It makes a lot of difference who is the sheriff in the town of Lariat. When Grubb was sheriff, Kurt Dodd and his men ran wild. Cattle rustling was a business to them, and they went about it in a business-like fashion. Save for the valor and alertness of Bob Lee and his Texas men, they'd have wiped out the whole Tomlinson outfit. When Bob Lee becomes sheriff, the war on the rustlers begins in earnest. Bob is elected to the tune of barking six-guns, and after his election the gunfire only increases, as Kurt Dodd's gang try to drop him dead. In the fights for his life and for the safety of cattlemen, the only man Bob wants at his back is Dick Markley. Dick chooses a job that offers better money than sheriff's deputy, improving his chances to win the hand of one Miss June Tomlinson, leaving Bob to fight off Dodd's men without his help. Bob is faced with some difficult decisions: between love and friendship, friendship and his job, his life and his personal... Views: 55
You met Kenna and Sloan in Indulging in Irelyn and Being Zolt. Now, read their story. I knew from the first moment I saw her, Kenna Campbell would be my undoing. I’ve done my best to stay away from her, but I fail at every turn. Now, she’s been taken from me, and I’ll stop at nothing to get her back. Irish born, Sloan Sullivan is a man with a past he can’t escape. Everything about him, from his identify to his profession, is a lie. Until he met Kenna, he didn’t think twice about his fraudulent life. Now, his past is threatening his future and preventing him from saving the woman he loves. I’ve loved Sloan from the moment I saw him. Though he pushes me away at every turn, I never leave. Kenna Campbell fell in love with Sloan Sullivan when she was sixteen. Throughout the years, she’s stayed true to him even when it hurt her to do so. In a heartbreaking turn of events, Kenna falls prey to Marcus Xavier's evil game. Though she’s physically survived the brutality she suffered at the hands of two men, her emotional and mental scars refuse to heal, and she wonders if she’s broken beyond repair. Is love enough to keep these two together, or will the monsters from both their pasts destroy them forever? Views: 55
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Tomb of the Mad Emperor "Oops," Annja Creed said as she felt something give beneath the cleated heel of her Red Wing walking shoe. The floor of the passageway was caked inches thick in dust. Annja couldn't see the trigger. She had sensed more than heard something like a twig snapping. Already in motion, Annja dived for the floor. She heard a grind, a rumble, a rusty creaking. Then with a hefty metallic sound something shot from the stone walls above her. Catching herself on her hands, Annja looked around by the light of her bulky hand lantern, which lay several feet ahead of her. She spotted three bronze spears spanning the two-yard-wide corridor a yard above the floor. They were meant to impale any unwary intruder. That included her. Annja shook her head. "Emperor Lu may or may not have been crazy," she muttered. "But he sure was paranoid." The echoes of her words chased each other down the slanting corridor, deep into the earth's dark recesses. Cautiously Annja wiggled forward. As her weight came off the hidden floor plate the spears began to retract into the walls. By the time she reached her lantern they had vanished. The stone plates that covered the ports through which the spears had thrust out swung back into place. Coughing on the dust she had stirred up doing her snake act, Annja sat up and shone her light on the walls. She could see no sign of where the spears had come from. The walls had been painted with some kind of murals, perhaps once quite colorful. They had faded to mere swirls and suggestions of faint color. They worked to camouflage the trap, though. She shook her head and picked herself up. "Got to move," she told herself softly as she dusted off the front of her tan shirt and khaki cargo pants. This would be her only shot. With the construction of a giant dam nearby, the floodwaters were rising. By tomorrow they would make the subterranean tunnels unsafe. With redoubled caution she made her way deeper into the lost emperor's tomb. The corridor walls were hewed from a yellow limestone. Tests showed it had been quarried in some hills several miles away. The passageway air was cool and dry. It smelled of stone and earth. Some indeterminate distance down, as Annja began to feel the weight, not just of years, but of millions of tons of earth pressing upon her, the corridor leveled. It had taken several bends and a couple of doglegs, and had plateaued briefly, as well. Annja wasn't sure whether the zigs and zags had some ritual significance, were meant to additionally befuddle an interloper or were simply to prevent a cart full of spoil from running all the way back down to the bottom during the digging of the corridor. She suspected it was all of the above. Far down the hallway, in which she could just stand upright, Annja saw that something was blocking the way. Could that be the door to Lu's actual tomb? she wondered. Her heart beat quickened. According to the ground-penetrating radar scans, it could be. The last Chinese team to come down here had intended to open the bronze door to the burial chamber proper. She had no idea whether they had or not. The Beijing University officials who had hired Annja suggested that they felt the last team had indeed made some major discoveries and had then departed by some currently unknown entrance to the great mound before vanishing. There was nothing intrinsically unlikely about that. Such huge structures often had multiple entrances. But she was being asked to play archaeology cop—to find out if the tomb had been plundered and, if possible, to trace the thieves. She was certainly willing enough. Like any real archaeologist she had an unremitting hatred of tomb robbers. "Of course that assumes a lot of ifs," Annja said aloud. Her voice, echoing down the chamber, reassured her. Something about the place bothered her. She flashed her light down the corridor. She thought she saw a hint of green from the obstruction. She knew that was consistent with bronze doors. The copper in the alloy turned green as it oxidized. Otherwise bronze wasn't prone to corrosion, as iron and steel were. I wonder if I should have looked more closely for bloodstains around those spear traps, she thought. The two expeditions that had returned had warned about various booby traps. But she wasn't here to do forensic work. Time pressed. So did the billions of tons of water that would soon be rushing to engulf the mound. As she moved forward toward the door she became aware of a strange smell. A bad smell, and all too familiar—the stench of death. It grew stronger as she approached the door.And then she fell right into another of Emperor Lu's little surprises. The floor tipped abruptly beneath her. The right side pivoted up. She dropped straight down. Without thought she formed her right hand into a fist. Obedient to her call, the hilt of the legendary blade of Joan of Arc filled her hand. Falling, she thrust the sword to her left and drove it eight inches into the pit's wall. It was enough. Grabbing the hilt with her left hand, as well, she clung desperately and looked down. The hint of scent had become a foul cloud that enveloped her. She choked and gagged. The floor trap was hinged longitudinally along the center. The pit was twenty feet long and sank at least twelve feet deep. Bronze spearheads jutted up from the floor like snaggled green teeth. Entangled and impaled among them, almost directly below her, lay a number of bodies. She couldn't tell exactly how many; they had become tangled together as they fell onto the spears. The glare of her lantern, which lay tilted fortuitously up and angled in a corner, turned them into something from a nightmare. One man hung alone to one side, bent backward. His mouth was wide open in a final scream at the spearhead that jutted two feet upward from his belly. The remnants of what looked like a stretcher of sorts, possibly improvised out of backpack-frames, lay beneath him. At the shadow-clotted base of the pit she could just make out the dome of a skull or the multiple arch of a rib cage protruding from ages of drifted dust. The missing Chinese archaeology team were not the first victims. She looked up. She had fallen only a couple of yards below the pit's lip. The sword had entered the wall blade-vertical. It flexed only slightly under her weight. She knew it could break—the English had done it, when they burned its former holder at the stake—but it didn't seem strained at the moment. Unwilling to test it any longer than she had to, she swung back and forth experimentally, gaining momentum. Then she launched her legs back and up and let go. Whatever kind of graceful landing she was hoping for didn't happen. Her legs and hips flopped up onto the floor. Her head and upper torso swung over empty space—and the waiting bronze spearheads. As her body started to topple forward she got her hands on the rim of the pit and halted herself. Her hair escaped from the clip holding it to hang about her face like a curtain. With something like revulsion she threw herself backward. She sprawled on her butt and elbows, scraping the latter. Then she just lay like that awhile and breathed deeply. The sword had vanished into the otherwhere. One thing her life had taught her since she had come, unwittingly and quite unwillingly, into possession of Joan of Arc's Sword was to bounce back from the most outlandish occurrences as if they were no more significant or unusual than spilling a cup of coffee. "That got the old heart rate going," she said. She slowly got to her feet. The trapdoor swung over and began to settle back to the appearance of a normal, innocuous stretch of floor. As it eclipsed the beam of her lost lamp, shining up from the pit like hellfire, she reached up to switch on her headlamp. Its reassuring yellow glow sprang out as the glare was cut off. It wasn't very powerful. The darkness seemed to flood around the narrow beam, with a palpable weight and presence. "It'll be enough," she muttered. "It has to be." Putting her back to the left-hand wall, she edged down the corridor. The dust, which had settled in the past few weeks, hiding the doomed expedition's footsteps, had been dumped into the pit, except for a certain quantity that still swirled in the air and rasped her lungs like sandpaper. The clean patch of floor, limned by the white light shining from below, made its end obvious. Cautiously she moved the rest of the way down the corridor toward the green door. No more traps tried to grab her. As she'd suspected, the door was verdigrised bronze. It had a stylized dragon embossed on it—the ancient symbol of imperial might. She hesitated. She saw no obvious knob or handle. Reaching into her pocket for a tissue to cover her hand, she pushed on the door. It swung inward creakily. She had to put her weight behind it before it opened fully. A great wash of cool air swept over her. Surprisingly, it lacked the staleness she would have expected from a tomb sealed for two and a half millennia. Bending low, she stepped inside. The tomb of Mad Emperor Lu was almost anticlimactic. It was a simple domed space, twenty yards in diameter, rising to ten at the apex, through which a hole about a yard wide opened through smooth-polished stone. Annja wondered if had been intended to allow the emperor's spirit to depart the burial chamber. Dust covered the floor, a good four inches deep, so that it swamped Annja's shoes. In the midst of the dust pond stood a catafalque, four feet high and wide, eight feet long. On it lay an effigy in what appeared to be moldering robes, long cobwebbed and gone the color of the dust that had mounded over it, half obscuring it. A second mound rose suggestively by the feet. Annja dug her digital camera from her pack. She snapped several photos. The built-in flash would have to do. Feeling time and the approaching floodwaters pressing down, Annja moved forward as cautiously as she could through the dust. Her archaeologist's reflex was to disturb things as little as possible. But that wasn't the reason for... Views: 55
People all over Flinkwater are losing their memories—and it's up to Ginger to figure out what's going on—in this sequel to the "quirky, dryly funny" (Booklist) The Flinkwater Factor from National Book Award–winning author Pete Hautman.Absentmindedness in Flinkwater, a town overflowing with eccentric scientists and engineers, is nothing new. Recently, however, the number of confused, forgetful citizens has been increasing, and no one seems to know why. Ginger Crump figures it's none of her business. She has her own problems. Like the strange cat that's been following her around—a cat that seems to be able to read. And the report for school due Monday. And the fact that every digital book in Flinkwater has been vandalized by a fanatical censor, forcing Ginger to the embarrassingly retro alternative of reading books printed on dead trees. But when Ginger's true love and future husband Billy Bates completely forgets who she is, things... Views: 55
"Within the first suspenseful pages, readers will find an engaging historical/science fiction tale that has intrigue, danger, and a little romance. . . . From an explosive escape out of captivity to a muchanticipated scene that decides the fate of World War I, the end of the book has plenty of action." - SCHOOL LUBRARY JOURNALJack Christie and his best friend, Angus, find themselves at the center of a momentous event that will shape history for decades to come. Their dilemma: Should they intervene? Their problem: Can they survive? Join Jack on a dangerous chase from the dockyards of England to the rain-sodden trenches of the First World War. Will he escape the evil authorities who believe in the mysterious VIGIL Imperative? Views: 55
Bestselling novelist David Bergen follows his Scotiabank Giller Prize—winning The Time in Between with a haunting novel about the clash of generations — and cultures.In 1973, outside of Kenora, Ontario, Raymond Seymour, an eighteen-year-old Ojibway boy, is taken by a local policeman to a remote island and left for dead. A year later, the Byrd family arrives in Kenora. They have come to stay at “the Retreat,” a commune run by the self-styled guru Doctor Amos. The Doctor is an enigmatic man who spouts bewildering truisms, and who bathes naked every morning in the pond at the edge of the Retreat while young Everett Byrd watches from the bushes. Lizzy, the eldest of the Byrd children, cares for her younger brothers Fish and William, and longs for what she cannot find at the Retreat. When Lizzy meets Raymond, everything changes, and Lizzy comes to understand the real difference between Raymond’s world and her own. A tragedy and a love story, the novel moves towards a conclusion that is both astonishing and heartbreaking.Set during the summer of the Ojibway occupation of Anicinabe Park in Kenora, The Retreat is a finely nuanced, deeply felt novel that tells the story of the complicated love between a white girl and a native boy, and of a family on the verge of splintering forever. It is also a story of the bond between two brothers who were separated in childhood, and whose lives and fates intertwine ten years later. A brilliant portrait of a time and a place, The Retreat confirms Bergen’s reputation as one of the country’s most gifted and compelling writers.From the Hardcover edition.Review“Bergen’s characters move and breathe, demonstrating the delicate balance between hope and despair, salvation and damnation.” — Toronto Star“David Bergen is a master of taut, spare prose that’s both erotic and hypnotic. . . .” — Miriam Toews“Bergen’s novels are marvels of spare prose and weighty emotion.” — Saturday Night“The writing of Winnipeg's David Bergen, who won a host of prizes including the Giller for his last novel, The Time in Between, sometimes gets compared to that of Cormac McCarthy; taut, psychological fiction that floats just above a kind of menacing nihilism. His new novel, The Retreat, keeps to the pattern.” — Winnipeg Free Press “Paired with chirping crickets and a porch-side perch, the finely wrought prose and bucolic setting make for a perfect early-fall-evening companion.” —Toronto Life “The Giller Prize–winner’s latest book is a gripping tale that leaves the reader heavy-hearted yet driven to turn the page.” — Canadian Living“Throughout the story, the spare writing lends an atmosphere of foreboding, even dread, that makes for compelling reading.” — Edmonton Journal.“The Retreat is a powerful and engrossing novel, further proof that the late-blooming Bergen is now one of Canada's very best writers.” — Montreal Gazette“…the novel speeds along in [Bergen’s] characteristically exquisite prose.” —* The Walrus“Bergen excels at creating dramatic scenes of survival. . . . A meaningful and significant work.” — Globe and Mail*“Bergen makes every word count.” — Ottawa CitizenFr... *About the AuthorDavid Bergen’s award-winning fiction includes The Case of Lena S., winner of the Carol Shields Winnipeg Book Award and a finalist for the Governor General’s Award, and The Time in Between, winner of the Scotiabank Giller Prize, the McNally Robinson Book of the Year Award, and the Margaret Laurence Award for Fiction. It was also named a Kiriyama Prize Notable Book and longlisted for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. A member of the 2007 Scotiabank Giller Prize jury, Bergen lives in Winnipeg. * Views: 55
Ebony's evening was off to a really bad start when she noticed her car tire was flat. Then as if by magic a tall handsome Marine comes to her rescue. Charismatic and so sexy he tempts Ebony to let her guards down and take a chance on an unexpected love affair. Views: 55
From rising South African thriller writer Deon Meyer, a gripping suspense novel about revenge, forgiveness, and the race to catch a trained killer. A young woman makes a terrible confession to a priest. An honorable man takes his own revenge for an unspeakable tragedy. An aging inspector tries to get himself sober while taking on the most difficult case of his career. From this beginning, Deon Meyer weaves a story of astonishing complexity and suspense, as Inspector Benny Griessel faces off against a dangerous vigilante who has everything on his side, including public sympathy. A gruesome abuse case has hit the newsstands, and one man has taken it upon himself to stand up for the children of Cape Town. When the accused is found stabbed through the heart by spear, it’s only the beginning of a string of bloody murders - and of a dangerous dilemma for detective Griessel. The detective is always just one step behind as someone slays the city’s killers. But the paths of Griessel and the avenger collide when a young prostitute lures them both into a dangerous plan - and the two find themselves with a heart-stopping problem that no system of justice could ever make right. Views: 55
In this stunning follow-up to his acclaimed debut, Thunderer, Felix Gilman's brave hero returns from one thrilling and dangerous quest only to confront another. In a magical landscape where time is meaningless, reality precarious, and countless selves work toward countless possible futures, one man must seek a city's truth--and rediscover his own.Imprisoned with a prophetic half human, half beast, the lost man learns his name: Arjun. Slowly the terrible memories emerge, and at last he remembers where--and when--he has been. . . . In the last days of the once great city of Ararat, Arjun is just another ghost lost in the shadows of the Mountain. To some, the Mountain is a myth, to others, a weapon. Above all, it is a dark palace leaving its seekers to wander the city below. For no matter how far one walks, the Mountain never draws closer, and time itself becomes another trap. Rescued by two sisters from the mindless... Views: 55
With profiles on hottest rock 'n' roll women spanning from the 1960s to current times, this book has everything there is to know about the most rockin' chicks in history—from Janis Joplin and Suzi Quatro to Courtney Love and PinkWith perceptive biographies and in-depth music critiques, this is an up-close and personal look at the experiences, adventures, and musical passions of these extraordinary and talented women whose wild vocals and on-stage antics have made them rock 'n' roll legends. Through personal heartaches, drug addictions, public humiliations, and private nightmares, these rock chicks have risen to take the music world by storm—often facing great personal adversity, pressure, and scrutiny that would have destroyed mere mortal's souls. From Madonna spending years living in squats in New York before going on to sell 250 million records, to Tina Turner surviving the brutal bashings of her husband and then going on stage to perform with broken ribs and... Views: 55
