Remnants
Ghosts
of Roseville
Book
2
Betty
Bolté
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
Publisher:
Liquid Silver Books
Date
of Publication: October 27, 2014
Ebook:
978-1-62210-159-7
Paperback:
978-1-50248-107-8
ASIN:
Number
of pages: 331
Word
Count: 70,800
Cover
Artist: Lyn Taylor
Book
Description:
Paulette
O’Connell is focused on building her costume and home decorating
business in order to ensure a stable home for her unborn child. When
she accidentally summons her grandfather’s ghost, he demands she
needed him and must learn the reason before he’ll reveal how to
banish him. Meanwhile, a sexy chemist desires her attention despite
her refusal to act upon her heart’s desires. After all, following
her heart only lands her in trouble.
Zak
Markel journeys to Roseville in the desperate hunt for the missing
ingredient for the Elixir of Life he hopes will save his brother’s
eyesight and career. But he discovers more than he bargained for when
his search turns up the gorgeous woman of his dreams, distracting him
from his focus at the worst possible time, even though she staunchly
refuses to allow him past her defenses.
Can
he convince Paulette to open her mind to possibilities and follow her
heart to true happiness before it’s too late?
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Excerpt:
Paulette’s
attention fixed upon a black, flat-topped trunk with silver hinges
and hasp. It hunkered in front of the mannequin as though daring her
to approach. She straightened her back, one hand automatically
shielding her unborn baby, and made her way across the room until she
stopped before the ebony container. She shook off her reluctance to
touch it, since she needed to move it to reach the dummy. Grasping
the handles, she pulled, but it didn’t budge. She tugged again but
barely succeeded in shifting it an inch. What weighed so much in such
a small trunk? Leaning down, she slowly raised the hasp and then the
lid until the meager illumination in the room enabled her to peek
inside.
She
lifted a packet of newspapers tied together with a satin ribbon.
Peering closer, she determined they dated from the 1940s. Not
ancient, after all. Not like the letters and journals from the
mid-1800s found in other trunks. Still, old enough. Beneath the
papers, a large maroon leather book nestled among men’s suits and
trousers. She spotted an aged white cravat and matching formal shirt,
fingering the silky material with delight. Silks and satins speared
delight through her soul. Their textures and sounds blended into a
symphony of pleasure. She grabbed the heavy book and hauled it from
its nesting place, intent on reaching the luxurious fabrics.
The
leather warmed in her hands as she focused on the decadent silk
cravat. Searching for a safe place to deposit the book among the
dusty boxes and trunks, her fingers tingled then began to burn as
though touching a flame. Ouch. She jerked her hands apart then tried
to catch the book before it dropped from her hands. When it collided
with the hardwood floor, it fell open, its pages fluttering before
settling on an illuminated text. The ornate drawing of a great horned
owl poised to strike, beak open, talons ready to snare its prey,
curled around fancy script words. She peered at the sheet, reluctant
to touch the page after the previous singeing of her fingers, but
curious as to the mysterious message. She read the poem silently, and
then sounded it out loud, pondering the meaning.
“Before
the father came the father.
“Return
the one gone before.
“Return
the one gone before.
“Restore
the bygone to the present.
“This
I ask and nothing more.”
“How
strange.” She gingerly reached to retrieve the book and restore it
to its proper place.
With
a roar of wind, the door banged shut behind her, startling a gasp
from her compressed lips. The pages fluttered and whipped. The packet
of newspapers soared into the air, its ribbon untying in the chaos,
allowing the sheets to fly around like crazed paper airplanes. Her
jaw dropped open, a gasp followed by a woman keening in fear. Her
voice. Stop it. Get a grip. She swallowed the growing terror. She
whirled around, practically spinning like a ceiling fan on high as
she tried to determine what caused the wind careening about the room.
An eerie whine preceded what sounded like a wolf howling to the moon.
She gulped, alarm sizzling down her spine. Grizabella arched her
back, and hissed at the commotion, ears flat, tail pointed to the
ceiling. Paulette exhaled, her breath visible in the chilled room.
She crossed her arms both to warm them and to protect her child.
Quiet
fell along with the papers settling like oversized snowflakes. She
blinked three times, trying to erase the sight before her. But
blinking didn’t work. She gaped at the tall, gray-bearded man in
his impeccable suit and angled fedora. Gray highlighted his
close-cropped black hair and matched his friendly eyes. He seemed
vaguely familiar, yet she had never met him. Of that, she was
certain. She’d remember him.
“What
a surprise.” He reached toward her, palms up. “How can I help
you, my dear?”
“Stay
there.” She held out a hand, palm facing him, and backed up until
her legs bumped against the open trunk.
Trapped,
she had no escape but to move past the man. Or apparition. Or
whatever. She swallowed the fear threatening to make itself known.
Perhaps she should yell for Meredith. She would know what to do with
this specter. So much for the ghosts of Twin Oaks resting peacefully.
If only she’d never realized she could interact with spirits.
“Paulette,
my precious, you needn’t fear your own grandfather.” He moved
toward her, reaching for her.
“No.”
Shaking her head, she held up both hands indicating for him to stay
back. Then motioned for him to leave, shooing him as if he could fly
away. Or dissolve into thin air. Which, of course, he probably could.
“Whoever you are, you don’t belong here. Go away.”
Grizabella
growled and hissed from her spot near the wall. Hairs along her spine
stood straight, revealing the depth of her dislike of the man’s
presence.
“I
was content where I was.”
“Then
why did you come here? Wh-what do you want?” Paulette shivered and
wrapped her arms about her waist to still their trembling. The move
left her feeling more vulnerable by removing the sense of a barrier
between her and the apparition.
He
tilted his head and smiled, dropping one hand to his side. “More to
the point, what do you want? You summoned me.”
“If
I did, it was an accident.” He must understand she had not meant to
bring him from wherever he’d come from. Why did crap like this
happen to her? Nothing in her life ever transpired as she intended.
“Please, you must leave. You don’t belong here.”
“Now,
that’s not true. I belong here more than you do, even. So let’s
get acquainted, shall we? Then you can tell me why you called for
me.”
When
he started toward her, she screamed, her hands shielding her baby.
About
the Author:
Betty
Bolté writes both historical and contemporary stories featuring
strong, loving women and brave, compassionate men. No matter whether
the stories are set in the past or the present, she loves to include
a touch of the paranormal. In addition to her romantic fiction, she’s
the author of several nonfiction books and earned a Master’s in
English in 2008. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the
Historical Novel Society, the Women’s Fiction Writers Association,
and the Authors Guild.
Get
to know her at www.bettybolte.com
Newsletter:
www.bettybolte.com/newsletter.htm
Twitter:
@BettyBolte
Pinterest:
www.pinterest.com/bettybolte9
Amazon:
www.amazon.com/author/bettybolte
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The excerpt really caught my attention, can't wait to read it.
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