Posts Tagged ‘romance’

Historical Romance
Date Published: October 3, 2017
Publisher: Belle Reve Press
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Dennis and Greer is a nonfiction love story in letters and journals between 2 college students during the Vietnam era. (This is nonfiction that reads like fiction)
A true story that encapsulates the horrors of war and the innocence of young love.
Buried in a trunk for fifty years, this long-forgotten tale, told through letters and journals from the war-torn Vietnam era, has been resurrected.
College students, Dennis and Greer, met and felt a spark just before moving to different states. Their witty correspondence through letters conjured a desire to meet again, but Dennis tried to keep his distance; duty is more important than love.
As the two embarked on their journey into adulthood and navigated their relationship against the backdrop of war, they were writing a love story that will span the test of time.

Dear Greer (poetic, huh?)

This letter is written upon wrinkled paper, which (as you are an English major), you will realize is symbolic of suffering and hardship. From having gotten to know me you will recall that I am never a whiner so I will let the paper rather than the ink bear what ill tidings are to be borne. You may well ask why I have devoted the introduction of this epistle to such trivia. As in conversation, I find it necessary to fill the air with something while I think of something worthwhile to say. While you write “redundant” over the second “something” in typical gung-ho English major fashion, I will try to find something worthy enough in content and syntax to place before your well-read, though brown, eyes.

Not having succeeded in that undertaking, I will, being forced, continue amid trivialities and redundancies. How are you? I am fine. (The latter is a comment rather than an answer.) My present residence is in Carlin, Nevada (as a glance at the envelope, also wrinkled, will verify—redundancies are tricky) and I receive my mail at P.O. Box 835. May I say that I had a very pointed reason for mentioning the fact?

Out of fear that you will say within someone’s hearing that this letter is much bubble bath, as indeed its first two paragraphs are, I will turn to serious considerations. I long to have the outpourings of your keen mind and kind heart splashed upon my untidy mind (see above) like cool water in the sweating face of a Nevada summer laborer. In other, less revealing words, my first order of business is to insist that you write me a letter. I will even, in consideration of your talent, pay you by the word in typical professional fashion.

I dedicated this summer to ridding myself of fecund thoughts and to the corralling of vagrant impulses, to secluded study and spiritual growth. I’ve had my preliminary interview and I will be leaving on my mission in September. I have departed into the desert to prepare for my calling, to live with the wild beasts and eat locusts and honey. Please realize that your letters will be a tremendous help to me. I think of you often.


Memory, hither come,

And tune your merry notes;

And, while upon the wind

Your music floats,

I’ll pour upon the stream

Where sighing lovers dream,

And fish for fancies as they pass

Within the watery glass.

-William Blake


Sincerely yours,


About the Author

ASU graduate, Molly Gould, lived in the wilderness for 28 days when she was 16 years old (she’s your go-to-girl in the zombie apocalypse). She now confines herself indoors with the AC full-blast in her sunny sate of AZ. Occasionally, she’ll brave the scorching heat with her husband and four children.
When Molly inherited a treasure of vintage journals and letters, she was swept away by the love story contained within those writings. She couldn’t keep Dennis and Greer to herself, so she began transcribing and Dennis and Greer was born.

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Action and Adventure / Romance
Date Published: 9/3/2015
Publisher: Grave Distractions Publication
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What happens when a Voodoo woman named Labriox Papillon spills her secrets to a young boy who is trying to capture treasure and his childhood crush? Adventure, South Louisiana legends, and love!
In Waterproof, Spencer LeJeune, a nerdy kid that grew up to a young attractive man, puts it all on the line to find the Spanish Treasure Barge and win over Toni Benoit’s heart. What starts off to be a reunited friendship turns into a suspenseful hunt for treasure and to outwit a fifth generation pirate from Spain.
Will Spencer win the heart of Toni and find the treasure before it costs him the lives of others and millions in silver and other treasures? Can Toni tame the treasure loving man and keep his focus?

About the Author

Lee DuCote has traveled the world researching cultures, people, and historical accounts to help create his stories. A native to Louisiana, he writes to give hope and encouragement to others, as well as to entertain and spark the imagination. Lee lives in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas with his wife and family and is the author of seven novels including Camp 80 that earned him an international book award. 

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Chapter 8

Remnants of the crawfish boil from the night before littered the dock as Spencer pulled his equipment to his boat. Most of the shrimp boats had already left the docks to get an early run before the heat set in.

Spencer had been thinking about seeing Toni at the park and was questioning whether he wanted to stop by the clinic. He walked back to his truck to gather his side-scan sonar and laptop that was neatly tucked away in a waterproof case.

Lugging the equipment back, Dusty stopped washing his boat and called out to Spencer. He’d been cleaning the grease that had accumulated on the floor from his repairs. “That’s some sophisticated equipment for checking oyster beds?” His cigar was hanging out of his mouth.

Spencer smiled. “Hard to believe that you haven’t blown yourself up with that stogy around all these fumes,” he replied.

            Dusty just laughed. “Where you heading today?”

“I’m running over to Hackberry Bay.”

“Hackberry, in area 13? Is that going to be open this year?”

“I don’t know—I just do the reports,” Spencer smiled.

Dusty had good reason to ask; the area had been closed to oyster fishing due to the oil spill in 2010. As the third generation of his family to fish the Barataria area, he had survived many storms including Katrina, and nothing was pushing him out.

             “What’s the dive gear for?” he asked Spencer with a curious look.

“Oyster bed research and recreation, but mostly for oyster beds.”

Dusty shook his head in acknowledgment. “You going to the clinic to see that girl today?” he asked.

It threw Spencer that Dusty would know she asked him to stop by. He shrugged. “I’ve got a long day today.”

“So?” Dusty asked.

“Why would you think I would be interested in her?” Spencer asked, wondering if he was overstepping polite conversation.

“Shoot! As a little boy you chased that girl all over the docks and streets.”

Smiling, Spencer replied, “Well, that was a long time ago.”

“Huh!” Dusty grunted out a sly smile. “You mentioned her four or five times at the crawfish boil last night. But it’s none of my business. Be safe out there.” He turned to walk back to his boat. Spencer did the same.

            Did I mention her too much last night? I did have a few more beers than normal. I hope I didn’t say too much. Standing there holding his duffel bag, he wondered, Did I mention the treasure?

            As Spencer fired up his boat, he thought about how many times he and his dad had left the very same dock, and that thought stirred his childhood memories of returning in the evening. Dusk was Spencer’s favorite time, when the water would glow with the lights from other boats and oil derricks scattered throughout the basin. He spun his hat around and throttled down toward a northern bay called Adams, the four Yamaha 350s barely sounding strained as he jetted across the choppy water.

            Spencer slowed his speed just as he entered Adams Bay and let the boat drift to a stop. With the sun beaming down, he took off his hat long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head.

To look at him now, you’d never know he used to be a scrawny kid. With a new city and a determination to never be picked on again, Spencer discovered a love of fitness in his late teens. He was well toned and had earned a defined six-pack while swimming and working out. He had even taken up surfing while on the East Coast and spent many days on the beach, drawing attention from quite a few girls. Still an awkward kid at heart, he ignored them for the most part.

            In the heat of the afternoon, he made several passes along the shore, dragging the towfish and concentrating on the computer screen as the sonar took three-dimensional pictures of the bay floor. As he made his seventh pass, the sonar picked up on an object that was out of place. Could that be it? Is this what I’m looking for? He took a snapshot of the picture and turned the 42’ around to make another pass. Looking closer, he could see a square object extruding from the mud, no deeper than fifteen feet.

         Spencer pulled out his scuba gear and snapped a bottle to the back of his buoyancy compensator. Blowing up the BC with air, he threw it over the side, picked up his fins and mask, and dove in after it. Once he strapped himself in, he released the air from the BC and kicked toward the structure that his sonar had uncovered.

Within minutes, the wooden structure came into view. It was long and square, sinking farther into the bay floor. Spencer grabbed on the end and pulled himself closer to the wood, his heart pounding and his breathing rapid. He fanned the soot from the wooden object and saw it was intact, but then he saw something small and shiny. The object was round and silver and pressed against one of the wood planks. Pulling himself closer, he saw that it was a screw. He had found a victim from Katrina—someone’s sunken pier.

He shot back to the surface, and breaking the water line, he pulled his mask down to his neck. “Well, hell!” Floating behind his boat for a moment, thinking that there would probably be many false alarms, he ran his finger and thumb together, realizing the water seemed slimier than when he was a kid.

Then he heard the faint sound of an outboard motor. That wasn’t unusual at all, but the longer he listened, he noticed the motor had a particular tick in the engine. Where have I heard that before? he thought.

Growing up around water and all types of boats, Spencer had learned to recognize boats by the sound of the engines. This motor had a familiar sound to it that he hadn’t heard since his childhood … the same sound made by Lebreaux’s motor on her old wooden skiff. As his mind registered the connection, his eyes widened and he spun in the water looking in all directions, but no boat was in sight.

            He wrapped his fins around his wrist, climbed up the ladder on the back of his boat, and let his gear rest on the floor while he wiped the water from his face and hair, still looking for the boat, but finding nothing.

His dark skin shone with the water beading off, thanks to the sunscreen he had applied earlier. Putting his aviator sunglasses on, he saw a white crane flapping its wings in the water. That’s strange, he thought, and motoring closer, he could see the bird was in distress in only a foot of water. His boat resting gently on the bottom, he leaned over and grabbed the bird that was weak and out of breath.

“Well, buddy, with this broken leg you don’t have much chance.” With a smile, he looked around, and then back to the bird. “I guess we’re going to the veterinary clinic after all.”


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Historical Fiction

Date Published: 12th May 2017

Publisher: Harper Impulse

A sensual, heartbreaking, romance

The sounds and scents of the Crimean War are strangling Harry Marlow, shutting him off and silently smothering his soul. But he is a soldier and that is his life, and he can see nothing else besides that. So why should he care when a woman watches him? His life is not one to share with a woman, other than for a few moments in his bed.

When a woman is already drowning so deeply in sin she is without any fear of judgement – what can it matter if she chooses to begin a new affair? It is like escape to choose her own man and Captain Marlow is the perfect candidate for a dalliance. All she has to do is obtain an introduction…


Jane began her first historical novel at sixteen, but a life full of adversity derailed her as she lives with the restrictions of Ankylosing Spondylitis. When she finally completed a novel it was because she was determined not to reach forty still saying, I want to write. 

Now Jane has been shortlisted for three reader awards, and become a bestselling author in the UK and the USA.



The Tainted Love of a Captain Excerpt One

She was there, with her maid. They were on the path at the head of the beach, a few yards away. He crossed the street. She walked towards him and intercepted his path. ‘Captain Marlow!’ she called. ‘Well met!’ She spoke as though she had not written and he therefore presumed the maid did not know that this interchange had been orchestrated.

He bowed, slightly. ‘Miss Cotton.’ What was the etiquette for a man’s mistress? He knew how to behave with whores and with respectable women, but a mistress was somewhere in between. ‘Would you care to walk with me?’ He lifted his arm, in the way he might have offered his arm to one of his sisters or cousins.

The maid held back to walk a few paces behind them as Ash looked up at him with eyes that asked why he had not walked on to the pebbles. Harry clicked the fingers of his free hand and tapped his leg to tell Ash to stay at his side.

‘I like your dog. What is her name?’ Miss Cotton said loudly. He presumed for the benefit of the maid as much as for an answer.

‘Ash. She was named by my niece.’

She looked at him as though the fact that he might have a niece was a bizarre thought. ‘Oh.’

He smiled. Her colour had been high since the moment they had faced each other, but now it became even redder.

‘Your dog has a very pleasant nature.’

‘Yes, she does.’

‘I am glad you came,’ she said in a quieter voice, leaning closer to him as he’d seen her do when she spoke to her maid. ‘It took me so much courage to write. But you have never looked at me here. Then you looked at me last night and I wrote in a rash moment because I have had a great desire to know the man with the lovely dog. I hope you do not think me too forward.’ Her back straightened when she had finished her conspiratorial whisper and her chin lifted high. There was a sense of dignity in her posture, no matter her status.

‘I was not sure that I would come.’

Her head turned and she looked at him about the rim of her bonnet, her fingers pulling on his arm a little. ‘I admire you as much as your dog. I have wanted to meet you as well as Ash.’

‘I am aware. I have seen you watching me.’ He breathed in. ‘It was flattering.’ He had not thought so a day ago and yet having seen the woman up close. Yes, the interest and attention of such a beautiful woman was flattering. Her large, expressive eyes, within the shadow of her bonnet’s brim, were particularly fascinating and the curls of her vibrantly coloured hair peeked from beneath the edges of the bonnet, providing a temptation to touch it.

She smiled. ‘I think it is lovely how you play with the dog. There seems such regard between you as you play. So, yes, I have been watching your games and admiring you and your affection for Ash, from a distance. It is very charming to watch. Your friend has looked back at me, but you have no more than glanced. You have given me no opportunity to compliment you before.’

‘I thought you were…’ He had been about to insult her and say that he’d thought her respectable, which would tell her that now he thought she was not. ‘I thought you someone different.’


‘No one in particular, simply a young woman looking for a husband and I would make a poor candidate for that.’

The Tainted Love of a Captain Excerpt Two

‘Hello!’ he called from a few feet away.

The pace of her heart beat lifted in a fluttering sensation.

Since they had been talking each day, her heart felt as though it had grown the wings of a butterfly. ‘Hello.’

‘How are you?’ he asked as he joined her.

Charlie glanced back along the path at the maid who’d walked with her. She had left Tilly a few feet away to mind her own business and Tilly had not come nearer to listen, which was what Charlie feared. But if anything had been said to Mark about her liaisons with Harry, which it probably had, he had not complained to her about it.

She looked at Harry, again, turning her back on Tilly. ‘I am well. How was your game last evening?’

‘Must you ask?’ He threw the stick out into the sea. ‘Do you not know?’


‘Then do not ask.’

She laughed as Ash returned with the stick.

Harry looked at her after he’d thrown the stick again. ‘I have a question to ask you, though.’

‘Then you must ask it.’ She was very forward with Harry. She kept surprising herself. But it was the atmosphere he exuded. He always spoke so liberally it made her more confident to reply. But she had been forward with him from the beginning because she had been desperate to know this man with his dog. So desperate she had dared to write. But she had told herself that a woman of her status need not worry over what was right or wrong or fear the judgement of others. She had transcended those things. It was the one benefit of her status—she might do as she wished and she had wished to meet Ash and speak to Harry. That was not a crime.

Her chin lifted and her back straightened in denial of the accusation of forwardness that continued charging at her in her head.

Harry turned and faced her fully as Ash ran into the shallow, frothing ripples, chasing the stick as the tide pulled it out on a retreating wave. ‘If I hired a room in an inn, would you come there with me?’

‘Now?’ To… Oh… She had not thought about where this might lead. She had thought of nothing other than that she admired him and she had wanted to know him. But. ‘My maid is with me.’ Her heart had jolted suddenly into a sharp pace.

‘Tomorrow. Would you meet me there?’

Her heart was pounding as hard as her father had used to pound a hammer on a straight bar of iron to twist and curve it to make a horse’s shoe. She had not imagined, and yet she had in daydreams sometimes thought about what it would be like to kiss Harry.

But to make this a sin…

Ash shook the sea water off her coat, spraying them both. Then Harry took the stick from Ash’s mouth, lifted it and held it out of Ash’s reach. The dog barked and leapt around, waiting for it to be thrown again, then it was and Ash went racing after it.

Harry looked at her. ‘Will you?’

If you enjoy historical romance stories full of sensory details transporting you back in time, then you should give Jane Lark’s series a try. I signed up to review this book accidently but am glad I gave it my attention. This is a smooth read with the traditional milestones and payoffs you would expect. I haven’t had a chance to read the other stories in the series, but there are several and will keep you with summer reading material for quite a while!

This story unravels around Harry Marlow and his struggles between a stalwart but loving family who sees him as a bit of an outsider, and his chosen profession as a Captain, recently returned from the Crimean war. Harry meets a young woman, or rather, he is watched by a young woman and their introduction is quite unconventional. However, this woman is not all she appears to be, and regardless of recent revelations about the woman, Captain Marlow’s interest is not so easily squashed. The woman is full of secrets but has an obvious attraction and sense of security around the Captain, and his beloved dog, Ash. As the story unfolds truths are revealed, lives are broken apart, and those seeking redemption or a truer way of life struggle across the page. I detest when someone ruins plot points in a review, so I will leave it there and let you discover more for yourself.

If this sounds like your cup of tea, give this series a chance. If you do, please consider leaving the author a review, they value your opinions!