ISBN# electronic  1-59088-364-0
IISBN# print  1-59088-676-3
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Danielle pushed the button to move the hospital bed into a sitting position. She could not shake the events of the past month from her mind. How could she be a widow, she had been married hardly three months? Everything had happened so fast. Randy murdered in his bed. His sister Ruth committing suicide after police found evidence that she contracted an organized crime figure to murder her brother. However, she did not commit suicide until her two attempts on Danielle’s life had failed. If it wasn’t for Sandy March and JC’s support, Danielle felt she never could have dealt with it all.
“Thank God I didn’t lose the baby,” she said caressing her bulging stomach. “You don’t have your daddy, but you have me, sweetheart.”
“How is our little mother doing today?” the nurse said reaching for Danielle’s arm to put the blood pressure cuff on to monitor her blood pressure as she smiled.
“I’m good,” Danielle, said watching the sleeve swell as it squeezed her arm. Why did they always have to pinch it until it hurt before they stopped? she thought, glancing away focusing on the sunshine outside the window. The bright sunshine belied the dark cloud inside her that refused to lift. The stethoscope felt cold as the nurse slid it onto her chest to listen to her heart. Then she wrote on her chart and moved to her abdomen and, raising her hospital gown, she placed the cold, round shape on Danielle’s tummy and listened.
Danielle saw a brief scowl cross the nurse’s face. Then she moved the stethoscope and listened again, and again. She put Danielle’s gown back down and pulled up the covers over her.
“You rest now. If you need anything, ring the buzzer. Positively do not get out of this bed. The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” she said giving Danielle a half smile and replacing the chart in the hanger at the end of her bed.
Danielle wished she could get the chart and look at it. What had the nurse written? What had bothered her about the baby when she listened through her stethoscope? Regardless, what good would it do to get the chart, she probably couldn’t understand it anyway.
The concerned look on the nurse’s face bothered her. Was there something wrong with the baby?
An orderly brought in her breakfast tray. The silver covered bowl reflected her face in its curvature, distorted as she felt her life was at the moment. “Here's your breakfast little lady. Be sure to eat it all. They check up on such things here you know."

                                                                            You can read the rest at www.wings-press.com/author/BillieWilliams
The Pink Lady Slipper
Trudy Moncha spun the barrel around checking every stave, every ring of the safety barrels that were placed about the rodeo center arena. She bounced the rubber mallet against the sides with a force similar to how a bull might hit it. She wanted to be absolutely sure that all the barrels were sound. Call her paranoid, if you will, but another defective barrel like the one Cyclone smashed to smithereens had nearly cost Trudy her life. That was no accident. There was no way it was going to happen again. Not to her, not to any other rodeo clown either, she thought massaging her game hip as she limped from one big barrel to the next.
The loud speaker bellowed “Trudy Moncha to the office trailer please.” The office trailer of the rodeo grounds supervisor sat out in the secured lot behind the rodeo grounds. As she limped to Kyle Houston’s trailer she wondered if maybe this was the day he told her to hang up her face paint and retire from the rodeo circuit. And do what? She thought, entertain at kids’ birthday parties as a has-been rodeo clown? What would she do if she couldn’t follow the rodeo in some capacity? It had become her life. Well, she’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it.
Kyle looked drawn and pale when Trudy entered the trailer. He handed her a telegram. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled his eyes downcast.
She shook as she took the telegram from him. Trudy didn’t like the look on the usually jovial man’s face. She wasn’t getting fired, but maybe that would have been easier to deal with than what awaited her. The language of the telegram’s cryptic bursts slashed at Trudy’s insides as though a knife ripped across her heart.
Mother dead, buried. Stop
Come home at once. Stop
Linda Stop
Call 555-1212 Stop.
The full weight of the rift between Trudy and her mother struck her like the weight of a rodeo bull on her back. How could she just up and die on her? Her emotions rode the bucking tide against the belief of what she read. Anger, anguish, rage flew at her like mud clods from a bronco’s hooves.
“Damn, damn, no!” she said kicking the chairs and tossing the telegram into the air. She retrieved the telegram from where it landed and read it again. “No! No,” pain and sorrow gurgled out in a tear-filled, anguished cry that squeezed from her as though that bull sat on her chest this time. Sinking to the floor sobbing, “Nooo,” she cried out with the pain that tore at her life.
Kyle rounded his desk, reached down and drew Trudy up into his embrace. “I’m so sorry honey, so sorry. If I can do anything, anything at all...” He let his voice trail off knowing how useless any words were at a time like this. Instead, he held her and let her pour her grief out in a flood of tears that turned a dark blue stain on the pale blue of his shirt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come unglued Kyle,” she finally said.
Trudy hadn’t seen or heard from her mother in a year or more. If she’s dead and buried what more did they need of her? Why the urgency? Trudy’s mind raged. “How could they have buried mother without notifying me? Why hadn’t Linda or Paul called or telegraphed before this? I always sent an itinerary to mother so she would know where I was in case of a family emergency.” Even though they rarely spoke, Trudy made sure her mother could reach her. Obviously, her sister knew how to reach her, she’d reached her now. But, why did she wait until now?
“Can I use your phone?” she asked.
Kyle released her from his tight embrace and pushed the phone across the desk, “sure kid.” He sat back down behind his desk, fingers laced together over his rotund belly, as he leaned back in his chair and watched while Trudy dialed the phone number.
Numbly she pressed each key pad of her sister’s telephone number. “It’s Trudy. What’s going on?”
Linda told her they had already buried their mother. “She left you everything, except for her car and a stupid painting. You inherited everything! The family homestead and anything connected to mother. You better hurry and get here because The Lady Slipper is collapsing by the day,” Linda said.
Linda’s angry shouting caused Trudy to hold the phone away from her ear. Houston’s bushy gray eyebrows knotted together in a single line under his furrowed forehead, as what he heard reflected in his face.
“Why didn’t you call me sooner? Why didn’t you call me about the funeral? Was she ill--was it an accident? Why didn’t you let me know?” she said firing the questions at Linda like machine gun bullets. “Why would mother leave everything to me?”
“Why did Mother do anything? I’m sorry, I have no idea. She never confided in me,” came her sister’s sharp retort.
“I’ll be on my way back as soon as I can. Take care of things until I can get there, will you?”
Trudy hung up the phone. She slumped into the chair across the desk from Houston shaking her head. Tears welling in her eyes, she fought to keep them back.
“I inherited The Pink Lady Slipper. The homestead,” Trudy explained to Houston when he looked toward her with a quizzical expression on his face. “The building on the property was named The Pink Lady Slipper by the former owner and mother loved the name so she kept it. It used to be some kind of brothel or something. It isn’t really our homestead because the family only recently acquired it. What it actually is, is a rambling two-story log house, a carriage house and other small out buildings on a hunk of northern Michigan wilderness in Orenda.
“I thought you had a sister and a brother that lived with your mother,” he said.
“I do, I mean did. Why mother willed the property to me I don’t know. She knew I’m a grass roots type of person. Following the rodeo circuit suits me fine. I don’t need a house and property--roots. Why didn’t she give it to Linda or Paul? They would be much better able to take care of it than I am. They lived there while they were growing up. I never lived there long enough to remember it--well almost.
“Well, if you need time to go home and settle things you sure can have the time. Maybe this is a chance for you to get off that game leg before something really bad happens to you,” Houston said, almost as an after thought.
“I can’t imagine why she left it to me unless there was something...” she let the words hang in the air between them. Something what--something wrong? Something sinister? Her mind drifted to the short note she had received in her Easter card about ghosts stirring things up at the Lady Slipper and about not trusting Linda. That wasn’t unusual, Linda and she had never seen eye to eye since high school. Even then, her sister ran with the wrong crowd, did drugs and generally gave mother gray hair and headaches from constant battles and worry. “I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I need to think about it,” she said. “This is so unbelievable. She is--was, always so active. She was in perfect health according to what my sister and brother have written to me. I don’t understand how she could have just died.”
“Does anyone suspect foul play?” Houston asked.
The thought struck Trudy like the bull, Cyclone, smashing into her all over again. “Linda didn’t say. She is just upset because I inherited everything. I can’t blame her. I sure didn’t ask for it. But, foul play? I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt mother.” Except Linda, the thought bumped into her conversation with Houston. She swallowed hard. “I can’t think of anyone, but then, I haven’t been into her life, or involved in what’s happening with her, for quite a while.”
Trudy left Houston’s office and crossed the dusty parking lot to the fifth wheel trailer that was her home, as she followed the cowboys from rodeo to rodeo, protecting them from the things they challenged--she had been doing that since she’d married Doug. Before he was killed by that drunken rodeo clown’s lack of interest, they were a rodeo team. She wanted to run, run and keep running until everything went away. Run until what she had just heard and read didn’t exist anymore. How could her mother die? She wasn’t ready for her to be gone forever. How will she ever apologize now for whatever it was that made them not speak to each other? Trudy let the tears spill onto the arid land--land as dry and empty as she felt.
She slumped into her overstuffed easy chair clutching the telegram. Angry tears spilled over onto her lap. “Why? Why couldn’t you wait until Christmas so we could mend what was broken between us? You were too young to die. I needed you. Why? Why did you go and die on me?” She ranted at the dead emptiness of the trailer and suddenly, her life. The crumpled telegram in her hand, she shook it at the ceiling, as though she thought her mother watched her from above.
Trudy paced the small space she had been content to call home. How come her mother would leave her all her worldly possessions? Why wouldn’t she give them to Linda? Linda was the one who was always there. Even though mother was afraid of her, she was there. I don’t know why she was so afraid of Linda either. There is so much I don’t know. Maybe that is why she is giving me all this so I will go home to find out the answers to all those questions. “How can I find out the answers if you’re not there, Mom, answer me that if you will. Please.” She collapsed again into a heap on her bed, then cried herself to sleep.
When she awoke it was dark. Stars twinkled through the skylight above her bed. It took her a minute to realize what had happened in the preceding hours hadn’t been a dream--she was sure now. The questions were still the same in her mind. Why would her mother leave her everything? Why did she die? Why wasn’t she notified that she was sick or that she had died so she could attend the funeral? She had to go back to Orenda, to find out.
Perhaps she would stay there. Anyway, she needed to retire after the last accident. Her limp slowed her down too much to keep ahead of the bulls. She was putting the riders and herself in danger by staying on as a rodeo clown, when she wasn’t capable of moving with the speed of a gazelle. Being small had its advantages, fitting into those barrels on the run was a simple deal for her. She could bounce into one of them without touching the sides, but that didn’t keep the last bull from stomping on her and goring her when the barrel split. She was lucky to be alive. Houston’s words from yesterday struck her then. She hadn’t even heard them. He didn’t fire her, he didn’t lay her off, because of their friendship, she knew that. But what he had said yesterday ran in her mind now--he wanted her to find a reason to choose another lifestyle.
She wondered many times while she was healing how those staves had come off that barrel. Why it just blue apart when Cyclone hit it. She’d been in the same situation a dozen times and the barrels always held. The little redhead that wanted her place--perhaps. She had tried other things to get rid of Trudy and she had always chosen not to play her game. She ignored most of the pranks--but the barrel, could she have? The barrels were inspected after every rodeo and replaced if they were weak. That is why Trudy had taken it upon herself to check them now before every rodeo. No more weak ones would slip through to let that kind of thing happen to her or anyone else again, if she could help it.
Well, she decided it didn’t matter now. What mattered now was that she go home to find out what had happened to her mother. Her gut told her it wasn’t right, something was amiss. Why wasn’t she notified until her sister realized that she had inherited everything except for that one painting that mother thought fit to leave to Linda? Too many unanswered questions. She would tell Houston in the morning that she was going home and probably wouldn’t be returning to the rodeo. She hated to leave her friends, but she knew when enough was enough.
Her mind finally made up, Trudy began to pack and secure everything in the trailer. She would stop by the storage shed she’d rented in New Mexico on her way, to pick up the rest of her stuff. The south route was her choice anyway because the passes to the north were too dangerous this time of year. You never knew when you would be delayed for a day or two by an avalanche or winter storm. She figured she could be home in five days running if she slept only a few hours a night.
ISBN 1-59088-424-8 (electronic)
1-59088-610-0 (print)
Book one in the bed and breakfast Mystery/ Suspenseseries
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Watch For The Raven
A tall Indian, dressed in buckskin, slipped through the trees as silent as a breeze. He stopped where the arrow lay in the snow, the tip glistening in the sun. A shiver walked icy fingers up Josh’s spine. He tried not to move or breathe. The tall, shadowy figure moved back in his direction looking for signs which way the deer had gone--or did he know Josh hid in the brush? Josh shivered at the thought. He closed his eyes and held his breath, peering out through a tiny slit. If the Indian came his way he was prepared to run for his life. Instead, the Indian slipped the arrow into his quiver. Then he sped off, barely making a sound in the packed leaves and snow covering the forest floor.
For a long time Josh lay in the brush hardly daring to breathe. He listened for any sound. Did the Indian leave or did he smell Josh? They had incredible powers Pa had told him. His friends at school talked about them finding game, where white men had already hunted, by the smell of fear. Josh sure felt fear; did he smell like it, too? That made him feel worse ‘cause he was more afraid than he ever was. Did that Indian smell him? Was he lurking, waiting for Josh to run? He shivered; he was cold, hungry and scared out of his wits. There was no one to help him. Darkness fell like someone dropped a pail over the sun. It was a long moment before the moon washed the darkness with a milky glow. He uncurled from his tight huddle, stretching his stiff legs carefully so as not to disturb the brush too much. Then he flopped over on his belly and listened. Inch by inch he snaked out of his hiding place. Watching carefully with each forward motion, he scanned the deep brush for signs of the Indian. An owl hooted. It startled Josh so. He jumped without another thought about being seen; he shuddered and took off running. Night was no time to be alone in the deep woods. Wild ferocious animals are everywhere, he thought as he charged through the brush. He didn’t want to think what might be lurking in the shadows, looking for an easy meal. Or where the Indian might be waiting to grab him.
Shielding his face from the brambles and oak brush with his arm, he ran. The brush now filled with shapes that looked like wild animals that clawed at his half-frozen face. He stumbled over rocks and fallen trees. He sped along, running, hoping by some chance he would run out of the woods and into the clearing by his home. He raced mindlessly until his chest hurt. There was a full moon up high now. It should have helped him find his way if he had been thinking proper; instead it cast an eerie glow. Nothing looked familiar. Josh didn’t know which direction home was or how far away it was. He wondered if the Indian tales he had heard were true.
The guys at school had said the souls of the dead lived in the wind of the trees. Was that what he heard whispering and squeaking? Was it spirits of the dead? Were they coming to get him? He had no idea what ghosts did with people they caught, but it couldn’t be good. Maybe it was a coyote or some other wild animal hot on his trail. Could be a coyote, or a mountain lion, a grizzly. He had seen animals skirting the clearing, just outside the woods at home. They were chasing rabbits or deer across the field. The woods must be full of them.
Josh didn’t have time to think, all he knew was he needed to keep going. His lungs hurt. "Can’t stop now. Got to get home," he said. "Yeow!" he squealed as his foot snagged on a tree root and he stumbled. The stumble cost him his balance and Josh lost his footing on some wet leaves and skated, trying to keep upright. He toppled over like a dead tree felled by the wind. Down, down, down the hill he tumbled. Branches grabbed at him, scratching and slapping his face and arms. He felt a sharp pain as his head skipped from a tree trunk to a boulder. Ghostly, gnarled trees reached out for him as he rolled by them. Finally, he stopped rolling. Big bear shapes stood silent, watching him.
"Where, ow, where am I?" he said, trying to straighten himself out. Are those wild animals? he thought. "Oh, no. Whew, Don’t see any eyes, they must just be boulders and trees. Oh, my head hurts," he said. Everything sort of swirled around him. Little sparks danced like fireflies in front of his eyes. His stomach churned.
Something warm and sticky was trickling down his face. Red stained the ghostly whiteness of moonlit snow. His forehead stung with pain. He felt it; a gash was oozing blood in quick spurts like his heart was beating. He tried to think. He needed to do something to stop the blood before some wild animal smelled it and came to get him. He pulled his bandana out of his pocket and folded it into a long strip and wound it around his throbbing head. How could he have been so stupid? Now, he was angry with himself but he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. He leaned back and took a long breath. What had he done? His panic had cost him. He should have...
Skull Music ~ by Billie A. Williams
How earth shattering could something be in a murder investigation? You expect the worst and you usually get it. What kind of animal murders, anyway. Especially as gruesome as the three we’ve seen so far. The public is screaming for action. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to these senseless murders. Not that every murder isn’t senseless, these I guess border on heinous.
Charlie pulled into the only available spot near the police department. Sam was a bit close to the edge, something was really wrong. When she called to find out how the investigation was going from his end, he almost came unglued. She was glad they were friends and he would give her current information.
Sam was out of his office talking to a couple detectives at their desks when Charlie entered the precinct. The clutter of desks and hum of the room reminded her of the newsrooms of several small town newspapers where she had worked. Desks that looked like hand-me-downs, papers and files piled high like dust rags, old lamps and coffee cups and behind it all perched some tired faces typing reports, some comparing notes, none laughing or carrying on nonsense conversations or gossip. She caused a stir as she walked through the room. Reporter was synonymous with poison in a detective’s office atmosphere, she thought wanting to correct their opinion out loud as she walked through voices lowered to keep conversations private from the snooping press.
She caught Sam’s eye and he motioned her into his office.
"Hope it’s been awhile since you had breakfast," he said.
She sat in the only empty chair in the cluttered office across the desk from him. He pulled out a folder and sat down heavily as he handed it to her. "The X-ray we found in Henderson’s car? We knew it wasn’t a human skull, we were beginning to think it was alien. According to the FBI lab, it’s a dolphin brain."
"A dolphin? What was Henderson doing with an X-ray of a dolphin brain?"
"We were able to track where it came from with the FBI’s help. The doctor, witch doctor I’d say, but not in public company, is a firm believer in organ transplants, from pig hearts to dolphin brains. This guy is a regular Frankenstein."
"How does he tie in with Henderson? Was he after her body parts?"
"He says not. The good doctor says they were looking to transplant Henderson’s brain with a dolphin brain because of the brain tumor, she apparently was not long for this world."
"Oh my God. Did she agree?"
"I don’t know, but thinking of the consequences, you know dying in that kind of pain, she might have. We may never know the answer to that. From the skull music tape..."
"Wait, Skull music?"
"That’s what the lab calls that cassette tape we found in the tape player of her car."
"I never heard about that."
"There wasn’t much to hear. Sounded like a fan belt screeching or something, but the guys in the lab had heard it before. Now with a tag for the X-ray, it makes even more sense."
"How so?"
"Brain waves. For years scientists have been studying the electronic emissions from the brain. They also have been able to communicate with dolphins using this knowledge. The tape is the sound produced electronically from a brain."
"And the brain sounds like a squealing fan belt?"
"In this particular case, the lab said a terrorized brain."
"Okay, so let me see if I have the picture here. Professor Henderson has a brain tumor. Her brain’s reaction to this tumor is terror. So some lunatic offers to replace her terrorized brain with a dolphin brain."
"You pretty much scoped the big picture."
"Do you actually believe this bullshit?" Charlie said, stunned by the implications of a mad scientist recording the various emotions of the brain. In order to do that he would have to elicit the emotions he wanted first. Terror was one of those emotions he wanted to record. How would you terrorize someone to record their brain’s reaction? Charlie didn’t want to know the answer to that question. The question that needed an answer was why. To further science wasn’t enough of an answer for her.
Sam shrugged. "Until we come up with something better, this is what the guys who should know are telling me."
"
Copyright © 2005 Billie        Williams. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 1-59088-488-4 Electronic
1-59088-705-0 Print
Book two in the Bed & Breakfast Mystery/Suspense series
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Release Date January 2006
Trudy grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself as she stared in disbelief. She hadn’t imagined it. The Amazon Woman—the words stung her as they struck home. She realized then she never even knew her name. A guest had died at the Lady Slipper and she never even knew who the woman was.
Forms, shadows, gathered around the body in the periphery of her view, she couldn’t pull herself away from the gold handled knife standing there so regal in the woman’s back.
One of the shadow men leaned down to pull the knife from her back.
“No! Don’t touch.” Alexander said as she dashed to the phone. Her face drained of color as though some one had pulled the plug. She shook the phone and pushed frantically at the disconnect button. Trudy knew in an instant the phone was as dead as the woman on the floor in the kitchen doorway.
Death by Candlelight
ISBN 1-59088-133-8 Electronic
1-59088-901-0 Print
Book one in the Candlelight Series
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Book one in the Candlelight Mystery Suspense Series
"Bitch."
Danielle heard the profanity before she felt the blow to the back of her head, which knocked her sideways off her chair. Hot wax spilled with her, pouring across her arm and coating everything from table to floor like lava flowing from a volcano. With a brutal stroke of his arm, Randy swept the table clear of all her candles and supplies. The crash was deafening and heightened her pain. Randy didn’t wait for her to recover. He grabbed her by one arm, picking her up like a pile of dirty rags. She landed with a thud against the doorframe. Pain shot up her side. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She glared at Randy.
"Next time I tell you to go get beer for my friends, you jump, understand?" Randy roared. He smashed the back of his hand across her face.
"Clean up this fucking mess and you before I get back or there will be hell to pay," he said, staggering out of the room. "You and your damn candles, that’s all you think about. I’m sick of it."
The kitchen door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. Tears streamed down her face as she lay in a heap where she had fallen. Her body throbbed with pain. The hot wax on her arm had cooled to a warm paste but the burning sensation intensified. She pulled herself into a sitting position and took stock of all the parts where she hurt. Nothing felt broken, not this time anyway. She crawled over to where the wax for her latest batch of candles puddled on the bright red and gray tiles of the craft room floor. Still in a dazed half-conscious state of mind, she began peeling and scooping wax back into the kettle and turned off the hot plate. Tears clouded her vision. "Where have all the flowers gone . . . " she began singing in a quiet bird-like voice.
Running out to get beer for him and his cronies disgusted her. She hoped ignoring him would work, hoped that everyone would leave and he would pass out. This latest party was running into the third day. How long can he last? Usually after he woke up from an extended drunk, Randy would be apologetic and doting, loving her as though he meant it. She had fallen in love with that Randy. No such luck this time, this time he seemed to gain energy from the violence against her. There was a silence when all Randy’s friends left; the hollow silence, now that Randy had left too, seemed ominous. "I should have known better," she sobbed, tears spattering in the soft wax coating the floor. Outside, the Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad Train moaned with the familiar cry like the howl of a gray wolf that searched for its mate. It echoed Danielle’s pain. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." The words and music crashed through her mind flooding her thoughts with memories.
The loving relationship she once enjoyed had now turned dark and sinister. He used to be fun. Now, she no longer knew the man she was living with. He was increasingly more violent. Anything would trip his hair trigger temper and set him off. How long will it be before he kills me? The thought made her shudder.
Danielle knew Randy could be back in an hour if he went to the Billy Goat Saloon where all the bikers hung out or he could take off on his Harley and be gone for days. She never knew for sure when he left like this.
They had only been together a year the first time he left and she had missed him with a passion. Worried sick about him for four days, she’d tortured herself with guilt and what ifs, waiting for him to return. When he finally did come home, he had found her waiting for him eager to forget the fight that had caused him to slap her around. Later he apologized and said he would never do it again. She had believed him. After all, he had not really beaten her, at least not that time; he had just slapped her and shoved her down. As she thought about the accelerating violence, the time he broke her arm seemed long ago. That had scared her. He did take her to the emergency room the next day when he was sober. "Tell them you fell down the stairs," he said.
The emergency room personnel were not inclined to believe that story and she had to do some tall talking to convince them it was nothing more than a clumsy accident. Maybe that time it was her fault, if she hadn’t made him mad, maybe that wouldn’t have happened. She shouldn’t have nagged him about getting a job. That time when she asked, he told her he had gone for a ride to sort things out. "What did that mean?" He told her to keep her nose out of his business. She never asked again. Now, as her body ached with pain, remembering his apologies after each new outburst of violence, she wondered if his promise to never do it again meant the beating or the running away. The answer was all too clear recently.
The day she met him he came into the Office Bar & Grill wearing faded blue jeans and a faded blue chambray work shirt. His deep brown hair and mahogany brown eyes swept her off her feet. He was her first encounter with a cowboy, Stetson hat, boots and all. She got shivers just thinking about the tall, lean cowboy with the slow drawl and easy manner. His smile caused butterflies in her stomach or perhaps lower. And it still did.
After her shower, Danielle laid across the bed to rest her aching body. She started to dream almost immediately.
Candlelight and Shadows
Young Adult Historical Adventure
ISBN 1-59088-408-6 Electronic
1-59088-635-6 Print
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Book Two  in the Candlelight  Mystery/Suspense Series
ISBN 1-59088-417-5 Electronic
1-59088-618-6 Print
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Skull Music