stayed and fought.”

When she let out an enormous sob, Amelia gently pulled her back onto the seat. “John was doing what Darius asked him to do. Darius is a great warrior and he can take care of himself.”

Elizabeth hardly noticed Amelia stroking her arm in a comforting manner. She felt a pain in the pit of her stomach grow until it reached up and clutched her heart. How could she live with herself if anything happened to him?

Buy links



Web Page:


Thursday Threads


This week’s thread is by Becky Lower . . .



Genre: Contemporary Romance

Heat Level: Sensual

Three separate love stories intertwine around a central theme, as fractious sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronson, each in her forties, are in Puffin Bay, ME for their mother’s funeral. Each is ready to sink their claws into the fortune their mother left behind. But their mother has other plans. Her substantial fortune won’t be divided until the trio return to their childhood home and live together for a year. It’s a request that pits sister against sister but could unite them in a common goal to find the friendship they shared as children, to create a family jewelry business and to win over the men of Puffin Bay. They have a year to figure it all out.


Anne Bronson pressed her foot on the gas pedal, trying to ignore the little red light on the dashboard—the one highlighting the E on her gas gauge. She willed the rental moving truck to make it up the next hill, hunching over the steering wheel to help with the climb. No good gas-guzzling piece of crap. Anne directed the truck to the side of the road. There should have been plenty of fuel to get to the house.

If she hadn’t already maxed out her credit card, she would have gladly paid professionals to move her from New York to Maine. But here she was, driving her own belongings north, and out of gas. Her stomach knotted even tighter. She had an inheritance at stake. Eighteen minutes till midnight. Damn.

Hauling her purse behind her, she climbed out of the truck. She kicked a tire and let out a half-hearted scream at the damage her instinctive motion caused her black leather Manolo Blahniks. Tapping her fingernails against her teeth, she peered up and down the dark road. No headlights. No life. No sound.

She fished into her purse for her cell phone and stared at it. No signal, of course. With a deep sigh, she wrestled with her old suitcase with its wonky wheel and strapped her oversized purse across her body as she began to climb the rest of the way up the incline. Two miles to the house. She had eighteen minutes to get there. In six-inch heels.







Soul Mate: