⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Road To Me by Laura Drake @lauradrakebooks @thestoryplant #TheRoadToMe #womensfiction

 

The Universe conspires to set a young woman on a Route 66 road trip with the hippie grandma she bitterly resents. But what Jacqueline discovers out there could open her to a brighter future…



By Laura Drake





Jacqueline Oliver is an indie perfumer, trying to bury her ravaged childhood by shoveling ground under her own feet. Then she gets a call she dreads―the hippie grandmother she bitterly resents was apprehended when police busted a charlatan shaman’s sweat lodge. Others scattered, but Nellie was slowed by her walker and the fact that she was wearing nothing but a few Mardi-Gras beads. Jacqueline is her only kin, so, like it or not, she’s responsible.

Despite being late-developing next year’s scent, Jacqueline drops everything to travel to Arizona and pick up her free-range grandma. But the Universe conspires to set them on a Route 66 road trip together. What Jacqueline discovers out there could not only heal the scars of her childhood but open her to a brighter future.

“The Road to Me is an unforgettable story of self-discovery and survival, reconciliation and redemption.” — Barbara Claypole White, bestselling author of The Perfect Son and The Promise Between Us

“In The Road to Me, Laura Drake takes on the complexities of one family struggle to get over a lifetime of mistakes and misunderstandings, expertly blending the heartbreak of a grandmother’s past and a granddaughter’s reluctance to trust her. The Road to Me offers a fresh and entrancing take on reconciliation and forgiveness, a truly captivating story filled with wisdom and a whole lot of heart.” — Donna Everhart, author of The Education of Dixie Dupree

Book Information

Release Date: April 19, 2022

Publisher:  The Story Plant

Soft Cover: ISBN: 978-1611883251; 320 pages; $16.95; E-Book, $7.49

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3rLfg82

Barnes & Noblehttps://bit.ly/3oFFvdZ

Apple Bookshttps://apple.co/3BeUEIy

Book Depository: https://bit.ly/3subeQs

Indigo: https://bit.ly/3Js09GJ

IndieBoundhttps://bit.ly/3rGew41

Book Trailer: https://lauradrakebooks.com/2021/11/18/book-trailer-the-road-to-me/






Saturday~


I should be preparing for the show that could be the rocket fuel to propel my small business to the big time. Instead, I’m picking up my jail-break grandmother in the desert in back-of-beyond, Arizona.
 

It turns out, to get to this Show Low place in less than two days, I had to fly from Seattle to Phoenix, rent a car, and drive a hundred eighty miles. And the earliest flight I could get arrived here at two.
 

I spent the last hour driving, worrying about how much all this is costing me. I had to withdraw funds from my safety net for the plane ticket, and none of this was in the budget. No helping it, though. No one can accuse me of not taking care of my grandmother. When she broke her hip, falling out of a chair in geriatric yoga class, I had her seen by the most prominent orthopedist. He didn’t take Medicare, so I paid the bill myself. If Nellie’d been in charge, she’d have had a native shaman. The rehab center is the best in the desert, but they’re not used to patients trying to get away. Especially ones with fresh pins in their hip.
 

A deputy called last night to tell me they found her. They did a raid on a charlatan doing “sweats” in the desert. They arrested the leader, but most of the followers scattered. Nellie couldn’t make a clean getaway, what with her walker. And the fact that, except for several strands of Mardi Gras beads, she was naked.


I tried to talk him into putting her on a plane, but he said he’d only release her to next-of-kin. She’d told him there was a conspiracy at the facility to sell her into sexual slavery. He didn’t buy it, and he wanted a family member to come take charge.


That’s me. The last of the line. I’m a failed third-generation hippie. I know where the second generation is—under a marble slab at Long Rest Cemetery. It’s the first generation who’s gone AWOL. Again.





"Funny...emotional...tear jerker..."










Laura Drake’s
 first novel, The Sweet Spot, was a double-finalist and then won the 2014 Romance Writers of America® RITA® award. She’s since published 11 more novels. She is a founding member of Women’s Fiction Writers Assn, Writers in the Storm blog, as well as a member of Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West.

Laura is a city girl who never grew out of her tomboy ways or serious cowboy crush. She gave up a corporate CFO gig to write full-time. She realized a lifelong dream of becoming a Texan and is currently working on her accent. She’s a wife, grandmother, and motorcycle chick in the remaining waking hours.

Her latest book is the literary fiction, The Road to Me.

Visit her website at: https://lauradrakebooks.com/ or connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.







Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Ghost Marriage by Kirsten Mickelwait @kmickelwait #Paranormal #Memoir #TheGhostMarriage

 

The Ghost Marriage is an absorbing tale about what happens when you marry Prince Charming and the expected ‘Happily Ever After’ erodes into a kind of ‘Cursed Ever After.’ It’s a story of survival, of adjusted ambition, of how to be quick on your feet when your daily foundation crumbles in midlife…



By Kirsten Mickelwait




Kirsten, at age 31, meets and marries Steve Beckwith, a handsome and successful attorney. Twenty-two years later, Steve becomes unemployed and addicted to opioids, using money and their two children to emotionally blackmail Kirsten. What’s more, he’s been having an affair with their real estate agent, who is also her close friend. Soon after their divorce is finalized, Steve is diagnosed with colon cancer and dies within a year, leaving Kirsten with $1.5 million in debts she knew nothing about. As she fights toward recovery, Kirsten begins to receive communications from Steve in the afterlife―which lead her on an unexpected path to forgiveness.

“A skillfully written, thought-provoking account that positively reconsiders an antagonist as an important teacher.”
Kirkus Reviews

“What if you accidentally married your worst enemy? With unflinching honesty and hard-earned grace, Kirsten Mickelwait peels the shiny façade off her catastrophic marriage to reveal how she not only survived the lies, betrayals, and lawsuits, but also found her way to compassion. If you don’t think on your ex fondly, The Ghost Marriage will teach you why you should.”
―Meredith May, author of The Honey Bus and Loving Edie

The Ghost Marriage is an absorbing tale about what happens when you marry Prince Charming and the expected ‘Happily Ever After’ erodes into a kind of ‘Cursed Ever After.’ It’s a story of survival, of adjusted ambition, of how to be quick on your feet when your daily foundation crumbles in midlife.”
―Julia Scheeres, author of Jesusland and A Thousand Lives

“With The Ghost Marriage, Kirsten Mickelwait―in bracing, unsentimental prose― brings us in close to the disturbing history of her troubled marriage. It’s abundantly satisfying to watch her move through each crisis toward new compassion―for herself, but also for her deceased ex-husband.”
―Angela Pneuman, author of Lay It on My Heart and Home Remedies

“By turns hilarious, lyrical, suspenseful, and touching, Kirsten Mickelwait’s memoir pulls us into the whirlpool of her unique marriage―then spits us out into the dazzling light of what that marriage came to mean. Supremely well written, and with a captivating honesty.”
―Veronica Chater, author of Waiting for the Apocalypse

Book Information

Release Date: Audiobook releases April 12, 2022

Publisher: She Writes Press

Amazon: Paperback https://amzn.to/3tYLlcs





On Saturday morning, I went to my usual yoga class, then figured 
I had just enough time to run to Napa to drop off my old cable box at the Comcast office and be back in St. Helena by eleven. With my ridiculous work schedule, Saturdays were the only days I could run errands.

I walked into the office at a little strip mall on Jefferson Street, carrying the box and attendant cables. There was no one at the counter, and the sole clerk in the store was engaged with a customer at a side table. Two young girls were playing on the carpet. “I just want to drop this off,” I told the clerk, gesturing with the box in my hands. “Can someone help me do that?”

“Ma’am? You’ll need to wait your turn. I’m helping this customer now, and I’ll assist you when I’m through.” She went back to talking about bundled rates to the woman seated in front of her. I looked at my watch. It was already ten thirty-five. If someone helped me immediately, I could get back to St. Helena by eleven. If I was even five minutes late, I worried that Steve would just leave. I didn’t want to lose my chance to see him in person for another whole week or longer.

“I’m in kind of a hurry,” I said. “Isn’t there anyone else who can help me?” I could see through the window of the door to the back room, where two people stood chatting.

“Ma’am? I’ll help you when I’m done.” She went back to her sales pitch.

I walked over to the door and poked my head in. “Excuse me,” I said.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! You cannot go in there.” The woman at the table was standing up now, yelling. “Our safe is back there. You are not allowed in there! I told you to wait. You can’t just go bothering our other employees. I can have you removed from the store!”

Inside me, something broke, like a jar of some rotten, foul-smelling liquid being dropped onto pavement. The cancer, the job, the commute, the money worries, the divorce, the betrayals, the manipulation.

Everything that I had been sealing off behind a wall of control and composure and hope for four years suddenly burst forth like a flood of raw sewage.

I turned back to face the woman. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Yell at me!” I yelled back, slamming the counter with my fist. “I am a Comcast customer, and I have to be back in St. Helena for an important meeting at eleven o’clock, and you’re making me wait for no fucking reason. There are two employees behind that door! Tell one of them to come out and fucking help me!” Cumulatively, it was the most I’d used the F-word, ever. I felt like a fucking fool. But I was beyond caring. The sales girl stared, and the woman and her children gaped at me, their eyes wide with alarm.

Hearing the commotion, one of the employees came out and ran behind the counter. “Miss? I’m happy to help you now.” She was a woman about my age. Instead of anger or righteousness, she looked at me with genuine concern and kindness. “What can I assist you with?”

It was the kindness that completely undid me. My face crumpled.

I dropped my head into my hands and began to weep. “I’m just trying to return this box,” I began. May Day, May Day! I had lost control in front of everyone. My plane was in a death spiral.

“Miss, don’t worry about it! It’s fine to return the box. Just let me look up your address.”

“It’s not about the box,” I sobbed. Searching in my purse for a tissue. Pushing my hair out of my eyes. Completely humiliated. And yet, did it even matter anymore?

“I understand, miss.” Of course she had no idea what was happening, but she pretended she did.

“Thank you,” I cried. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually like this.” I managed to spit out my address, but I couldn’t stop sobbing. She typed furiously into her computer, frantically searching for my client account page.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay then, all set,” she said, and gave me a big smile as she handed me a receipt. “You have a good day now, okay?”

“Thanks. You too.” My sobs were coming so hard, I could barely form the words. I stumbled through the double doors to my car parked just in front. I glanced over my shoulder through the plate-glass windows and could see everyone in the store staring back at me, mouths in little O’s. Then I drove home, twenty minutes, and cried the entire way. By the time I got home, I was out of tears. I thought.

Steve looked terrible. His clothes hung on him like bedsheets. His face was gray. His hair stood up on the back of his head from lying on a pillow, and he was dwarfed as he sat in my big striped armchair. He looked about eighty years old.

We exchanged polite small talk. Rather, I offered it, and he absorbed it like a dry sponge. The man who had played the victim for the past few years was now actually deserving of my pity.

I angled toward the hard part. The real reason I needed to see him.

“Steve, I’m worried about what’s going to happen should you . . . if your condition takes a turn for the worse,” I began.

He made a laughing sound, but without a smile. “I should’ve known you’d be thinking about money at a time like this,” he said.

“That’s not fair,” I said. “We have two children to support. It’s only natural that I’d want to know how we’re going to make this work going forward.”

“You don’t need to worry, Kirsten. The kids will be taken care of.”

“How? Do you have life insurance? Will there be a trust?”

“I don’t have to discuss the details with you. I love my kids, and I wouldn’t leave them without resources.”

“It would just help me to know what the plan is.”

“Look. I’m not dying. The doctor has told me that, as long as I continue with the chemo, I can live to a ripe old age.”

“Well, that’s good news.” Also hard to believe.

Suddenly his face crumpled, as mine had in the Comcast office.

He put his head in his hands and silently wept. It’s so hard to watch a man cry.

“Are you in pain?” I asked.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m just scared.”

“But I thought you said you aren’t dying?”

“Well, we never know, do we?”

“So what should I say to the kids?”

“It’s not really your place to say anything, Kirsten. Isn’t that my job?”

“But Amory has questions.”

“Then tell him to ask me.”

We sat like that for a few minutes in silence, then Steve got up and made his way to the front door. As he turned to leave, I said, “Listen, Steve.”

“Yeah?” His bony hands hung at his sides, like a marionette’s. The lines from his mouth to his jaw, like a Charlie McCarthy puppet.

“I just want to say . . .” And now I was fighting back tears too. Again. “I’m just really sorry. I know I’ve hurt you in the past, and I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you.” Justified or not, I had been the cause of at least some of his suffering since I’d ended the marriage.

He looked me in the eye. It was the perfect moment for a mutual absolution. I waited, hoping for his apology too.

“Thanks,” he said. “I really appreciate that.” Then he shuffled to his car.



"Captivating...Hauntingly Beautiful...Page Turner..."










Kirsten Mickelwait
 is a professional copywriter and editor by day and a writer of fiction and creative nonfiction by night. She’s an alumna of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers, the Napa Valley Writers’ Conference, the Paris Writers’ Conference, and the San Francisco Writers’ Conference. Her short story, “Parting with Nina,” won first prize in The Ledge’s 2004 Fiction Awards Competition. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she’s working on a new novel.

Her latest book is the paranormal memoir, The Ghost Marriage.

You can visit her website at www.kirstenmickelwait.com or connect with her on TwitterInstagramGoodreads and Facebook.

 






Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Lost Boys by N.L. McLaughlin @nl_mclaughlin #YA #LostBoys

 

Book two in the series about a group of misfits, outcasts and vagabonds who travel the countryside hopping freight trains…




By N.L. McLaughlin



Life has returned to normal for the Nomads. Finn and Teague are closer than ever. The bond between River and Cash is evolving into something more, and Zac has his family of misfits. Even Beth has come into her own. No longer a greenie, she is now a full, contributing member of the group. Her internet fame has blossomed beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

Riding the rails from one adventure to another, life is perfect.

Or so it seems…

Recently released from prison, Daniel is on a quest to locate Finn. Thanks to Beth’s videos, he has a trail that will lead him straight to his quarry.

As the miles scroll by, the distance between Daniel and Finn shortens, bringing them closer to an ultimate confrontation.

Who will survive when their paths collide?

Book Information

Release Date: March 29, 2021 (e-book)

Publisher:  Twisted Sky, LLC.

Soft Cover: ISBN: 978-1736705940; 314 pages; $13.99; E-Book, $3.99

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3JDKJ2k

Signed Copies – www.nancylmclaughlin.com





“Momma, Momma! Look at all the ants!” the blond toddler shouted, as he crouched at the edge of the narrow driveway. He picked up a stick and poked the mound.

                “Colter, don’t mess with those,” the beautiful, young mother warned. “They bite. You’ll get hurt.”

                Taking hold of the toddler’s hand, she led him to the minivan and watched as he clambered up into his car seat. As soon as he settled, she buckled him in.

                “Let’s go, Dex!” she called toward the house.

                A young boy of roughly eight years, same blond hair as the mom and the toddler, dashed outside. Backpack dangling off one shoulder, sneakers untied, a half-eaten wedge of toast hanging from his mouth, he skidded to a halt beside his mother, then tossed his backpack inside. With a lighthearted grin, he vaulted into the van and fastened his seatbelt.

                A nostalgic smile spread across Daniel’s face as he sat in an old, black Jeep, camouflaged by the vehicles that were parked along the charming, suburban street. Birds chirped in the trees while squirrels romped about, carrying nuts from one lawn to another. The delicate perfume of flowers wafted on the morning breeze.

                Watching the pretty mom and her two, young children brought back a wave of recollections, of a life that now was nothing more than a dream. A time when he was the young dad leaving for work, his lovely wife accompanying him to his truck while his young son hopped about at her heels, happily chasing the squirrels who ran up and down the oak tree in the front yard. Daniel couldn’t remember how many times he had to pull Finn from that tree and hand him off to Tricia.

                He remembered pulling into the same driveway after a long shift at the firehouse, greeted by a somewhat older boy; still fairly young, riding his bike. At first sight of the truck, the boy beamed up at him, flashing one of the most genuine smiles Daniel had ever witnessed. There were no words to describe how much Daniel loved seeing that smile. Jumping out of the truck, he would scoop Finn up in his arms, breathing in the earthy scent of soil and that floral fabric softener Tricia loved so much. He loved that boy with every fiber of his being.

                The smile faded from Daniel’s face, turning into a contemptuous sneer. Lies.

                He took another drag from his smoke, observing the minivan pull out of the driveway and roll down the street. As it passed him by, the toddler smiled and waved at Daniel, both the boy’s mother and older brother, oblivious to the stranger who watched as they drove away.

                Daniel had been spying on the house for the past two weeks, studying the routines of the new occupants of the home he once shared with his own family. A lifetime ago. He learned their routine.           Every morning, the tall, athletic dad left for work. The absence of a uniform left Daniel to believe he was some sort of office hack. He cared little for those types. They were always so weak and boring.

                The pretty mom, with her long, blonde hair always tied up in a messy bun, reminded him of his wife, Tricia, when she was younger. The resemblance ended with the hairstyle. Truth was, Tricia was nothing like this woman. She had no heart or soul. What she had was a darkness that consumed everything she touched. It grew inside her like a fungus, with an insatiable hunger for pain and strife.

                It wasn’t always that way, or at least she was much better at hiding it in the early days. Sometimes when the mood struck him, Daniel would focus real hard, and like a dream, random memories of a happier time long ago would materialize through the haze of hate and pain. A time when a young firefighter was full of hope and promise, his pretty wife seemed happy and his son was the most precious thing in the entire world.

                Bullshit.

                Daniel climbed out of the Jeep and leaned against the door. He took one final drag from his cigarette, then tossed it on the ground, extinguishing it with the toe of his black boot. One last glance around the street confirmed there was no one about. Setting his focus on the house, he made his way around to the side yard.

                When he owned the house, the window to the laundry room was a constant on his list of things to repair. Never able to lock, Daniel tried a few remedies, but none ever worked well enough. The only way to fix the issue would have been to replace the window. He never got around to that. Standing in front of it now, he could see that the new homeowner hadn’t either. He slid the window open, then slipped inside.

                It being Tuesday, Daniel knew he had the house to himself until noon. The mom would drop Dex, the older boy, at school, then take Colter to his gymnastics class. After that, they would go to the park for an hour so the little guy could climb the rock wall. They would come back around noon for lunch, then the pretty mom would put the little boy down for a nap.

                With plenty of time to burn, Daniel decided he would check out the home and see what the new residents had done to the place.

                The scent of fabric softener and a delicate, floral perfume hung heavy in the air. The door to the laundry room opened with a resounding, sustained creak as it swung on its hinges. That was another one of those things that required fixing, but since it didn’t bother him unless he was dealing with it at that moment—he never got around to it. Too easy to forget about.

                The kitchen looked the same as always. Not much different. Same white cabinets. Same old, tile flooring, same old drawer pulls. At least they changed the curtains.

                He rounded the corner into the living room. Shiny hardwood floors had replaced the old carpet. A nice upgrade for sure. Daniel stood in the center of the room and swiped his boot across the floor. This was the spot where he almost ended Tricia’s wretched existence for once and for all. Just a few more seconds and he would have been free of her; but then the kid had to interfere. Daniel shoved his rage down, inhaling and exhaling until calm washed over him. Yes, replacing the old, smelly carpet with wood floors was an excellent choice. He turned and wandered down the hall toward the bedrooms.

                The new owners decorated the first room with dinosaurs. A perfect setting to inspire the imagination of a young boy. When he owned this home, the original intent was that this room would belong to the second child that he and Tricia were planning to have. That never came to be, so the room turned into a catch-all for everything they accumulated over the years that they never could quite find a place for. It was good to see it being used for its initial purpose. He wondered what it would have been like if they had had a second child. Would it have changed anything? Would that second child have looked like him? Shaking his head to oust the thought, he strolled down the hall.

                Running his hand along the smooth drywall, he marveled at the seamless repair. The memory of that night came rushing back. Tricia’s confession that over the years, she aborted not one, but two, unborn babies, all because she would sooner die than see him happy. The rage arising from all the years of pent-up hate for the way his life turned out; for all the shattered ambitions and lies. He flexed his hand. He could almost feel the warmth of Finn’s head in the palm of his hand as he smashed it into the drywall. A malevolent smirk crossed his face. They certainly did a superb job on the repair.

                A hand-drawn warning on red construction paper hung askew on the next door “Do Not Enter” it cautioned. Daniel chuckled, then turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

                The room smelled of fresh laundry with a modest hint of soil. He wondered if that was the standard scent of all little boys. Sports posters hung on the walls. Models of rockets and aircraft sat proudly on display. Honestly, the only actual difference was the color scheme. He stood in silence; waiting, for what? He didn’t know. Sadness, anger, bitterness; an emotion of some sort? The days of feeling bad over everything he lost were long over. All the normal emotions had burned through him one at a time, leaving nothing more than the charred remains of hollow memories and a solemn vow for vengeance.

                He spun around and stalked across the hall to the master bedroom.

                The fragrant perfume of fresh blossoms in the spring hovered around the threshold. He inhaled. Such a pleasant smell. Tricia never used perfume, it made her sneeze. No, when they lived in this house, the air smelled of pine cleaner, fabric softener and whatever food she was cooking up for dinner.

                The bedroom walls were a soft gray. That too was an improvement over the pale tan Tricia insisted on painting every wall in the house.

                Daniel climbed on top of the bench at the foot of the bed and separated the ceiling fan from the mount. Holding the fixture with one hand, he groped around in the ceiling, searching for a cache of money he hid there. Gone. Of course, she would remember that hiding place. After placing the fan back in place, he climbed down, taking care to straighten the comforter. He didn’t want to leave any trace he had been there. No sense in destroying the pretty mom’s sense of safety and comfort in her own home.

                It was safe to assume that Tricia emptied all the hiding places she knew about. Key point; the ones she knew about. He smirked and stormed back to the laundry room.

                About a year before everything came crashing down, the washing machine sprung a massive leak. Water spewed out and flooded the entire room, destroying the drywall. The entire room needed to be restored. Of course, the first thing Daniel discovered when he began the demo was a small rag stuffed inside the drainage hose. Right away, he knew who was responsible, so he found his son and made sure the boy understood the error of his ways. To his credit, Finn never whined or complained. He took his beating like a man, then went right to work on the demolition of the room. He didn’t even ask for any protective gear from the drywall dust. It was for the better, anyway. There was no way Daniel would have given him any.

                Thinking back on it, Daniel still had to admit a small amount of respect for the kid. When confronted, Finn held his ground. He didn’t cower, or run, or even lie. No, the boy stood strong and seldom ever flinched. Say what you want about the kid, he had serious backbone.

                It took a full month to complete the renovations of the room. Since Daniel did all the restoration work himself, he installed an extra hiding place. One that only he would know about.

                Standing in the laundry room now, Daniel pulled the washing machine away from the wall, took out his knife, and chipped away at the grout around the tiles. It came away easily. Next, he lifted four of the tiles, exposing a piece of concrete backer board. He leaned that against the wall and peered down at the metal safe tucked away inside the hole, precisely how he left it. It was a large one, with a dial combination lock. Daniel blew the dust aside, then quickly unlocked the door.

                Come to papa baby. Stashed inside were all the things he would require in the event of an emergency. Five thousand dollars in cash, a fake ID and passport, a set of keys to a storage locker at the other end of town, two boxes of ammo and, the best item of all, a shiny, black revolver still wrapped in muslin cloth.

                In the safe, a lone photo rested on the metal floor. Two people beamed up at him, suspended forever in time. One a young, handsome father; the other, a boy around five years old, holding up a huge catfish, flashing a toothless grin. The cheerful man in the picture was no longer recognizable to Daniel. It was as though he were staring at someone else—a stranger who only looked like him.

                His hand trembled as he stared down at the image. A kaleidoscope of emotions whirled around inside. He snorted, crushed the photo into a ball, tossed it into the safe, then slammed the door shut.

                After taking particular care to put the tiles back into place, Daniel slid the washer against the wall, cleaned up his mess, and made one more cursory check of the home. Once he was certain everything was exactly the way he found it, he climbed out the window and sauntered back to the old Jeep.

                The next stop was a run by the storage facility to pick up the gear he had tucked away. If his memory served him correctly, the locker contained camping gear, freeze-dried food, and extra clothing. There should be at least another two thousand dollars as well. It was time for a road trip to visit Tricia. She was going to be thrilled to see Daniel. He could hardly wait to see the look on her face.

  



"Thrilling...Realistic...Gritty..."







N.L. McLaughlin
 was born and raised in Massachusetts. After serving in the USMC, she returned home and went to college. Not long after, she moved to California and married. Six kids and multiple moves around the US later, she and her family call Texas home.

Her latest book is the YA fiction, Lost Boys: Book Two of the American Nomads.

You can visit her website at  www.NancyLMclaughlin.com or connect with her on TwitterFacebook and Instagram.








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