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Showing posts with label Donna June Cooper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Donna June Cooper. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Release Day Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway: Making Magic (Books of the Kindling #3) by Donna June Cooper


Making Magic
by Donna June Cooper
Series: Books of the Kindling, #3
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Cover Designer: Kanaxa
Genre: Contemporary Romance with a touch of Magic
Release Date: January 20, 2015



Books of the Kindling, Book 3

Sticks and stones may threaten bones, but her words can conquer both body and soul.

During his law enforcement career, Sheriff Jake Moser has been called to Woodruff Mountain a few times to deal with some rather weird situations. Now, recovering from a bullet wound that should have killed him and fending off his mother’s ravings about the evil that lurks on the mountain, he’s making alternate career plans.

Just as those plans begin to take shape, someone starts kidnapping newborn babies, then returning them unharmed. To make things even more interesting, an irritating adversary from his past has returned to bedevil him in a whole new, delightful way.

After her erratic psychic gift forced her to abandon her home and a promising musical career, Thea Woodruff has spent years trying, unsuccessfully, to atone for the death of Becca Moser, Jake’s sister. Once she has mourned those she’s lost and apologized to those she’s failed, she intends to flee her mountain once again.

Jake would rather she stay to compose a new tune—with him. But their complicated harmony reveals a guilty secret that threatens not only their future, but their lives…

Warning: A temperamental flute-player returns to torment an old flame, but he has other ideas, and the music they make together is combustible—and magical.



Thea caught movement at the edge of her vision and braced herself for another automobile groupie, but it was only a dirty mop head lying on the ground next to the wall. In her exhausted state, she must've imagined it. She opened the door and put her bags on the console. Before she put the coffee in the drink holder, she took a long sip of the scalding brew. It wasn't too bad, but it made her eyes water. She blinked when she saw the mop head move again. Probably a rat or raccoon under there.

Then the mop head lifted its ears and gazed at her with big dark eyes.

She gasped and spilled yet more coffee on her blouse.

A dog.

A horribly-matted, filthy gray dog that might've once been white pushed up on skinny legs and backed against the wall, watching her with suspicion. Then she saw the battered aluminum pan and cracked bowl full of water beside it. Someone was feeding the poor thing, but not really taking ownership.

A stray. Like her.

She almost took a step towards the pitiful creature, but what would she do with a dog?

Thea hadn't thought much beyond getting home for the wedding, except that she couldn't stay. Grace had a husband now, a baby on the way and probably planned to fill the house up with children. Daniel was moving into the old Taggart place with his new bride. And she needed to follow her plan to go off and teach music somewhere. There was no room for the prodigal daughter on the mountain, much less a grimy, smelly dog. She looked down at herself and smiled. They were a matched set, weren't they?

The dirty mop blinked at her as she sipped her coffee.

"What's your name, pooch?" she asked.

The head cocked sideways and one eye disappeared behind its unkempt hair. The other eye glared at her as the dog tried to sink back into the wall.

She thought of the interstate and the busy highway only yards away and shuddered. The poor thing had probably been left behind by some traveling family or a trucker. At least someone here was feeding it. She wondered how long it had been here, waiting for its owner to return. Her heart clenched. Swallowing hard, she shut the car door, walking back into the truck stop.

The woman who had waited on her before looked up and smiled. "Back for a refill, hon?"

"No, ma'am." Her voice felt rusty, as if she hadn't used it in a long time. "I was wondering about the dog out in the parking lot."

The woman frowned. "Poor thing. Someone dumped her here a couple of months back."

Months would feel like years to a little one like that. Years waiting for someone to take you home. Years waiting to go home. Thea felt tears threatening at the symmetry.

"No one came for it? No one here wants to take it home?"

"Hey, we tried. She won't come and no one can catch her. Sly little thing. We figure she's holding out for her real owner."

"How do you know it's female?"

The woman, whose nametag said "Jenny", leaned over conspiratorially. "The way she pees, but we might be wrong. The boys do that sometimes too."

Thea mulled it over. Surely Grace had room for another dog. Or maybe Daniel would take her. Someone would.

She reached for her wallet and pulled out one of her cards. "Do you have a pen?" Carefully scratching out her business number, she wrote her cell number on the card in its place and handed it over.  "If her owner comes back, you call me."

Jenny looked at the card and gave her an assessing look.  She could imagine how she appeared to the woman—pencil thin skirt, stained silk blouse and expensive heels.

"Oh, hon. You ain't gonna catch her."

Thea smiled. I just gave a powerful multinational the one finger salute. I can save an abandoned dog. "Watch me. I'll have an order of bacon to go, please."

Jenny shook her head, but went back to the kitchen and brought back a napkin wrapped around several pieces of bacon. "On the house. If you can catch Bailey, I'll give you a hamburger for her lunch. And one for yours as well."

"Bailey? After Baileyton?"

The woman nodded.  "Works for a girl or a boy, I say."

The name fit. Taking the bacon, she walked back out front with Jenny close on her heels only to find Bailey gone.

"She's probably out raiding the garbage. She hides out back there under the skips sometimes. But you'll never be able to get to her."

Thea handed Jenny her coffee. "If I do, I want another hot cup to go instead of that second burger. I'm a vegetarian."

The woman laughed and followed her, carrying the coffee. "This I gotta see."

Sure enough, they spotted the walking mop sniffing around one of the garbage skips at the back of the building, far enough back to make it impossible to reach her.

Thea got as close to the skip as she could get without going under it, then squatted down, or rather tried to. She finally gave up, hiked up her skirt and knelt on the dirty pavement.

"Here, Bailey girl!" She leaned in under the skip and held out a piece of bacon. "Come on, baby girl," she cooed.

The dog crouched in the shadows, her ears back and her tail tucked under, growling.

It was a good thing Thea's nose was stopped up. What little she could smell was bad enough.

"What's goin' on back here?" came a man's voice. Thea jumped, whacking her head on the side of the skip.

"This lady's trying to get Bailey," Jenny said.

"Like that's gonna happen. You're the one with that red Beemer from Pennsylvania, ain't ya?"

Thea looked over her shoulder at a man in a white apron who had leaned down to grin at her. He said every single syllable of Penn-syl-va-ni-a, as if it were an unpronounceable contagious disease. And his eyes spent far too much time lingering on her rear end, which was sticking up in the air at the moment.

She felt her temper start to rise. She hated it when people, especially men, tried to tell her what she could and couldn't do.

"Damn it, Bailey," she hissed. But those big eyes looked terrified and the dog had cringed even closer to the pavement.

Crap. "Bailey, come here," she said quietly, but the voice rang off the metal of the skip.

Bailey immediately crawled forward, right onto her lap. Thea slid sideways and heard her skirt rip at the kick pleat as she turned to sit beside the garbage skip with the filthy dog in her arms.

"Well I'll be," Jenny exclaimed, clapping her hands.

The man seemed to be reassessing his opinion of Thea. "Shit. You some kinda dog whisperer or somethin'?"

Thea smiled. "Or something." She looked at Jenny. "Now, how about that hamburger for my friend here?" She broke off little pieces of bacon and fed them to Bailey.

"Oh you bet, honey. And I'll get you some wipes for your hands and—" Jenny looked Thea over and sniffed, "—for your hands." She ran back into the restaurant.

"Hell, I'd say both you and the dog need to use the showers, but we don't let no dogs in there," the man said. "You need me to help you up, honey?"

Thea smirked at him and put Bailey down at her feet. "Stay." Bailey waited, motionless, as Thea stood then reached down to scoop her back up.

"That's weird," the man said. "Spooky, even."

Thea was tempted to make him do something embarrassing, to get back at him for the shower comment, but her head was already aching. Besides, she did need a shower. She bit her lip and marched past him around the side of the building with Bailey in her arms.

Lovely. Now she had an audience. They seemed to be the regulars, truckers mostly and some staff, standing outside the doors watching as she carried the dog to her car. One of the waitresses started clapping. Then the rest joined in, until even the grumpy cook cheered the little dog's rescue.

Smiling at them, Thea lifted Bailey's paw to wave goodbye to them and opened the car door to slide in, dog and all.  She shut it firmly and quickly pushed the button to start the car, struggled to fasten her seat belt under the dog and wondered if she should fasten it over the dog instead. She knew next to nothing about dogs.

Jenny came running out with a sack and a cup, grinning.  When Thea rolled down the window, she leaned in. "Here you go. Fresh coffee, a nice hamburger for Bailey and some hashbrowns for you. There's utensils and hand wipes. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think what both of you'll need is a long hot soak. And you need some meat on your bones if you're going to keep up with this 'un." She cautiously stroked Bailey's ears and Thea noticed a glint in her eyes. Jenny was probably the person who'd been feeding the poor thing. "She'd never let me touch her."

Thea tensed when Bailey turned and licked her cheek. She could not get attached to a dog she had just met. "Do you want to keep her?" she asked.

"Oh, my. No! My Larry would have my hide. I already have four at home. One more and I end up in the pound. No, I think our Bailey's real owner finally showed up." She sniffed. "You come back and visit us, baby doll," she said to Bailey. "I want to see you all cleaned up and pretty."

"Cleaned up, we can do. Not so sure about pretty," Thea said, unable to picture Bailey as anything but a mop.

"Here." Jenny pulled the white towel off her shoulder and handed it to Thea. "Make her a place over there next to you. You don't wanna drive with her in your lap like that."

Thea braced her flute case against the passenger door and pushed the junk on the passenger seat around to make a nest.  She curled the towel in the seat and sat Bailey on it.

Bailey immediately walked back across and lay on Thea's lap again.

Jenny gave Bailey's head one more stroke. "Definitely found her real owner."

Thea's smiled. "Thanks, Jenny. You were a good foster mom."

Jenny nodded and backed away, wiping at her eyes, then waved as Thea drove out of the parking lot.



Book 3: Making Magic

Book 1: More Than Magic
Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon CA ~ Amazon AU

Book 2: Mostly Magic


When she’s not being dragged down the sidewalk by her Jack Russell (if you know Jacks, you understand), Donna June Cooper is belly dancing (shiny!), reading (three books at once), writing (of course!) or complaining about the heat (no matter the temperature). A child of the Appalachians who was transplanted to Texas by her Italian husband, Donna returns to her mountain roots as often as possible, and takes her readers with her in her Books of the Kindling.







Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Book Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway: Mostly Magic (Books of the Kindling #2) by Donna June Cooper


Mostly Magic
by Donna June Cooper
Series: Books of the Kindling, #2
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Cover Designer: Kanaxa
Genre: Contemporary Romance with a touch of Magic
Release Date: June 3, 2014



Books of the Kindling, Book 2

One terrifying premonition brings them together. Another will threaten their future.

Do dreams come true? Dr. Daniel Woodruff hopes they don't, because his dreams predict a devastating future for him, for those he loves—and for the planet.

His latest premonition, which blows a huge crater in his eroding sanity, holds a singular horror—the loss of a wife and unborn child. Yet another reason he can let no one into his chaotic life, least of all a perky, persistent investigative reporter he finds simultaneously frustrating and fascinating.

Mel Noblett leaves no stone unturned in her one-woman crusade to save the environment. When a whistleblower in Italy proves too frightened to talk, Mel turns to a fall-back lead, an extremely eccentric, beekeeping professor who might just make the trip worthwhile.

Despite their instant attraction, Mel is relieved when Daniel keeps her at arm’s length. After all, she has a secret of her own—one that makes her preternaturally good at her job. And, when Daniel’s terrifying visions prove cannily accurate and begin to revolve around Mel—it is a gift that could put her life in danger.

Warning: Reluctant seer of a bleak future meets petite force of nature who lights up the heart of his darkness. Where there’s smoke, there could be an unpredictable blaze of passion, but the rewards are oh, so sweet…



Mel’s fingers flew as she folded the green origami paper and counted the children in the crowd. She needed two more frogs, in case they were all brave enough to approach Missy Twist for a souvenir.

“And at last, the handsome prince deigned to kiss the rather homely-looking frog,” Cornelius Twist pronounced, not quite putting his lips on the very real, and very bored, amphibian in the bottom of the man-size cabinet. He then shut the doors with a dramatic flourish and turned the cabinet all the way around.

“What do you think happened to the frog?” her dad asked the audience.

A number of voices clamored for his attention, most of them children shouting that the frog turned into a beautiful princess of course, but one little girl insisted, rather loudly and as the other voices died down, that it turned into a prince.

Cornelius waggled his eyebrows at the crowd. “Not in this state, my lovely lady!” he quipped, and the adults in the crowd laughed. “No, this frog turned into a beautiful princess.” He swung open the door of the cabinet, and Heather emerged, looking rather like a bedraggled Snow White in her tattered red and gold outfit trimmed with bells and beads.

Perched on her head, which was already adorned with feathers and ribbons, was a rather lopsided and well-worn tiara with a few glass jewels missing.

Heather extended her hand regally, and he bowed to her as he helped her to the stage.

Mel laughed and clapped from her perch next to the stage, widening her eyes in excitement at the children in the crowd and then pointing to herself and nodding proudly, miming placing the tiara on her head as if she could be a princess too. It was all part of the show.

Heather’s outfit had been modeled after Mel’s, only where Mel’s was blue and silver to match her coloring, Heather’s dramatic black hair and pale skin had demanded the red and gold.

Heather hadn't taken up the stage name that Mel had used—Missy Twist, daughter of Cornelius Twist. Mel’s dad had told Mel with a smirk that the name Heather used instead, Feather Head, suited her perfectly. But she was petite, flexible, coordinated and wonderful with the kids.

A little girl wandered up the aisle to where Mel sat on the steps leading to the stage, and Mel took one of the green origami frogs and hopped it toward her. It landed in the grass at the tot’s feet, and she scooped it up and carried it to her father, who was already en route to retrieve the brave explorer.

As the little girl waved goodbye, Mel hunched her shoulders and wiggled her fingers under her chin in her trademark “Missy” wave and was startled by a sudden emotional surge from somewhere in the audience.

Love.

Oh, it was much more than that. Amusement. Relief. Excitement. Pleasure. The zing of arousal, and the first tentative stirrings of love. Someone out there was falling in love right this minute, and once she recovered from the initial rush, Mel let the emotions seep into her. What a wonderful feeling: that first swell of realization, when you look into someone’s eyes and suddenly know.

She looked up and saw a familiar pair of chocolate-brown eyes.

Daniel stood at the rear of the audience, leaning against a support post with his arms folded, watching the show—smiling with that beautiful, warm grin of his.

When he realized she’d spotted him, he held up a gloved hand.

Something tingled through her and curled up in her middle, bubbling happily. He’d followed her. All the way down here.

A warm flush heated her cheeks. Surely that surge of emotion couldn't have come from him. The audience was packed after all. But he had followed her.

She scooped up her basket of origami frogs and flounced up the stairs, dashing over to Heather, who was still showing off for the kids, and grabbing the tiara off her head. Heather shrieked in dismay as Mel jammed it on her own head, stuck out her tongue, twirled and dashed backstage with Heather trailing feathers in pursuit.

“What’s up?” Heather asked without missing a beat. They had done that routine before, but it had been a while.

“Are you doing ‘Assistant’s Revenge’ for the closing?”

Heather nodded, looking over to where the cabinet for that illusion stood.

“I’m going to join you guys for this one, the way we did it a couple of years ago, remember?” Mel placed a black velvet cape on a hook next to the stage entrance.

Heather nodded.

“I have a friend in the audience I want to surprise. Can you hand out the frogs and tell Dad…tell him my prince just showed up?”

Heather blinked, then smiled. “Sure, hon. You don’t know how much I appreciate you rushing down here in case I couldn't make it. I am so sorry for the trouble.”

Mel waved her off. “Actually, I think you did me a favor.” He followed me!

Her dad didn't seem surprised when she pushed the appliance onto the stage for the final illusion, the ratty tiara still on her head and a mischievous expression on her face. The audience loved it as he went through the long, exaggerated routine of persuading her to stop showing off and climb into the device, then chaining her in and putting her head and arms into a wooden stock.

The story involved how he was locking her, his innocent but rather rebellious daughter, away to keep her safe. She gave him a hard time about the whole thing, pointing out that other fathers didn’t lock up their daughters, especially princesses, to which he responded that other fathers turned their daughters into frogs every night, especially the ones who went about stealing tiaras.

Usually the assistant and magician changed places as the magician pulled a curtain all the way around the device, but this time, as her dad pulled the curtain, she slipped out past Heather, who took over pulling the curtain as her dad took her place in the device. It was all accomplished so smoothly that the curtain kept moving the entire time they changed positions. The audience was surprised when Heather appeared pulling the curtain, and her father appeared chained and padlocked in the device.

Mel threw on the hooded black velvet cape and sprinted out, then walked sedately among the passersby in the lane to the rear of the audience, so no one would notice her.

“Who did this to me?” her dad yelled, rattling the chains and making the padlocks jump in the stocks.

“Not I, oh wonderful Master Cornelius,” Heather said sweetly, waving the skeleton key in front of her where Master Cornelius couldn't see it but the audience could. They laughed and snickered in reaction. “I would never lock you up and throw away the key. Even though you have folded me into a tiny box, and stabbed me with swords, and cut me in half, and—” as the list grew longer, Heather began to lose the sweet tone in her voice and sound like an angry harridan, “—stretched me, and twisted me. But maybe I should have.”

Mel stepped behind Daniel and pulled off her cape, tossing it over his shoulder as the laughter died down.

“Hold this for me, please, sir?” she said as he spun around.

“How do you do that?” he asked, laughing.

“Mostly magic,” she whispered, wiggling her fingers under her chin and stepping out from behind him.



Book 2: Mostly Magic

Book 1: More Than Magic
Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon CA ~ Amazon AU

Pre-Order Book 3: Making Magic


When she’s not being dragged down the sidewalk by her Jack Russell (if you know Jacks, you understand), Donna June Cooper is belly dancing (shiny!), reading (three books at once), writing (of course!) or complaining about the heat (no matter the temperature). A child of the Appalachians who was transplanted to Texas by her Italian husband, Donna returns to her mountain roots as often as possible, and takes her readers with her in her Books of the Kindling.







Thursday, January 8, 2015

Book Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway: More Than Magic (Books of the Kindling #1) by Donna June Cooper


More Than Magic
by Donna June Cooper
Series: Books of the Kindling, #1
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Cover Designer: Kanaxa
Genre: Contemporary Romance with a touch of Magic
Release Date: February 4, 2014



A malignant secret could turn her mountain sanctuary into their tomb.

DEA agent Nick McKenzie is sure magic exists—a dangerous drug called Smoky Mountain Magic that’s wreaking havoc on the streets of Atlanta. He’s also sure that locating and eliminating the source could mean his death.

When he arrives undercover on Woodruff Mountain, the beautiful owner’s anxious attempts to scare him off tell him something’s afoot, and it’s not her secret patch of a rare, ancient species of ginseng.


As her dream of seeking medicinal plants in the Amazon fades into the distance, Grace Woodruff struggles to come to terms with an inherited magical gift she didn't want, and searches desperately for the meaning behind her late grandfather’s final, cryptic message.

The last thing she needs underfoot is a handsome, enigmatic writer recovering from a recent illness. Until an accidental touch unleashes a stunning mystical force and Grace senses the wrath of a malicious blight at the heart of the mountain. Now she must choose between her need to hide her gift from the world…and her desire to save Nick’s life.

Warning: This book contains a fiery redhead whose magic cannot be contained and a handsome DEA agent whose final case might give him a second chance at life.



“So—Granny Lily?” he asked again.

Grace took a deep breath. “Granny Lily was a healer—an Appalachian Granny Woman. A witch.”

“Witch?” he paused a moment, digesting the word. “You’re kidding, right?”

Grace shook her head and started walking away from the cemetery and back into the meadow. “Granny Witches weren't witches in the sense we think of today. They were the midwives and healers of the community. For folks isolated up in these mountains with no medical care, they were the doctors.”

Nick followed behind, taking a quick sip of his champagne. “Witch doctor?”

She grinned at him. “Well, yes. In the sense that a witch doctor is the healer in their community. The shaman. The expert in herbal medicine.”

“Witch doctor,” he repeated.

“It’s a tradition that’s passed down in families. In this case from mother to daughter to granddaughter. One woman per generation,” Grace went on. “Some claim it goes back to ancient times.”

Nick stopped. “So, are you—”

She faced him. “What?”

“A witch?”

Nick watched Grace smile and hold out her glass. “Hang on to this for me.”

Nick stared at it for a moment, wondering why she didn't just answer “no”. Then he took it carefully, holding the bottle under his arm.

Shaking out the blanket, Grace laid it on the grass and knelt down, holding her hands up for her glass and the bottle, which he handed over.

“Sit,” she said smiling up at him. “Pretend it’s a picnic.”

As if on cue, Pooka ran to see what they were up to. When he realized no food was involved, he resumed scouting the edges of the meadow.

Nick paused, wondering if he should make a dash for his SUV and get off this mountain while he still could. But something made him sit.

“So,” he took a deep breath, as if he was about to set foot on some strange new world he didn't understand. “Witch?”

She twisted sideways, managing to sit gracefully on the blanket without spilling a drop of champagne. He was beginning to wonder if she had faked being tipsy.

“Remember, I said not in the ‘double, double toil and trouble’ kind of way.”

“So, no cauldrons or eye-of-newt things going on?”

“Well, actually, the old cauldron you see in the front yard of a lot of Southern homes used to mean there was a Granny Witch in the house, but—”

“Don’t you have one of those in your garden? Full of flowers?”

She smiled. “You noticed! Yes. Like that. But no evil spells or hexes.”

“So you are a witch?”

“Well, no. I was talking about Granny Lily. I’m—” She stopped, suddenly thoughtful.

“So, you’re not a witch?”

“You know, I’m not sure.”

Nick frowned and drained the rest of his champagne, holding out his glass. She poured it full and sat the bottle on the ground beside the blanket.

“I would think you would notice something like that,” he said. Of course she’s a witch McKenzie, she’s had you under her spell since she met you.

“Look, I probably shouldn't have used that word. People don’t know about the Granny Witch tradition at all, and they automatically think black cats and broomsticks and pointy hats. It was mostly about herbal medicine and midwifery.”

“Can you deliver a baby?” he asked.

“Well, certainly.”

“And you practice herbal medicine.”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like you’re qualified. Maybe over qualified.”

“It’s not that simple. Some of them did divination and water dowsing. It’s a tradition requiring training and practice. The Granny Witch passes down all her lore to her designated successor and teaches her everything she knows.”

Grace looked off toward the cemetery and he followed her gaze. The headstones were just distant shapes in the moonlight.

“So your mother— No, that’s your father’s side of the family.”

“Exactly. And anyway, the tradition stopped with Granny Lily. She quit practicing and didn't pass it on to any other female relative.”

“But you said she’s been wandering into your dreams. Does she wander anywhere else?” He looked around them at the silvered meadow and the dark trees, but nothing seemed menacing—just the opposite.

“No. Only in my rather intense dreams. And I’m honestly not sure what she’s trying to tell me.”

He tried to figure out where she was going with all this. Maybe it was the wine. “Well, it sounds like it might be a good thing for your bottom line. You could get additional business these days just by saying you were the descendant of a shaman or medicine woman. I wouldn’t use the word ‘witch’ though, even if they don’t burn them anymore.”

“Why did you say that?” she asked in a sharp tone. In the moonlight, her eyes shimmered green and her pale face was almost translucent, surrounded by flyaway tendrils of dark red. She might be a witch, but she was the most captivating witch he had ever seen.

“What? What did I say?”

“About burning?”

“Well, they used to— Didn't they? I mean—”

“That was in a completely different culture. Here the Granny Witch was essential in the community. The people of these mountains were nothing like that. Granny Lily was burned accidentally.”

“She was— What?”

Grace picked up the bottle and poured her glass full, then downed it without ceremony and was about to pour another.

“Whoa. Slow down there.” He took the bottle and her glass gently and set them both in the grass. “Now, what’s this about burning? Your granny was burned?”

Grace let out a long breath. “Great-great-great. And yes. Accidentally. In a fire.”

“She wasn't killed though. The headstone said—”

“No. Badly burned. Disfigured. She lived a long life.”

“A very long life, if I read the stone right.” He connected some dots and took a guess. “This was the fire that started that feud you were talking about, with your neighbors.”

“Yes. But it was an accident. A bunch of Taggarts and other people were gathered outside the cabin and things got out of hand. One of the Taggarts threw a rock at my Grandpa Zach. It broke a window, and knocked over an oil lamp onto Granny Lily’s dress.”

“An oil lamp.”

“It was terrible. It didn't destroy the cabin, but she was horribly burned. Everyone thought she wouldn't make it, but she recovered. Only, after that, she was rarely seen by anyone outside of the family. And when she was, she was covered head to toe, even wearing gloves on the hottest summer days. We have a family portrait with her in it, but only half of her face is showing.”

“That is tragic. What started the rock throwing?”

“A misunderstanding.”

“About?”

“A patient.”

“Someone died?”

“No. Someone lived.”



Book 1: More Than Magic
Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon CA ~ Amazon AU

Book 2: Mostly Magic

Pre-Order Book 3: Making Magic


When she’s not being dragged down the sidewalk by her Jack Russell (if you know Jacks, you understand), Donna June Cooper is belly dancing (shiny!), reading (three books at once), writing (of course!) or complaining about the heat (no matter the temperature). A child of the Appalachians who was transplanted to Texas by her Italian husband, Donna returns to her mountain roots as often as possible, and takes her readers with her in her Books of the Kindling.







 
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