Beloved Beasts

What Do You Know About Ancient Egypt? Quiz Deck

Egypt (Insiders)

About the Author Joyce Ann Tyldesley is a British archaeologist and Egyptologist, academic, writer and broadcaster who specialises in the women of ancient Egypt.

The Pocket Guide to Equine Knots: A Step-by-Step Guide to the Most Important Knots for Horse and Rider (Skyhorse Pocket Guides)

About the Author Dan Aadland is the author of several books, including Treading Lightly with Pack Animals: A Guide to Low-Impact Travel in the Backcountry, and is a frequent contributor to Western Horseman and other equestrian publications. He and his wife, Emily, live in Absarokee, Montana, where they breed Tennessee Walking Horses and organize pack trips.

The Appalachian Trail by Day Hikes: Tips for the Timid

About the Author Polly Schoning is a retired veterinary pathologist who lives in Manhattan, Kan., but whose ties to the Appalachian Trail are strong--not only as a hiker but also as a former board member of the Green Mountain Club in Vermont and a life member of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy and the Maine Appalachian Trail Club.

Go with Me: A Novel

Review “Reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy...Go With Me is at once wry, primal, epic and impossible to put down. I’m telling you the same thing I told the writer Richard Price: You must read this.” — Charles Bock, bestselling author of BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN, on NPR's "You Must Read This" “[An] elegant little thriller about cunning versus cruelty . . . [a] pure delight, thanks to Freeman’s streamlined storytelling, dead-on dialogue, and lyrical descriptions of the bleak, woodsy landscape. This is a meticulous New England miniature, with not a wasted word.” — O magazine “This nimble thriller is the literary equivalent of a fierce bantamweight fighter: Short but muscular and lightning quick, it packs a surprising punch . . . Freeman has a flawless ear for dialogue and a sharp eye for quirky detail . . . Superb.” — People (Critic's Choice) “What a spiffy little yarn, loose and funny and, at a few key junctures, righteously bloody...The book takes just a few hours to read--about the running time of the swell indie movie someone should make from this offbeat charmer.” — Entertainment Weekly “Like its young heroine, Lillian, Freeman’s trim powerhouse is ‘a pistol.’ …Freeman’s beautifully cadenced dialogue is rich with humor, philosophic depth and a near-mythic sensibility.” — Publishers Weekly “GO WITH ME ambles along with that … mixture of corny irony and shrewd wisdom… These guys have a sweetness and slyness about them that’s affecting. ‘They don’t change,’ Freeman writes. ‘Time doesn’t pass for them.’ You could say the same for good storytelling like this.” — Washington Post “Castle Freeman Jr. packs more story into 160 pages than more famous authors could fit into twice as many...Go With Me is a dialogue-driven, take-the-law-into-your-own-hands story that is slick with humor and musings on pop culture, aging and American women.” — USA Today “This gem of a novel by Vermont author Freeman may bring him the larger audience he so richly deserves…Freeman turns this fablelike story into a surprisingly suspenseful showdown. And the artful cutaways to the old-timers’ priceless, extremely funny conversations add another level of richness to the tale.” — Booklist “There is a clear moral arc to this storyline, and suspense too. But GO WITH ME is also a literary novel, with echoes of “Deliverance” and Cormac McCarthy...Mr. Freeman adroitly captures the feel of played-out Vermont towns and people, and his dialogue has a terse, almost humorous, cadence.” — Wall Street Journal “A fast, memorable read gooey with atmosphere, Go With Me is a gem that sparkles with sly insight and cuts like a knife.” — Boston Globe “Castle...knows the territory well here, whether of the woods or the human heart. Go With Me is a fine testament to his considerable talents.” — Hartford Courant “One of the smartest novels we’ve read in a long time.” — Time Out Chicago “Freeman’s ear is flawless. The dialogue is taut, funny, wise, poignant, deceptively simple and only on occasion profane. . . . The description is astute and often beautiful.” — The Times-Argus (VT) The Times-Argus (VT) The Times-Argus (Vermont) “In this compact little gem of a novel two unlikely heroes help a stubborn woman track down a villainous bully. It’s a tale of love and justice and it’s beautifully constructed, with lightness and with expertise, out of north country conversations so quietly funny that every page brings a smile.” — Reeve Lindbergh, author of Forward From Here: Leaving Middle Age--and Other Unexpected Adventures “...the best mystery you missed in 2008...Tense and funny, “Go With Me” glides on pitch-perfect dialogue and a humdinger finale. — Cleveland Plain Dealer “This unusual little gem of a book is part comic romp and part nail-biting thriller...Castle Freeman writes with both wit and a deep understanding of the human psyche, and he does not cheat us out of a dramatic climax.” — The Guardian About the Author Castle Freeman Jr. is the award-winning author of two previous novels, a story collection, and a collection of essays. A regular contributor to The Old Farmer's Almanac since 1982, he lives in Newfane, Vermont, with his wife, Alice.

Celebrity in Death (In Death Series)

About the Author Nora Roberts is the number-one New York Times-bestselling author of more than 150 novels, including High Noon, Angels Fall, Blue Smoke, and Northern Lights. She is also the author of the bestselling futuristic suspense series written under the pen name J. D. Robb. There are more than 280 million copies of her books in print.

Large Print Easy Monday Crosswords (Large Print Crosswords)

About the Author Peter Gordon is the Executive Editor for Sterling Publishing, overseeing the puzzle and game books, and was the crossword editor of The New York Sun . His crosswords have appeared in The New York Times , The Wall Street Journal , USA Today , Los Angeles Times , The Washington Post , Newsday , and numerous puzzle magazines, including Games , where he was an editor for seven years. Gordon was a member of the winning U.S. teams at the 1990 International Crossword Marathon in Bjelovar, Yugoslavia, and the 1999 World Puzzle Championship in Budapest, Hungary. In 1994, he represented the U.S. at the Rummikub world championship on a cruise up the Rhine River, and he is the two-time division winner at the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament. His books include Hall of Fame Crosswords , Yahtzee Scratch & Play , Match Wits With Mensa: Test Your Trivia Smarts , and Verbiage for the Verbose ; he is also the coauthor of Solitaire Battleships , Scrabble-doku , and Mensa Guide to Solving Sudoku . He writes a weekly current events crossword for The Week .


By Way of Accident: The true stories behind the discovery of Egypt's greatest monuments

About the Author Ahmed has spend his life exploring the mystery of Ancient Egypt and its links to modern Egypt and the world. He is the author of "Prophets & Pharaohs" (2003), "The Great Temples of Egypt" (2009), "The Great Tombs of Egypt" (2011) and "The Great Gods & Goddesses of Egypt" (2015). He is also a lecturer and guest speaker, as well as a skilled tour guide and trip leader in Egypt. He lives with his family outside the city of Giza, not far from the Pyramids!

The Leaf Supply Guide to Creating Your Indoor Jungle

About the Author Lauren Camilleri and Sophia Kaplan are the brainchildren behind the Sydney-based interior-design nursery Leaf Supply. They have professional backgrounds in interior architecture and advertising, respectively, and previously authored a book (also called Leaf Supply ) for Smith Street Books in 2018.

Color-Me Cards: Greeting Cards: adult coloring book, 27 Stress-relieving designs, beautiful pen & ink drawings, all-occasion cards, blank greeting cards, color your own cards

Mary Manatee: A Tale of Sea Cows

Perfect, Almost

Taste the State: South Carolina's Signature Foods, Recipes, and Their Stories

Review " Taste the State is a love letter to my ancestral state's disproportionate contribution to our national and global culinary genius. With the dual forces of a passionate chef-scholar and a rigorous and ebullient culinary historian and master of letters, the Palmetto State has found the perfect team to render a splendid volume dedicated to its cuisine."―Michael Twitty, James Beard Award winning author of The Cooking Gene "Take an award-winning chef and add a seasoned heritage foodways scholar; blend (equal parts) centuries of South Carolina cooking and agricultural history; and voila―a historical culinary delight to be sampled and savored. This wonderful book will be at home in either the library or kitchen."―Walter Edgar, author of South Carolina: A History "A smart and insightful romp through the South Carolina larder, from knuckle hull peas to red horse bread, from liver pudding to shrimp pilau. Taste the State reminds me that our foodways derive power and meaning from the stories we tell about our place and our people."―John T. Edge, James Beard Award-winning author of The Potlikker Papers "With Taste the State , Kevin Mitchell and David Shields prove once again that they're THE dynamic duo of culinary history. Their meticulous research will satisfy anyone who hungers for a deeper understanding of South Carolina cuisine. I definitely wish this wonderful work was available when I wrote my books on soul food and barbecue. Future culinary historians will be grateful for their dedication."―Adrian Miller, James Beard Award-winning author of Soul Food "We devoured Kevin Mitchell and David Shields's Taste the Stat e, which reveals on every page fresh and new information about foods that have all but disappeared, such as palmetto pickle and tanya root, and also traditions still very much alive, like Frogmore stew, barbecue and boiled peanuts. Mitchell and Shields's collaboration is the most engaging―and cookable!―volume on the Palmetto State's foodways to date, and we believe it will be a model for a new form, state-by-state foodways encyclopedias. For the time being, South Carolina is the envy of the nation!""―Matt Lee & Ted Lee, James Beard Award-winning authors of The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook " Taste the State is a delightful mix of recipes, historical stories, and an exploration into the cultural meaning of food. It is a window into the cuisine of South Carolina that resists any whitewashing and leans into the complex mix of Native, Black and European influences in the state's cuisine. It will whet your appetite to slow down, absorb the rich heritage around you, and taste the Slow Food of South Carolina!"―Anna Mulé, Executive Director, Slow Food USA"From chubby Palmetto Asparagus to the "cheap high" of Yaupon Tea, Taste the State serves up intriguing bits of South Carolina food history, resulting in an entertaining, edifying treat."― Foreword Reviews [Starred review] " Taste the State is not only an informative read―it's an enjoyable one. It's suitable for all foodies, professional or otherwise, and is written with warmth and humor that serves to highlight the respect that Mitchell and Shields feel for South Carolina food. This is a book to savor, both in short reads and through in-depth perusal."― South Carolina Libraries "a delicious read for the culinary armchair aficionado as well as the kitchen gourmet."― Charleston Magazine About the Author Kevin Mitchell is the first African American chef instructor at the Culinary Institute of Charleston in South Carolina. He has culinary arts degrees in occupational studies and management from the Culinary Institute of America and a master's degree in southern studies from the University of Mississippi, where he studied Southern foodways, the preservation of Southern ingredients, and the history of African Americans in the culinary arts. In 2020 Mitchell was named a South Carolina Chef Ambassador. David S. Shields is Carolina Distinguished Professor of the English Language and Literature Department at the University of South Carolina and the chair of the Carolina Gold Rice Foundation. He is the author of numerous books, including Southern Provisions: The Creation and Revival of a Cuisine and The Culinarians: Lives and Careers from the First Age of American Fine Dining , and the recipient of the Southern Foodways Alliance's Ruth Fertel Keeper of the Flame Award.

Freedom (TM)

Review “ Freedom™ surpasses its smart, exciting predecessor. This concluding volume crackles with electrifying action scenes and bristles with intriguing ideas about a frightening, near-future world. The two books combined form the cyberthriller against which all others will be measured.”— Publishers Weekly (starred review)“Suarez continues his popular technothriller, and Daemon fans will be well be pleased with the exciting conclusion.”— Booklist “An engrossing, fast-paced tale of speculative fiction.”—SF Site About the Author Daniel Suarez is a New York Times bestselling author, TEDGlobal speaker, and former systems analyst. His unique brand of high-tech fiction explores the causes and impacts of rapid technological change. The author of seven novels, his latest, Critical Mass (second in the Delta-v series), is a realistic space-tech adventure depicting humanity's transition from a climate-imperiled, Earthbound civilization to one that utilizes resources and energy from space to secure a promising, sustainable future.

A Maze of Death

From the Back Cover [headline] A dark and mysterious tale of murder, religion, and the nature of reality. Delmak-O is a dangerous planet. Though there are only fourteen citizens, no one can trust anyone else and death can strike at any moment. The planet is vast and largely unexplored, populated mostly by gelatinous cube-shaped beings that give cryptic advice in the form of anagrams. Deities can be spoken to directly via a series of prayer amplifiers and transmitters, but they may not be happy about it. And the mysterious building in the distance draws all the colonists to it, but when they get there each sees a different motto on the front. The mystery of this structure and the secrets contained within drive this mind-bending novel. PHILIP K. DICK (1928–1982) wrote 121 short stories and 45 novels and is considered one of the most visionary authors of the twentieth century. His work is included in the Library of America and has been translated into more than twenty five languages. Eleven works have been adapted to film, including Blade Runner (based on Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? ), Total Recall , Minority Report , and A Scanner Darkly . About the Author Over a writing career that spanned three decades, PHILIP K. DICK (1928–1982) published 36 science fiction novels and 121 short stories in which he explored the essence of what makes man human and the dangers of centralized power. Toward the end of his life, his work turned to deeply personal, metaphysical questions concerning the nature of God. Eleven novels and short stories have been adapted to film, notably Blade Runner (based on Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? ), Total Recall, Minority Report, and A Scanner Darkly, as well as television's The Man in the High Castle. The recipient of critical acclaim and numerous awards throughout his career, including the Hugo and John W. Campbell awards, Dick was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 2005, and between 2007 and 2009, the Library of America published a selection of his novels in three volumes. His work has been translated into more than twenty-five languages.

Rosie Revere, Engineer (The Questioneers)

From School Library Journal K-Gr 2–Young Rosie is always trying to solve problems with her inventions. Shy and quiet, she resists talking about her dream to become a great engineer when a favorite uncle laughs at one of the gizmos she designs especially for him. But when Great-Great Aunt Rose shows up for an extended stay sporting a red polka-dotted scarf à la Rosie the Riveter, she regales her niece with stories of her experiences building airplanes during World War II. She wistfully declares, “The only thrill left on my list is to fly!/But time never lingers as long as it seems./I'll chalk that one up to an old lady's dreams.” This is an itch that Rosie has to scratch, so she sets about designing a unique contraption to help her aunt take to the skies. Of course, it doesn't turn out as planned, but Rose helps Rosie see that it was a success, despite its short air time. By the end of the story, Rosie is wearing the same polka-dotted scarf around her head. Rosie's second-grade teacher, Ms. Greer, is a lot more encouraging and open-minded about the power of creation and creativity than she was in Iggy Peck, Architect (Abrams, 2007). Roberts's charming watercolor and ink illustrations are full of whimsical details. The rhyming text may take a few practice shots before an oral reading just to get the rhythm right, but the story will no doubt inspire conversations with children about the benefits of failure and the pursuit of dreams.–Maggie Chase, Boise State University, IDα(c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. From Booklist This celebration of creativity and perseverance is told through rhyming text, which gives momentum and steady pacing to a story, consistent with the celebration of its heroine, Rosie. She’s an imaginative thinker who hides her light under a bushel (well, really, the bed) after being laughed at for one of her inventions. Then she finds encouragement from a great-great aunt whose laughter is a celebration rather than a judgment. The pairing of the wisdom of an older woman and the enthusiasm of a young girl works beautifully. Roberts’ colorful watercolor and pen-and-ink illustrations, overflowing with debris, gadgets, and inventions like helium pants, are as lively as the text and Rosie herself. The graph papers on the cover and end pages are reminders that creativity requires deliberate thought (Rosie’s aunt gives her a notebook before they begin each invention). A historical note at the back of the book connects Rosie to her namesake, Rosie the Riveter, with her slogan, “We can do it!” Young readers will already be convinced. Grades K-2. --Edie Ching Review AndreaBeaty.com From the Author I am thrilled by David Roberts' amazing illustrations and can't wait for creative kids of all ages to read this book! From the Inside Flap This is the story of Rosie Revere,who dreamed of becoming a great engineer. Where some people see rubbish, Rosie Revere sees inspiration. Alone in her room at night, shy Rosie constructs great inventions from odds and ends. Hot dog dispensers, helium pants, python-repelling cheese hats:  Rosie's gizmos would astound--if she ever let anyone see them. Afraid of failure, she hides them away under her bed. Until a fateful visit from her great-great-aunt Rose, who shows her that a first flop isn't something to fear--it's something to celebrate.Andrea Beaty and David Roberts, the author-illustrator team behind the classic picture book Iggy Peck, Architect, have whipped up another stunning, witty invention that honors pursuing one's passion--with persistence. About the Author Andrea Beaty is the author of many picture books including IGGY PECK, ARCHITECT and Doctor Ted. Her novels range from the lyrical SECRETS OF THE CICADA SUMMER to the humorous graphic novel/novel hybrid ATTACK OF THE FLUFFY BUNNIES. Her new novel, DORKO THE MAGNIFICENT is available April 2, 2013! Read more


A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick Book 1)

Review "In the debut of her new Mercy Kilpatrick series, Elliot crafts an eerily fascinating small town. An air of menace is palpable throughout the story, and the characters hide a wealth of secrets and twisted loyalties." — RT Book Reviews "Elliot is a master of romantic suspense, and her latest sets a rural community of preppers (people preparing for disaster) in the sights of a killer. Elliot expertly interweaves the current murders with the damage that past crimes have done to Mercy and Truman's souls, and she lays out convincing tracks to a number of possible culprits in Eagle's Nest. Fascinating details about prepper lifestyle give extra flavor to this mystery, adding to its memorability." —Adrian Liang, Amazon Book Review About the Author Kendra Elliot is the award-winning author of numerous books, including the Bone Secrets and Callahan & McLane series. Kendra won the 2015 and 2014 Daphne du Maurier awards for Best Romantic Suspense, and she was an International Thriller Writers finalist for Best Paperback Original and a Romantic Times finalist for Best Romantic Suspense. She has always been a voracious reader, cutting her teeth on classic female heroines such as Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls. She was born, raised, and still lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest with her husband and three daughters but looks forward to the day she can live in flip-flops.

In a Flicker: A Novel

About the Author George R. Lopez is a military veteran, serving as an intelligence officer in the U.S. Air Force during the Cold War. Living in Europe for three years of his tour of duty, he fell in love with its history. After being honorably discharged he has since made his home in Florida. Eventually much of his training led him into the field of the paranormal where he excelled, fast becoming an accomplished, well-respected member of the community. Creator and host of his own network, as a radio broadcaster, a prolific lecturer and spokesman for positive ideals regarding investigation of the supernatural realm, George brings a much needed pragmatic perspective to this endeavor, in avid pursuit of the truth. From veteran to researcher, now author, this story blends his natural artistry with an insatiable curiosity, brewing in his analytical mind for a quarter of a century before finding its way into the world in print. Andrea P. Perron is the author of the supernatural trilogy “House of Darkness House of Light”, the true story behind the major motion picture “The Conjuring”. As a 1980 graduate of Chatham College in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with a B.A. in English and philosophy, she went on to become first an entrepreneur then later a counselor by day, meanwhile spending decades in the theatre as an actor and singer by night. Now, as a lecturer and apprentice paranormal investigator, she travels extensively, speaking on various subjects in the field from spirituality to extraterrestrial activity. “In A Flicker” is her first collaboration on a project, what she describes as a true labor of love, bringing to light an otherwise dark story with a profound message for humanity. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

The 7 She Saw (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 1)

A Terrible Fall of Angels (A Zaniel Havelock Novel Book 1)

Review “Wow! A Terrible Fall of Angels has it all—a terrific new character, devious twists, plenty of action, and one hell of an ending. Brava!”—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Ink and Rage "Zaniel Havelock is a great character, part tough guy detective, part speaker to angels, in a setting where the powerful beings from every religion aren't just real, but actively messing with people's lives. It's a great ride. In a world where angels and demons walk openly among mankind, it takes a special kind of cop to solve paranormal crimes. Havoc is the man."—Larry Correia, New York Times bestselling author of Destroyer of Worlds “A Terrible Fall of Angels will intrigue new fans, long term fans, and returning fans of Laurell K. Hamilton.”—Under the Covers Book Blog"[Laurell K. Hamilton] continues to bring great characters, entertaining and unique story lines, action, and suspense together in her novels."—Mystery and Suspense"Nice-paced read with interesting characters and events."—I Smell Sheep About the Author Laurell K. Hamilton is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series and the Merry Gentry, Fey Detective series. A Terrible Fall of Angels , the first book in an exciting new series, features Detective Zaniel Havelock in a world where Angels and Demons walk among us.    With more than forty novels published, Laurell continues to create groundbreaking fiction inspired by her lifelong love of monster movies, ghost stories, mythology, folklore, and things that go bump in the night. Her love of the macabre, books in general, animals and nature led her to degrees in English and Biology. She is a non-practicing biologist, but uses her science background to add an extra level realism to her fiction.    She currently lives in St. Louis with her family, two spoiled Japanese chins, a house panther, and a house lion. In her free time, Laurell trains in Filipino martial arts with a specialization in blade work, and travels to scuba dive and bird watch as often as she can. --This text refers to the hardcover edition. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One There were angel feathers in the dead woman's bed. They looked like huge white swan feathers, impossibly large, but then they were supposed to propel something the size of a tall man skyward. I didn't have to see the angel to know that he'd be tall; they were all tall, some close to eight feet, but average was between six feet and seven feet. I was six feet, three inches, a big guy by most standards, but angels always made me feel small, even when they were close to my own height. It wasn't about physical inches when you were in the presence of angels. I stared down at the feathers scattered across the tangled bedclothes like soft ivory, lacy cream curling with their edges moving as the window air conditioner blew directly across from the bed. The bed was shoved up against one wall, with most of the small off-campus apartment taken up by the desk and enough floor space for the yoga mat that was leaning in the other corner. The forensics team had finished in the bedroom, though I could hear them in the bathroom that this apartment shared with the one next door. I clenched my hands in the plastic gloves, booties over my shoes so I wouldn't contaminate the crime scene. My detective shield was around my neck on its lanyard. My FN 509 nine-millimeter was in a side holster under my jacket. I had its little brother, the 503, at home. Some of the other cops had given me a hard time about not carrying a Glock, until I invited them down to the shooting range to try an FN. Then they asked price. There were other cops around, lots of them; there always were at a murder scene, because that's how it was called in first. A murder scene with angel evidence on-site, and they bumped the call up to us. The Metaphysical Coordination Unit was our official title, but the other cops and most of the media called us the Heaven and Hell Unit, because we didn't just solve crime on one side of the spiritual divide, we worked both sides of the street-someone had to keep the peace between beings that could tear the world apart if they ever went to war again. If the angel feathers hadn't been here it would have been listed as a rape homicide and been given to Sex Crimes. I stared down at the feathers; they'd started to gleam as the light faded outside the small window. I wasn't certain if they glowed with holy fire or I was seeing the light inside my head where I saw spirits and visions. The largest feather was so white it looked ghostly in the dying light. The others were less pure in color, more off-white, and they had flecks and edges of faint color to some of them. Not all angels had snow-white wings, but that was the color that most people expected, so that was the color the angels had chosen for the largest feather that they left behind. They had wanted to make certain the human police officers first on the scene would call in the Metaphysical Coordination Unit and send for me, because I was the angel expert. I stared at the largest feather as if I was trying to read it, but it just lay there whiter than the sheets it was lying on. It was as long as the bed, carefully placed on the edge, a huge primary flight feather. There was no way for anyone to have gotten out of the bed without disturbing that feather, yet it lay ruler straight. The other feathers weren't anything that would cripple a wing, but this one would if angels flew like birds. The feathers were all on top of the sheets, not under them, not on the floor, not scattered like they'd be if the rapist had been an angel as the feathers seemed to imply. I knew angels didn't lose feathers when they had sex, not even if it was rough, because for most of them the wings weren't that solid. For those whose wings were solid, no human being was strong enough to tear them apart, not barehanded. Either the angels did it themselves, or something powerful enough to injure them did it, which meant it wasn't the victim. I'd have bet any amount of money that they'd been placed on the bed after the crime had been committed, but why? Why did the angels care enough about this one undergrad college student to incriminate themselves? God might know when every sparrow fell, but the angels didn't show up to catch the bird before it hit the ground. Of course, they hadn't saved the woman. She'd been found nude, beaten to death, and with enough dried bodily fluid on her body that rape was almost a certainty. Until forensics confirmed it, it wouldn't be rape, but it was a sexually motivated crime; we were only waiting on the medical examiner to give us a list of exactly what had happened to Megan Borowski. Thinking her name made it almost impossible not to picture her body, the beating her face had taken, her body left on the floor of the room like the murderer had just gotten up and walked out after he was done with her. There were no signs of remorse, no attempt to cover what he'd done to her face, or her nudity. It made it more likely to be a stranger, or someone who didn't feel regretful about what he'd done. We were all assuming the attacker was male, because of the bodily fluids on the body and the strength needed for the beating. I had to try to think of Megan Borowski as just the victim, a body savaged by attacker or attackers unknown, because it could have been two men. That might explain why she hadn't screamed for help. Had one threatened her in some way during the rape-I won't kill you if you just do what I want-and then they'd killed her anyway? Evil, it was evil, even if it was just men who did it, but was it Evil with a capital E? Was that why the angels had been ordered to leave their feathers at the crime scene, so we'd know it wasn't just a human-on-human crime? I had one of the few quiet moments I'd ever had at a scene like this, where some trick of duty or assignment had sent everyone somewhere else, so I had a moment to stare down at the dead woman's bed all by my lonesome. I didn't believe it was an accident that I was alone. The crime might not have been planned, but when every other person working a suspicious death leaves the prime crime scene to just me, well, I was waiting for whatever the Big Guy wanted me to see, or hear, or experience. Maybe there'd be a clue that only I would find, or needed to find. God worked in mysterious ways, and so did all His messengers, that much I knew. I heard one of the crime scene techs curse, as if something wasn't going to plan in the hallway. Celestial beings were involved; nothing would go according to human planning, I knew that much. In all the years I'd worked angel detail I'd never seen a single feather left behind unless the angel was fighting for their own safety. If there'd only been one smaller feather, I might have thought the victim had an angelic lover, maybe. Angels were funny things and could affect people in ways that neither the human lover nor the angel could see coming. Because we were the wild cards, we humans, once angels got a taste for us, they could screw up both their eternity and our lives-screw it up all to Hell. Of course, one small feather might have been overlooked in the initial investigation. Realistic evidence of an angelic lover wouldn't have been spotted right away. It wouldn't have made anyone call us yet. I wouldn't be standing here if the angels hadn't gone all-out to grab my attention. The silence got that weighted quality to it, and I knew that even if one of the techs came back into this room in the next few minutes, they might not see a damn thing except me. If they were one of the gifted and could see the unseen, they were about to be in for a Heaven of a show. The angel manifested just in front of me, between the foot of the bed and the window. The hair on my arms stood to attention, but the skin on my neck stayed calm, so I knew it was an angel, but not one of the angels that had left the feathers. They wouldn't be able to manifest like this anymore. Once the spiritual got solid enough to leave DNA behind, they couldn't just conjure themselves out of thin air. The figure hovering before me wasn't even solid enough to stand on the carpet, because "it" was made mostly of light. The angel glowed before me, all white and gold-yellow light; even its eyes were full of yellow fire, but there was no heat. Angels don't give off heat, no matter how fiery they look; if you ever see a glowing angel and feel heat come off it, it's not an angel, exactly. One of the first things you need to understand if you work angel detail is that fallen angels are still angels, and demons, well, that's another problem altogether, but the rule is, if it gives off heat, run; if you can't run, pray. The angel's wings were barely hinted at; "he," or "she," was mostly just light with a humanoid figure in the middle of it, and a shimmering hint of wings, and flowing robes, but mostly just that full-bodied halo, the aurora. The voice sounded male, but honestly angels this shining are sexless, they just are. "We are pleased that we do not have to manifest fully for you, Detective Zaniel Havelock." It wasn't the opening I'd expected; if angels seek you out personally then it's with an extremely specific message like in the Bible: You are pregnant with the Son of God, or Flee now, enemies are coming. The personal conversational style was how they spoke to Angel Speakers, Angelus Dictum, which means "the angel said" to make it clear that the person sharing the message from the angel is not an angel but only their mouthpiece. Angels did not speak like this to people on the outside, but once I'd been inside and I fell back into the same rhythm, an old habit come back to haunt me. "You can lose the humanoid stuff altogether if you want. I do appreciate you trying not to drive me insane by manifesting in your pure energy form, but it's okay, I don't need the baby steps." "Very well," it said, and the human pretense went away. I was left staring at light, or flame, or something in between the two. It filled nearly all of that half of the room, but it gave off neither heat nor formed shadows. Again, if something says it's an angel, and glows at you, but it causes shadows around it, it's not the good kind of angel, or maybe it's not an angel at all. The light turned its "head," and I could read the body language of that glow; most people wouldn't have been able to. "You asked for me to drop the physical away, not for my comfort, but because you wished to see if I cast a shadow." I shrugged and fought not to let my shoulders tighten. You couldn't wrestle an angel in this form; it wasn't "real" enough, but the body tenses, preparing for fight or flight, even though neither will help you. You can't hit pure spirit, and you sure as Heaven can't run from it, because spirit-level angels can just appear anywhere, in multiple places, at multiple times, and it's all real, all them, because when they're this pure, time doesn't mean to them what it means to most of us. They can simultaneously be in several places at once, at the same time for us humans, but different points of time for the angel itself. Time is way more flexible than the human mind can comprehend. It was a good thing that the pure spirit didn't commit crimes, because we would be beyond fucked trying to prove it, solve it, or catch them. When this guy was finished glowing at me, he'd go back to God, maybe even be absorbed back into that ultimate light. Witness protection had nothing on the pure spirit angelic. They could literally be reabsorbed and made pure and new again when they made their next earthly appearance. "I know you are one who has walked through the flame and survived, but I did not understand what it might mean." I remembered standing in the middle of flames that did not burn, and cast no shadow, and surrounded me on every side. If my faith had not been pure enough, I would have been consumed by holy fire. I blinked the memory away and faced the much fainter light of the angel before me. "And what does it mean?" I asked. "That you do not think as others do or see as other flesh sees. You are the only Angelus Dictum to ever finish your training and then turn your back on it." "I am not an Angel Speaker, I'm a cop." "You are a police officer, but that does not mean you are not also an Angel Speaker; otherwise how could I be here?" I couldn't argue with the angel and I very much wanted to, so I let it go. The conversation was getting too weird, and off topic. I was here to solve a crime, not dissect my past. "Maybe I was meant to be a police officer, and work with the angelic like this." "Perhaps." Again, it did that "head" turn, but this time it was listening. The fact that it had to listen to hear God's voice meant it wasn't pure spirit anymore, or it wasn't going to be for long. This one was at the beginning of a path that might lead it to be as solid as the angel we were seeking. They sent down pure spirit, but every time they talked to anything of flesh, they stopped being quite so much spirit, and a little more . . . flesh. This one had come down to talk to humans before, several times before. The next time I saw "him" he'd probably be male, or closer to it. The voice is the first clue, the first move in choosing a "gender." --This text refers to the hardcover edition. Read more

The Butterfly Garden (The Collector Book 1)

From the Publisher Sometimes a story is powerful enough—and horrifying enough—to instantly transfix us and forever change the way we look at a simple object. In The Silence of the Lambs , it’s the lotion in the basket. In this gruesome crime novel, it’s butterflies.  Maya, a fierce survivor, leads us through the aftermath of a brutal event as she recounts her tale to the FBI, but her story keeps us at the edges, letting the questions simmer, bubbling up small answers that beg new, bigger questions in their wake: How did Maya escape captivity? Did the other girls survive? What happened to the garden—and the Gardener?  Maya reveals a vivid dimension to the twisted puzzle and raises larger questions about her own motives. As the truth slowly emerges from a carefully constructed cocoon, author Dot Hutchison has us questioning whether this is a tale of terrible beauty or a beautiful tale of terror.  The frantic rustling of a butterfly’s wings against a collector’s net seems futile—but when many butterflies flock together, they become much harder to pin down. For us, this innocuous symbol of transformative beauty will forever be a perverse reminder of the Gardener, a depraved man with his magnificent, grotesque collection of butterflies. - Alison Dasho and JoVon Sotak, Editors About the Author Dot Hutchison is the author of A Wounded Name , a young adult novel based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet , and the adult thriller The Butterfly Garden . With past experience working at a Boy Scout camp, a craft store, a bookstore, and the Renaissance Faire (as a human combat chess piece), Hutchison prides herself on remaining delightfully in tune with her inner young adult. She loves thunderstorms, mythology, history, and movies that can and should be watched on repeat. For more information on her current projects, visit www.dothutchison.com or check her out on Tumblr (www.dothutchison.tumblr.com), Twitter (@DotHutchison), or Facebook (www.facebook.com/DotHutchison).

The Murders in Beacon Hill (Olivia Knight FBI Mystery Thriller Book 2)

The Missing Girls (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 12)

Cold Shadows (Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper Book 2)

About the Author J. L. Bryan studied English literature at the University of Georgia and at Oxford, with a focus on the English Renaissance and the Romantic period. He also studied screenwriting at UCLA. He enjoys remixing elements of paranormal, supernatural, fantasy, horror, and science fiction into new kinds of stories.Carla Mercer-Meyer is an AudioFile Earphones Award-winning audiobook narrator. She has a strong musical theater background, as she has been performing her entire life. Her performances include Into the Woods; You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown; and many other theatrical productions. Carla resides in Southern California. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

The Body Reader (Detective Jude Fontaine Mysteries Book 1)

Review “Absorbing.” — Publishers Weekly “ The Body Reader is a superb novel full of suspenseful exploits…An electrifying murder mystery—one of the best of the year.” —Mysterious Reviews “Frasier is exceptional at weaving together the character trauma and the central plot. What the characters experience isn’t brushed aside, but their demons are faced head on and developed to add layers to the story. The result is a satisfying resolution with some hope readers may see the characters return in a future offering.” — Beach Reads “The story is totally engaging and Anne Frasier has a way with words that keeps you hooked nonstop.” —Mystery Sequels From the Author Q&A with Anne Frasier, author of The Body Reader What inspired you to write about a woman who was kidnapped for three years? I liked the idea of following Jude's journey as she comes back from that place.It's a bit of an allegory. Many of us have found ourselves trapped in unbearable life situations that can be escaped with strength and determination. How did you come up with the idea of a woman who is able to "read" bodies? I never actually saw body reading as the driving force of the book, and considered The Body Reader my working title. I just wanted a cop who was more sensitive to people than the average detective, which is how I wrote her. How did you create the character Jude Fontaine, and at any point did you find it difficult to write from her perspective? She was difficult because it was important that she be removed and shut off.It's hard to make that kind of character sympathetic, regardless of what she'sbeen through. Would you ever consider writing a sequel to this book and if so, do you have any ideas on what you would focus on? I'd love to write a sequel. It would be a bigger story, with a bigger canvas. Broken family dynamics seem to play a large role in this book. What inspired you to include this topic in your story? I come from a pretty damaged family, so it's hard to keep that kind of thing out of my books no matter how I try. Chapter eighteen depicts a defining moment in the story for Jude Fontaine. Did you place yourself in her shoes during this part, and if so, was it a difficult moment to write about? I know it sounds odd, but I actually really enjoyed writing that scene because it was the culmination of her search for her captor and it allowed her to finally wake up and feel for the first time in the book. Is there a message that you hope your readers take away when they are done reading this thrilling novel? At its core, The Body Reader isa story of female empowerment. Jude's freedom and sense of self was taken from her, but she came back stronger than ever. About the Author NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHORUSA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHORRITA AWARD AUTHOR~~Anne Frasier is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Her award-winning books span the genres of suspense, mystery, thriller, romantic suspense, paranormal, and memoir. She won a RITA for romantic suspense, and the Daphne du Maurier Award for paranormal romance. Her thrillers have hit the USA Today list and have been featured in Mystery Guild, Literary Guild, and Book of the Month Club. Her memoir, The Orchard, was an O, The Oprah Magazine Fall Pick; a One Book, One Community read; a B+ review in Entertainment Weekly; and a Librarians’ Best Books of 2011. She divides her time between the city of Saint Paul, Minnesota, and her writing studio in rural Wisconsin. Review “Absorbing.” — Publishers Weekly “ The Body Reader is a superb novel full of suspenseful exploits…An electrifying murder mystery—one of the best of the year.” —Mysterious Reviews “Frasier is exceptional at weaving together the character trauma and the central plot. What the characters experience isn’t brushed aside, but their demons are faced head on and developed to add layers to the story. The result is a satisfying resolution with some hope readers may see the characters return in a future offering.” — Beach Reads “The story is totally engaging and Anne Frasier has a way with words that keeps you hooked nonstop.” —Mystery Sequels --This text refers to the audioCD edition. Read more

Greek and Roman Mosaics

From the Back Cover Mosaic has been called "painting for eternity," and it is in fact one of the few arts of antiquity to survive in something like its original condition and variety. Mosaic pavements with geometric and figural motifs first appeared in Greece at the end of the fifth century BC and subsequently spread throughout the entire classical world, from the palaces of the Greco-Bactrian rulers of present-day Afghanistan to the villas of Roman Britain. Local workshops cultivated many distinctive regional styles, while traveling teams of Hellenistic craftsmen produced figural mosaics of stunning refinement, often modeled after famous paintings; indeed, their work constitutes one of our only records of classical Greek painting, which has been almost entirely lost. The styles and techniques of the ancient mosaicist's art are given a concise yet authoritative exposition in the first part of this handsome volume. The second, and larger, part conducts the reader on a chronological tour of the most important centers of the art form's development, from the Macedonian capital of Pella, whose compositions in natural pebbles set a high artistic standard for mosaics at the very beginning of their history, to the Basilica of San Vitale at Ravenna, whose wall and vault mosaics, with their glittering vision of a triumphant Christianity, mark the transition between antiquity and the Middle Ages. Special attention is given to Pompeii and its surroundings, where the eruption of Vesuvius in AD 79 preserved intact an astonishing variety of mosaics, including such ambitious figural scenes as the famous Alexander mosaic, composed of some four million miniscule tesserae, as well as characteristically Roman pavements in black and white, and the brightly colored wall mosaics of garden grottoes. Featuring more than two hundred newly commissioned photographs, Greek and Roman Mosaics is the first survey of its subject to be illustrated in full color. It will be a necessary addition to every art lover's library, and a worthy companion to Abbeville's Italian Mosaics: 300-1300. About the Author Umberto Pappalardo has served as Inspector of Excavations at Pompeii and Director of Excavations at Herculaneum. Rosaria Ciardiello, also a classical archaeologist, received her doctorate from the University of Naples Federico II. Luciano Pedicini, a second-generation photographer of antiquities, has contributed to numerous important publications. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. INTRODUCTION Mosaic was a widespread form of decoration in the Greek and Roman world. Evidence of its popularity can be seen in the many square miles of mosaic floors that survive from Syria to Greece, from Egypt to Tunisia, from Spain to France, from Britain to Germany, and from Croatia to Italy. In the Hellenistic age, the tyrant Hiero II of Syracuse gave King Ptolemy III of Egypt a grand ceremonial ship whose cabins were decorated with splendid mosaics depicting scenes from the Iliad, while in the Roman age, Julius Caesar brought mosaics along on his military campaigns, presumably to adorn his tent, and the emperor Caligula desired that even his luxurious vessels on Lake Nemi be covered with polychrome mosaics. In our own time, after one of the icons of modern culture, John Lennon of the Beatles, was assassinated on the street outside his home in New York, a nearby area of Central Park was turned into a memorial known as Strawberry Fields. This memorial features a round mosaic of a stylized sun with the title of Lennon’s most famous song, “Imagine,” in the center. Its geometric pattern may have been inspired by those of Roman mosaics, such as the apse of the caldarium in the House of Menander at Pompeii. And so we find one of the most representative arts of antiquity, seemingly vanished forever, making a very striking reappearance in the contemporary world. This example of artistic continuity is not unique. In February 1917, when a performance of the Ballets Russes, with scenery and costumes by Picasso, was staged at the Teatro di San Carlo in Naples, the artist visited Pompeii with the dancer Leonide Massine and the impresario Sergei Diaghilev. None other than Jean Cocteau, who was directing the show, took a photograph of Picasso and Massine in front of the mosaic fountain in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (plate 2). In the House of the Labyrinth, Picasso had the opportunity to see a mosaic depicting the Minotaur (plate 4). The artist, who had attended the Spanish bullfights since childhood and was moreover a man of extraordinary sensibility, could not but identify with this man-bull who is betrayed to his death by his half-sister. The Minotaur leaves the cave anguished, not so much by the wounds to his body as by those inflicted on his heart. From this encounter arose one of the most celebrated themes of Picasso’s art (plate 3). The posthumous influence of the ancient art of mosaic does not end there; many other examples could be cited. For instance, some years ago, a well-known italian musical agent and passionate archaeologist of the Near East had a copy of the central part of the famous mosaic map in Madaba, depicting the city of Jerusalem and the Dead Sea, made for the music room of his home near Verona (plate 232). Still, beginning in the Middle Ages, the art of tessellated mosaic was largely supplanted by that of large marble inlays. The cause of this decline is difficult to determine, although it is possible that in the Roman world, where half the population was enslaved, the low cost of manpower allowed for a greater abundance of such handicrafts. Indeed, the many square miles of ancient mosaics suggest that while they were very elaborate, they must not have been very costly to make. Today, in any case, the medium no longer has the importance that it did in antiquity, and there are only sporadic revivals, such as those by Italian craftsmen in Ravenna and Piazza Armerina, intended for the luxury market. Read more

Sweet Potato Soul: 100 Easy Vegan Recipes for the Southern Flavors of Smoke, Sugar, Spice, and Soul : A Cookbook

Review “This beautifully photographed, comprehensive work of Claiborne’s cuisine deserves to be a part of your everyday repertoire.” —VegNews " Sweet Potato Soul starts with an Erykah Badu quote and ends with a recipe for pecan muhammara. Clearly, there’s a lot to love. The debut cookbook from beloved vegan food blogger Jenné Claiborne, Sweet Potato Soul offers vegan twists on soul food classics alongside memories of Claiborne flipping fluffy pancakes to the sound of gospel music in her Nana’s kitchen. Fittingly, a wonderfully comprehensive section on southern pantry staples devotes almost 6 full pages to sweet potatoes varietals. What looks good: Fluffy sweet potato biscuits, coconut collard salad, “Harlem caviar” black eyed pea salad, Creole red bean sausages, and jackfruit jambalaya." —Bon Appetit "Many traditional dishes are off-limits to a vegetarian or vegan, but the smart use of spices and other ingredients can bring them back within reach. This is just what Jenné Claiborne does so beautifully in her new book, Sweet Potato Soul. Claiborne brings Southern flair . . . to plant-based dishes. That means shredded sweet potatoes and pecans in her granola, coconut three ways (oil, milk and sugar) in her peach cobbler and oyster mushrooms in her étouffée. . . . I knew it was the real deal when my fiance, whose people come from Louisiana, took one bite and put down his spoon—so he could take a photo." —Washington Post "Jenné makes a vegan lifestyle look easy —not to mention totally delicious. Her tips and recipe roundups are super-practical for vegans and non-vegans alike." —Rachael Ray Every Day "One potato, two potato, give me all your sweet potatoes!! Jenne has crafted the best soul satisfying comfort vegan recipes." — Chloe Coscarelli, author of Chloe Flavor and Chloe's Kitchen "We’ve all been waiting for this! Jenné Claiborne's Sweet Potato Soul cookbook is an absolute dream for anyone craving Southern flavors and soul food classics. Hearty, inviting, and always delicious, Jenné’s recipes prove time and time again that stick-to-your-ribs eating can be completely plant-based!" — Sarah Britton, Holisitic Nutritionist and founder of My New Roots "Jenné has done an incredible job of compiling all of her favorite vegan soul food classics in this stunning cookbook. Vegans and those curious about plant-based eating will love the beautiful images, recipes, and thoughtful narrative in this book. I can't wait to dig in (especially to Nana's Sweet Potato Pie)!" — Dana Shultz, author of Minimalist Baker's Everyday Cooking About the Author Jenne Claiborne is a NYC-based vegan personal chef, cooking instructor, and the blogger behind Sweet Potato Soul, with over 200,000 followers on social media. She studied at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition and founded the personal chef company, The Nourishing Vegan, whose clients have included India Arie, Lucy Liu, Lululemon, Soho House, Whole Foods, and many more. Jenné has been on Today , and her recipes and nutritional advice have been featured in VegNews, the Vegetarian Times, Shape.com, the Huffington Post, Reader's Digest, ThoughtfullyMagazine, Greatist, Well+Good, Laika magazine, Urban Bush Babes, Main Street Vegan , Our Hen House, and Refinery 29 . She is the cocreator of Buddhalicious, an online meal planning service that makes it easy for people to adopt a healthy and delicious vegan diet.


Dreams of El Dorado

Review "Lively...[Brands] knows how to write in a popular style that draws us in and holds our interest...[He] also pauses to make some thought-provoking insights, which round out the narrative and present his subject in a fresh light...An engaging, eminently readable introduction."― Wall Street Journal "An exciting new history of the American West and how it was settled, from the California gold rush to the Oklahoma land rush and more."― New York Post "[Brands] has a deft narrative touch and a talent for highlighting the human drama undergirding historical events...History as adventure story."― Los Angeles Reviewof Books "[A] fine new history."― Houston Chronicle "Brands surveys the past three centuries of the West, chronicling all-too-human tales of hope, greed, triumph, tragedy, and irony. His history is propelled by the stories of amazing characters, some famous, others obscure...A marvelous short history of the West, rewarding both expert and neophyte readers."― Booklist (starredreview) "Brands is a master storyteller...[ Dreams of El Dorado ] will enthrall aficionados of 19th-century American history."― Library Journal "A lively, well-written survey full of novel observations on a region shrouded in legend."― Kirkus "Brands argues convincingly that the reality of the American West was very different than the way it was mythologized...Lucid prose and short, tightly focused chapters...This broad but clearly structured study, with its many well-chosen illustrations, is likely to have wide appeal."― Publishers Weekly "The expansion of the United States across what would become the American West is the sort of sprawling, tumultuous epic that is best told by a calm and concentrated mind. Fortunately the author of this book is H.W. Brands, who has the vision and supreme narrative skill to braid the chaotic tendrils that make up the past into a story that is almost as exciting for its coherence as it is for the heroic and heartbreaking events it so vividly renders. Dreams of El Dorado is the latest reason to think of Brands as America's go-to historian."― Stephen Harrigan , author of Big Wonderful Thing and The Gates of the Alamo "A subject this monumental demands prose to match it, and I am pleased that to report that, in this sprawling epic, H. W. Brands is at his sparkling best. He is of the American West and grew up in its myths, which may explain why he writes about it with such passion and clarity."― S. C. Gwynne , New York Times bestselling author of Empire of the Summer Moon and Rebel Yell "The 'winning' of the American West is that biggest and most daunting of subjects, so big that most historians have found it necessary to bite off small corners of this grand and sordid tale of empire-building. But here H.W. Brands endeavors to tell it all, from Texas to California, from beaver pelts to buffalo robes, from the hoofbeats of horses to the steam blasts of the first transcontinental trains. Epic in its scale, fearless in its scope, this is a bravura performance from one of our master historians."― Hampton Sides , bestselling author of Blood and Thunder About the Author H. W. Brands holds the Jack S. Blanton Sr. chair in history at the University of Texas at Austin. A New York Times -bestselling author, he was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in biography for The First American and Traitor to His Class . He lives in Austin, Texas.

The Deliverance (Skye's West)

Review “Skye is one of the most memorable figures in Western fiction since Max Brand's Destry.” ― Tulsa World “Wheeler's westerns just keep getting better and better.” ― Publishers Weekly “Well-loved western writer Wheeler takes a big grip on afflictions of the heart in each outing...” ― Kirkus Reviews on Downriver About the Author Richard S. Wheeler has written over fifty novels and several short stories. He has won four Spur Awards and the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement in the field of western literature. He lives in the literary and film community of Livingston, Montana, and is married to Professor Sue Hart, of Montana State University-Billings. Before turning to fiction he was a newsman and book editor. He has raised horses and been a wrangler at an Arizona dude ranch.

Riding Shotgun (A Red Ryan Western)

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series THE MOUNTAIN MAN; PREACHER, THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN; MACCALLISTER; LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER; FLINTLOCK; THOSE JENSEN BOYS; THE FRONTIERSMAN; SAVAGE TEXAS; THE KERRIGANS; and WILL TANNER: DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. His thrillers include BLACK FRIDAY, TYRANNY, STAND YOUR GROUND, and THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or email him at dogcia2006@aol.com.    Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.     He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.    “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate ,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.’”

A Trail Too Far: A Western Frontier Adventure (A Rab Sinclair Western)

Forever Texas: A Thrilling Western Novel of the American Frontier (A Forever Texas Novel)

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the #1 bestselling Western writer in America and the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of hundreds of books, with over 50 million copies sold. Born in southern Missouri, he was raised with strong moral and family values by his minister father, and tutored by his schoolteacher mother. He left school at fifteen to work in a carnival and then as a deputy sheriff before serving in the army. He went on to become known as "the Greatest Western writer of the 21st Century." Visit him online at WilliamJohnstone.net. J.A. Johnstone learned to write from the master himself, Uncle William W. Johnstone, who began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard and learned, later going on to become the co-author of William W. Johnstone’s many bestselling westerns and thrillers. J.A. Johnstone lives on a ranch in Tennessee and more information is at WilliamJohnstone.net.

A Good Day for a Massacre (A Slash and Pecos Western)

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series THE MOUNTAIN MAN; PREACHER, THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN; MACCALLISTER; LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER; FLINTLOCK; THOSE JENSEN BOYS; THE FRONTIERSMAN; SAVAGE TEXAS; THE KERRIGANS; and WILL TANNER: DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. His thrillers include BLACK FRIDAY, TYRANNY, STAND YOUR GROUND, and THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or email him at dogcia2006@aol.com.   Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.     He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.    “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate ,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.’ ”

The Wicked Die Twice (A Slash and Pecos Western)

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of over 300 books, including Preacher, The Last Mountain Man, Luke Jensen Bounty Hunter, Flintlock, Savage Texas, Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man; The Family Jensen, Sidewinders, and Shawn O'Brien Town Tamer . His thrillers include Phoenix Rising, Home Invasion, The Blood of Patriots, The Bleeding Edge , and Suicide Mission . Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or by email at dogcia2006@aol.com.Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.  He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western history library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned. "Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate,' he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.'"

Downriver: A Barnaby Skye Novel (Skye's West)

Review "Wheeler is a master of character and plot, and this novel showcases his talents at their peak." - Publishers Weekly (starred review) "Draws his memorable characters with bold and bigger-than-life strokes." Terry C. Johnston, award-winning author of The Plainsman "Well-loved western writer Wheeler takes a big grip on afflictions of the heart in [ Downriver ]." -K irkus Reviews About the Author Richard S. Wheeler has written over fifty novels and several short stories. He has won four Spur Awards and the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement in the field of western literature. He lives in the literary and film community of Livingston, Montana, and is married to Professor Sue Hart, of Montana State University-Billings. Before turning to fiction he was a newsman and book editor. He has raised horses and been a wrangler at an Arizona dude ranch. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Downriver one G loom hung over the rendezvous on the Popo Agie River. Evil rumors wormed through the gathering, furrowing brows. They were saying this would be the last gathering of the mountain men. The American Fur Company wouldn't buy a beaver plew at all, or if it did, it would pay so little that the mountaineers would starve. A man couldn't keep body and soul together in the mountains anymore. There were whispers that the company's tent store would have fewer items and these would be more costly than ever.It had reached Barnaby Skye's ears that the trapping brigades would be pared down and free trappers released from contracts; that long-term company men would be let go and that it didn't matter how good a job a man had done. He heard that the engages would find themselves as useless as a lame horse. He had heard that prime beaver pelts wouldn't bring fifty cents, and an entire year's hard work wouldn't keep a man in gunpowder. Those bleak rumors had built up an awful thirst in Barnaby Skye. A jug usually solved his problems, at least until the fat moon turned skinny.Just so long as they brought spirits, everything would be all right. Whiskey fueled each rendezvous. Without it, the trappers might as well go back to loading cotton or blacksmithing or plowing prairie soil or tallying waybills in a warehouse. But not one man among them believed that the year's supplies, now being packed in from Fort Union, would not include the pure grain alcohol that would be mixed with PopoAgie River water, a plug of tobacco or two, and some Cayenne pepper, that set the old coons to baying.One thing wasn't a rumor: fashion had shifted. In 1833, John Jacob Astor himself had discovered that silk top hats were the vogue; that hats made from beaver felt had vanished from the shops of Europe. In 1834 he had sold out his American Fur Company, and now the Upper Missouri Outfit was really Pratte, Chouteau and Company, though no one called it that. It was said that Astor, the great fur magnate, had known exactly what he was up to, and had gotten out of the fur business in the nick of time, richer than Midas and safer than Gibraltar.That was the dark talk those June days beside the Popo Agie, where it met the Wind River, among dour trappers waiting for the fun to begin and the trade whiskey to flow. The rest of the bad tidings wasn't rumor at all. No one had done well this year. Beaver were just about trapped out, except maybe on the streams controlled by the dangerous Blackfeet, and the competition of small outfits and free trappers had made life in the wilderness tougher than ever. No one had many plews to trade, and those few wouldn't bring much more than a few grains of DuPont powder and a bar of lead. There were men in camp who had put in a hard year's work and wouldn't get fifty dollars for it.And so, that June of 1838, Barnaby Skye waited for what life would bring, but without much hope. Maybe this would be the last rendezvous. He would have to find some other way to survive, and so would all the rest of the mountain men gathered together for the customary trade festival and summer fun that year. What would he do? What would he become? Who would he be in the hazy future? Was this the end of his sojourn in the wilds? Would he return to the sea, from whence he came?At least the American Fur Company had sent an outfit upriver, and it was due at any time now. The trappers could buy the traps and gunpowder and flannels and blankets they needed, and keep on going for another year if they had a fewpacks of skins to peddle. Maybe there was hope in that. Maybe things would get better.The trappers knew that much, because an express rider from Fort Union, located at the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri, had told them the Otter was thrashing its way upstream with an outfit, a cargo of trade goods. But no one knew what bleak news would accompany the outfit, and not a man in that camp believed that the news would be very good. The St. Louis owners of the company had made it clear a year earlier they were losing money on the beaver business. Silk was in; beaver felt was out.Skye had been a brigade leader, a salaried man, one of only five in camp, so he had weathered the bad times a bit better than some of the trappers. They had numbed their legs for long hours in freezing water while baiting traps with castoreum and collecting beaver, found small comfort in winter's darkness, fought their way into obscure corners of the Rockies, only to find that other, equally determined trappers had cleaned out the streams. And now the beaver had all but vanished.Lucien Fontenelle, the veteran fur man in charge of field operations for the American Fur Company, was more optimistic."Beaver may be trapped out, but the company's not just in the beaver business," he confided to Skye as they lounged under a cottonwood, staring at snow-burdened peaks. "It can sell any pelt or hide we can ship.""For less plunder," Skye said.Fontenelle nodded. "Hard doings now," he said. "But we'll keep on going. That's what Pierre Chouteau himself told me; they'd keep on going. There's fur here and markets there. Maybe it'll be ermine or mink, deer and elk hides, weasel or otter, maybe even buffalo hides, but there's a market in the States."Skye was not a gloomy man, nor a pessimist, but all the bad talk was eroding his joy. For a dozen years he had been in the mountains, and was considered a veteran and even an oldman by the trapping fraternity, though he wasn't far into his thirties, and just beginning life.They considered him an odd duck, perhaps because of his British ways and his peculiar looks. He had been a pressed seaman, dragooned into the Royal Navy when he was a boy in London. He hadn't escaped the iron claw of His Majesty's Navy until he jumped ship at Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia River, seven years later, and made his way into the interior, with little more than his wits and a knife and belaying pin to keep him alive.Maybe that's why he was a more serious and somber man than most of the mountain fraternity; why he was more diligent and careful and willing to learn anything of value; why he treasured his liberty so much that he would die rather than surrender it. He had spent seven years in bondage, subservient to the whim of assorted boatswains, midshipmen, masters, captains, and lords of the admiralty, and freedom meant more to him than it did to anyone in the mountains.Maybe he seemed odd to the fraternity because he insisted on being called Mister, or maybe it was because of his burly barrel-shaped body, or the seaman's roll in his gait. Maybe it was because of his giant misshapen nose, which had suffered much pulping and pounding in innumerable brawls, a hogback that now dominated his face so that his small blue eyes and thin lips shrank to nothing in comparison. Or maybe it was his battered black top hat, pierced by arrow and shot, which he wore with determined dignity in all seasons, perched on a full mane of ragged brown hair that reached his shoulders.Or maybe they found him odd simply because he wasn't an American, and didn't speak the trapper lingo, and addressed others with politeness and civility, which were things he was born to and couldn't help. He was a man without a country; not able to return to England, yet not a westering man out of the States, so he lived in some sort of limbo, hisonly nation the trapping fraternity of the mountains--and his wife Victoria's people, the Crows.But he didn't mind. What counted was their respect as well as his own respect for himself, and what else they thought of him didn't matter. He had mastered the wilderness arts in a hurry. And never stopped learning how to subsist himself in a world where there was nary a shop on any corner to sell him beef or pork or bread or greens, and nary a tailor to sew him a suit of clothes, nary a smith to fashion a weapon, and nary a doctor to tend to his ills and aches and broken bones. He had mastered the Arkansas toothpick, the Green River knife, the Hawken percussion rifle, the war axe and throwing hatchet, the savage's bow and arrow, war club and lance because there were no constables in the wilds to protect him. He knew how to build a smokeless fire, how to read the behavior of crows and magpies, how to sense an ambush around a bend. He had graduated summa cum laude from the Rocky Mountain College, where one either won a baccalaureate or died in some obscure gulch, his fate unknown.So he, along with two hundred others, lingered in the verdant meadows where the Popo joined the Wind, awaiting whatever the lords of their fate in distant St. Louis had to offer. It was a sweet land, at least in summer, with cool evenings, and vast panoramas in which grassy benchlands surrendered to dark-timbered slopes, which in turn stretched upward in bright blue distances to snow-capped peaks that fairly cried "Freedom!"The blue haze of campfires lay in the air, and the pungent aroma of wood smoke. In addition to the trappers, the dusky tribesmen had gathered once again to trade their pelts for all those treasures brought from afar by the white men: powder and lead, blankets, hooks, traps, mirrors, beads, and especially, the trade whiskey the wily traders concocted and sold by the cup or jug for furs.Skye could see the tawny buffalo-hide lodges of the Crowsarrayed in a circle, and those of the Shoshones and Nez Perce, and some plenty of other tribes as well, dotting the verdant meadows. Here, on neutral trading ground, even hereditary enemies enjoyed a momentary peace, though they were all fair game for one another once they departed from the legendary trapper's fair.Skye waited restlessly, his eyes on the low divide that would someday soon reveal a string of heavily burdened pack horses and mules, and some gaudily bedizened mountaineers driving them into the rendezvous.He did not know what he would do if the news was bad, which is what he fully expected. There weren't enough beaver pelts in camp to pay for the enormous expense of shipping all those goods from St. Louis, much less earn anyone a profit. He had two skills: he was an able seaman, and could always ship out on any merchant vessel, and he was also an able mountaineer. He suspected he might just need to learn another trade, and he wasn't sure what it might be.His wife Victoria was visiting with all her friends and relatives, some of whom she saw only at these annual fairs. At rendezvous time, he often went for hours, even a day, without seeing her. But whenever they were together on the trail, leading a brigade, she and he scrubbed and cooked and hunted together, lived and loved together with a unity of purpose and spirit that transcended their radically different upbringings. They were friends and lovers, hunters and warriors, and boon companions upon life's sweet walk. Except when he was enjoying his annual binge. The thought made him thirsty.He was still young. He'd suffered hardship in the mountains, but his body was strong, and hardship had annealed the steel in him and wrought a man of rare courage and intelligence and something else: honor.Ten days passed, then eleven, and finally on the twelfth, Joe Meek, who had been scouting up the trail for news, returned with news: The American Fur Company pack train would arrivethe next day. From the crest of the ridge where he had observed the distant train, he could see it was a small one, poor doings compared to the outfits the company brought in during the heyday of the beaver trade. But an outfit, anyway, and maybe there would be a few casks of spirits on the backs of those mules to gladden the hearts and bodies of the trappers.So the next day, that June, Skye might learn his fate.Copyright © 2001 by Richard S. Wheeler Read more

Brannigan's Land (A Brannigan's Land Western)

Going Home: A Barnaby Skye Novel (Skye's West, 11)

Review “Skye is one of the most memorable figures in western fiction since Max Brand's ' Destry '.” ― Tulsa World “By the glorious Wheeler . . . . As a westerner, Wheeler is a writer's writer whose prose has the authority of handset type but sparkles like horseshoes on flint rock.” ― Kirkus Reviews About the Author Richard S. Wheeler (1935-2019) wrote over fifty novels and several short stories. He won six Spur Awards (for Fool's Coach , Sierra , Masterson , Drum's Ring , Vengeance Valley , and The Canyon of Bones ) and the Owen Wister Award for lifetime achievement in the field of western literature. His series include Skye's West and The Witness. Before turning to fiction he was a newsman and book editor. Wheeler lived in the literary and film community of Livingston, Montana. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Going Home A Barnaby Skye Novel By Wheeler, Richard S. Forge Books Copyright © 2001 Wheeler, Richard S.All right reserved. ISBN: 9780812579086 One Barnaby Skye did not have a care in the world, except perhaps for those big doings yonder in the shade of a brush arbor. He took his ease on a buffalo robe before his small lodge, watching puffball clouds spin out of the mountains and the gents in the brush arbor divide up the world. The wild times, when every trapper in the beaver country quenched a mighty, yearlong drought, had died, and now in the somnolent mid-July heat, rough trappers played cutthroat games, spun yarns, snored, or flirted with enterprising red hoydens.His Crow wife, Victoria, had abandoned him to his trapping cronies and gone to drink spirits and tell bawdy jokes with the Flatheads, allies of her people, who were present in force to trade at the Rocky Mountain Fur Company store and sponge up the bacchanal. She had female friends and even distant relatives among the Salish.The Flatheads and other tribes had swarmed to the great 1832 summer fair, this time in Pierre’s Hole, the navel in Mother Earth just west of the Great Breasts, or Grand Tetons, which Barnaby Skye thought was plumb center, the best of all places for the great annual gathering of trappers.Pierre’s Hole offered a mild climate, vast stretches of lush grazing ground for all the ponies, icy creeks tumbling from the mountains, abundant firewood, plentiful game—though not any buffalo—and saucy breezes eddying out of the Tetons to freshen the spirit as well as body. What better place to bake the year’s aches out of the body, swill the Sublettes’ firewater with new and old rivals, and engage in nefarious sins that ruined body and soul?This year, the frosty waters of the Tetons had been mixed with pure grain spirits carried in great casks from St. Louis, and seasoned with some ancient plugs of tobacco and cayenne pepper to produce trade whiskey, the alchemist’s potion that set trappers and redskins to baying at the moon and marking trees. Skye had finally had his fill of that, and of the nausea that dogged each binge, and had sunk into a summer of indolence, his mind meandering and untethered and his keen eye observing the daily passage of dusky and predatory females.These were some doings, all right. For the first time, the American Fur Company had shown up, a big brigade of trappers led by William H. Vanderburgh and Andrew Drips, and they planned to set up a store of their own just as soon as Lucien Fontenelle arrived with that company’s trade goods, which were being shipped up the Missouri and then carried by packhorse to the rendezvous. That was the big doings. They were late, which gave the Rocky Mountain Fur Company an edge for the moment. But from a longer perspective, the well-funded opposition probably signaled the end of the outfit.Nor was that all of it. This year an American army officer named Bonneville, fat with East Coast capital, had ventured west with his own expedition. And an odd Bostonian ice merchant named Nathaniel Wyeth had marched out with a whole troop of idiot mangeurs du lard in uniforms. And in addition to that, there was a big party of free trappers in camp, all of them ruthless rivals of the men Skye had allied with for years: Bridger, Fraeb, Gervais, Fitzpatrick, and Sublette.The new competition troubled Skye. The mountains were his mother and father. He wasn’t a Yank, but a pressed seaman who had jumped his Royal Navy frigate at Fort Vancouver in 1826 and ended up in the Rocky Mountains, a man without a country. He had never eyed the settled United States, and had no great wish to.England was a closed chapter in his young life. He had Victoria, and if he belonged to anything other than the Trappers Nation now, it was the Crow Nation, into which he had married. He could scarcely imagine his slim Crow consort padding the lanes of London in her moccasins. But sometimes, in the still of the night, he wondered how his family fared, and how the streets of his own city would appeal to him now. And he missed those things.Of his family he knew little. He had been a merchant’s son, destined to take over the family export business, when a press gang snatched him from the cobbled streets hard by the London Dock at East End. He never saw his family again. They surely did not know his whereabouts or even whether he was alive. And would never know.Black Harris folded his lengthy frame beside Skye.“What’s the word?” he asked, nodding in the general direction of that willow-covered brush arbor where the brigade leaders from several outfits dickered with each other.Skye squinted through the heat, and shrugged. “They’ll make my fate, or I’ll make my fate,” he said.“Nothing’ll change. American Fur will gouge us just as mighty as our outfit for possibles. We’ll still fork out mountain prices for every blanket and trap and jug of lightning, and they’ll still offer mountain prices for every plew, take it or leave it,” Harris said. “Everything changes except prices.”“It reminds me of my first rendezvous, when I walked in from the sea. That’s when Ashley sold out to Smith, Jackson, and Sublette. Now we’re seeing big doings again.”Rendezvous was the time to reoutfit, buy some white men’s marvels such as calico, knives, ribbons, copper kettles, and thick blankets for his Crow woman. And of course, take the edge off his thirst. Each spring his thirst built up in his parched body like a plugged volcano. And the day the supply caravan rolled in, Barnaby Skye could be found near the head of the line leading toward the kettles of mountain whiskey, ready to pickle his brains for a week.The Skyes had done well with the old firm.But Barnaby Skye wasn’t sure about the future. Which of these outfits, wrestling with each other under that brush arbor, would survive and which would go under? How would things line up? Suddenly life in the mountains wasn’t a sure bet. Maybe he’d be out of salaried work as a camp tender or brigade leader or hunter, his occupations these several years. It nagged him. He didn’t like trapping. Trappers lived hard and dangerous lives, wading in icy streams, always in danger of freezing, drowning, starving, and from arrows and scalp knives.He was the stray dog without a country. A man ought to have a home, a nation, a people, but all his allegiances were nothing more than transitory alliances formed at summer rendezvous like this one. He knew he was set apart in their minds. He spoke the polite English he was born with, and not the bizarre vernacular of the Yanks.“I think I’m about to become a free trapper again. Black.”“No man’d do better at it. You know which way the stick floats.”“I never much cared for it. But I could make a warm camp and keep men healthy. I can hunt, make meat.”“That’s plumb center, Skye.”“ Mister Skye, mate.”Harris was grinning.For six years, they had called him Skye and for six years he had told them to preface it with a mister . That’s what the Royal Navy did to him, all those gentlemen officers calling each other mister, but addressing enlisted men by their last names.It was the joke of the camps. Call Barnaby Skye anything but mister and watch the response. Trappers would send greenhorns, mangeurs du lard , or “pork-eaters,” as they were called, over to Skye just to watch him fume at the way they addressed him. That was all right with Skye.Barnaby Skye had filled out in the mountains until he became a barrel of a man. He still walked with a rolling sailor’s gait, as if the mountains were the pitching decks of men-o’war. He squinted out at the wilderness from deep-set blue eyes, set apart by a formidable ridge his friends swore was the king of all noses, long, thick, mountainous, dominant, and overmastering the rest of his jowly red face.They made sport of his nose, betting that no one at any rendezvous would ever match it, and he let them. His nose was the fleshly evidence of a thousand sailor brawls, a nose that had been erected by fistic abuse into the lord and viceroy of all mortal noses. The mountaineers treasured his nose even more than they treasured Skye.His other hallmark was his splendid beaver top hat, black and silky, climbing up from his skull like a cannon’s barrel. It was the hat gentlemen habitually wore, and that is why he wore it. In England, and in the Royal Navy, he could not be a true gentleman. In this, the New World, he could be what he chose. And so they called him Mister Skye, and he wore his top hat, much battered now and bearing evidence of the uninvited passage of two arrows, and the whole of this, the royal nose, the top hat, and the way he required others to address him, they saw as crown and scepter and purple and ermine.“Skye, I’d pass the jug with you tonight, but your nose would get in the way,” Harris said. “It wouldn’t be fair to the rest. You can snort a whole snifter of firewater and hold it in your nostrils.”“It is a rare English talent, Black,” said Skye. “I accept. I will drink your party dry.“Black Harris yawned and headed to his robes for a nap.Skye thought he’d sleep to dusk, carve some meat off the hanging elk haunch, and then buy another jug of mountain whiskey. The supply had declined alarmingly, and Skye wanted one last celebration before the casks went dry, or the firm began watering the last of its stock, reducing woeful trappers to sniffing a cork and sighing.Thus passed a July afternoon, while the adventurers who ran the business, took the risks, carted supplies a thousand miles from St. Louis and a fortune in furs back to that gateway of the West, haggled through the day.Skye snored, until late in the day when a shadow darkened his leisure. In any place other than rendezvous, that shadow would have evoked a lifesaving bolt upward and twist to one side. But here, the one place in the wilderness where it was safe, he contented himself merely to open his eyes and squint upward, past the ridgeback of his nose, to the young man above.Ogden.Skye blinked.“Mister Skye,” said Ogden.“You’re the only gent in six years who’s addressed me as I wish. For that I am tentatively in your debt.”Skye sat up. Ogden was grinning. They had not seen each other for six years. When Skye was fleeing pell-mell from the Royal Navy, he ran smack into Peter Skene Ogden and his brigade of Hudson’s Bay trappers in the Oregon country. He expected to be captured and hauled back to Fort Vancouver and sent in chains to London and a life in durance vile. But this Canadian was no ordinary man, and actually listened to Skye’s story rather than scoffing and threatening. In the end, he helped a desperate and hungry seaman escape into the wilderness of North America.And here was his benefactor, wanting to talk. Ogden was seven hundred miles away from Vancouver. Barnaby Skye sensed that there was portent in all this. Copyright © 2000 by Richard S. Wheeler Continues... Excerpted from Going Home by Wheeler, Richard S. Copyright © 2001 by Wheeler, Richard S.. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. Read more

Sons of Thunder (A Slash and Pecos Western)

Winchester 1886

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of over 300 books, including PREACHER, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN, LUKE JENSEN BOUNTY HUNTER, FLINTLOCK, SAVAGE TEXAS, MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN; THE FAMILY JENSEN, SIDEWINDERS, and SHAWN O’BRIEN TOWN TAMER. His thrillers include Phoenix Rising, Home Invasion, The Blood of Patriots, The Bleeding Edge, and Suicide Mission. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or by email at dogcia2006@aol.com.    Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.     He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western history library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.    “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate ,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.’”

Cutthroats (A Slash and Pecos Western)

About the Author William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series THE MOUNTAIN MAN; PREACHER, THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN; MACCALLISTER; LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER; FLINTLOCK; THOSE JENSEN BOYS; THE FRONTIERSMAN; THE LEGEND OF PERLEY GATES; THE CHUCKWAGON TRAIL; FIRESTICK; SAWBONES; and WILL TANNER: DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. His thrillers include BLACK FRIDAY, TYRANNY, STAND YOUR GROUND, THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER, and TRIGGER WARNING. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or email him at dogcia2006@aol.com.    Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.     He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.    “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate ,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.’”

The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour: Unabridged Selections From The Frontier Stories, Volume 5

I Will Die With You

Go West, Young Man: A Riveting Western Novel of the American Frontier

The Day My Parents Got Lost

The Adventures of Slim & Howdy: A Novel

From Publishers Weekly Country music superstars Brooks & Dunn have enjoyed massive success (30 million albums sold, dozens of awards), but surely a novel about their alter egos couldn't possibly excite anybody outside of die-hard fans, could it? Actually, the duo, along with novelist Fitzhugh, bash out a comic caper that has enough plot twists and nutty one-liners to hook even twang-haters. The book follows lanky, laconic Slim and romantic, goofy Howdy as the two troubadours ramble around the Texas honky-tonk circuit. There's the time Slim, armed with a pair of hedge clippers, reclaims his stolen guitar from Brushfire Boone; or the hot double date that ends with a pantsless Howdy dodging bullets. The boys land a steady gig at a roadhouse in Del Rio until its owner is kidnapped and ransomed. With no shortage of suspects, the boys follow the trail into the Mexican desert, where a zany cast of bad guys gathers for the boffo final shootout. It's like a particularly good episode of The Dukes of Hazzard : corny as hell, but heaps of fun. (May) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. Review "[A] comic caper that has enough plot twists and nutty one-liners to hook even twang haters. . . heaps of fun." ( Publishers Weekly ) About the Author Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn have sold thirty million copies of the ten albums they've recorded together and have scored twenty-three #1 hits in their career as country music singer/songwriters. The duo has been awarded Entertainer of the Year three times, and Vocal Duo of the Year for the last fifteen consecutive years by the Country Music Association. Bill Fitzhugh is the award-winning, critically acclaimed author of seven comic suspense novels. He has written for television on NBC, Fox, and the BBC, and his novels have been optioned by major movie studios. Born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, he currently resides in Los Angeles. Read more

American Studies

About the Author Mark Merlis is a prize-winning novelist and author of "An Arrow's Flight" and "Man About Town." He is also a health policy consultant with thirty years of experience.