Thanks so much for inviting me to stop by today to share my new release, The Touchstone of Raven Hollow (Secrets of Roseville Book 3)! Set in the small town of Roseville and an enchanted valley in southern Tennessee, this story was such a fun one to write and I hope you’ll enjoy reading.
Once I chose to use ravens in the title, and then in the
story as a symbol and allusion to Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Raven,” suddenly
ravens were everywhere! One day, while writing Touchstone, an email popped into
my inbox from the Audubon Society. Now, I’m not a member and did not subscribe
to their mailings, so this was rather surprising to me. Even more so was the
fact that the lead article included how to tell the difference between crows
and ravens! Naturally, I had to go find out what they had to say, and they even
had the sound of the raven’s croak. If you’re curious, you can listen to the
difference yourself here.
Useful details for my story!
When I settled on the title of The Touchstone of Raven Hollow I didn’t think about whether the
state park where the story is set on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee would
have a population of ravens. I figured I’d have to make one up as part of the
enchantment of the hollow. But then when I was researching the wildlife and birds of thestate, I came across the fact that ravens do live there. And in the area of
the plateau where Grant takes Tara hiking. How cool, right? I thought I’d have
to invent an “unkindness” or flock of ravens living up there. But nope! The
coincidences were and still are very interesting to think about. Have you had
any similar experiences?
Thanks again for inviting me! Please feel free to connect
with me at any of the social media sites below. I love to hear from my readers!
I hope you enjoy The Touchstone of Raven
Hollow!
Blurb for The Touchstone of Raven Hollow:
He dug for the truth and found her magic.
Tara
Golden has hidden her healing power all her life. But occasionally, she uses
her abilities on people passing through town, sure they’d never figure out what
saved them. Now a tall, sexy geologist is asking questions she doesn’t want to
face, and he isn’t going to take no for an answer. There’s no way she would
reveal her abilities and her gifted sisters for a fling.
The
latest medical tests divulge geologist Grant Markel’s fatal condition is cured,
but the scientist within him won't accept it's a miracle. When he meets the
sexy, mystical witch who may hold the answer to his quest, he’s determined to
prove she’s full of smoke and mirrors despite their mutual attraction.
When
they are trapped in an enchanted valley, Tara must choose between her magical
truth or his scientific beliefs. Can she step from the shadows to claim her
true powers before it’s too late?
Buy Links for The
Touchstone of Raven Hollow:
Amazon: http://bit.ly/Touchstone-kindle
Amazon
AU: http://bit.ly/Touchstone-Amazon-AU
Amazon
CA: http://bit.ly/Touchstone-Amazon-CA
Amazon
UK: http://bit.ly/Touchstone-Amazon-UK
iBooks: http://bit.ly/Touchstone-iBooks
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
“Damn.
I can’t do this.”
If
pride caused one to fall, she had nothing to fear. She took no pride in her
cooking nor her gift. Everything she tried turned out either mediocre or a
dismal failure. She hid any hint of talent or ability. She preferred to get
through her life without anyone unmasking her for who and what she was. And yet
today loomed ahead as yet another opportunity for proving she couldn’t meet the
expectations set before her.
Tara
Golden stared out the kitchen door, frowning at the familiar scene for several
frantic beats of her heart. Morning sunshine filtered through the waxy leaves
of a tall magnolia, illuminating the covered fire pit and surrounding rustic
chairs nestled in the far reaches of the yard. The conversation corner in the
backyard had witnessed many evenings of laughter and shared secrets. Quiet and
private, she escaped to her favorite chair as often as possible. Perhaps she’d snatch a book and brave the November chill.
Forget about the pressure to succeed, to pass the unspoken and unfair test, yet
again filling her gut with trepidation. No matter how hard she tried.
She
pressed her fingers to both temples, trying to quiet her mind as well as her
rapid pulse. Her sisters hadn’t emerged from their rooms yet, so she had a
little time to indulge her whim. She turned away from the window, already
mentally sifting through the titles on the shelf at the other end of the room.
Just a few minutes would alleviate some of the stress in her soul. As she walked away from the door, her gaze
landed on the empty bakery box on the countertop. She dropped her hands,
fingers curling into fists, pushing against her legs.
“Double
damn.” She’d forgotten the buns warming in the oven. She inhaled as she brushed
her hair away from her face, pulling it up into a ponytail that grazed her
shoulders.
The
sweet smell of hot cinnamon and sugar filled the kitchen with memories.
Memories of her mother cooking and baking up a storm for family meals. Before she’d died so suddenly three years before.
A tear fell on Tara’s cheek, and she
rubbed the moisture away. She’d cried enough. She surveyed the cozy room, aware
of the lingering sense of intruding into a special place ricocheting in her
heart. Almost as if she sensed her mother’s presence. She hoped not. Although
she missed her mother desperately, it helped to think that her mom had found
peace. Perhaps one day Tara might also find inner peace. If she ever managed to
tame the guilt monster who clawed inside every time she thought of how her
mother died.
“Something
smells yummy.” Beth strode into the sunny room and headed straight for the
coffee pot. She wore a forest green pullover sweater with cream corduroy jeans,
emphasizing her slim figure. Bunny slippers with floppy ears completed the
outfit with a bit of whimsy. Cup in hand, Tara’s older sister pivoted to peer at her. Her expression indicated she’d
detected the hot sweet aroma. “Do I smell sticky buns?”
“Yeppers.”
Tara waved a hand toward the oven as she moved to stand by the center island.
She braced a hand on the edge of the counter, noting Beth appeared pulled
together as always. “They’re best warm.”
Tara
had chosen khaki jeans, a black cable knit sweater, and black loafers, ready to
head to the Golden Owl Books and Brews store right after she finished
breakfast. A utilitarian uniform. Ugh. Compared to the trim outfit her next
older sister wore, she probably looked dowdy at best. She didn’t want to think
about how others viewed her attire. She never seemed able to live up to
expectations. Her own or her sisters.
“As
if you made them yourself, right?” Beth chuckled and then sipped from the steaming
mug. “You’re not fooling anyone; you know
that right?”
She
knew it. Tara relived the memories of her mother, Peggy Golden, most every day.
Recalled how smart, pretty, and competent she’d been. Envisioning her bustling
about the small yet efficient kitchen, an apron covering her slacks and top,
while she stirred or sautéed or whatever task necessary to make the most
amazing meals. Repasts good for both body
and soul. The elegant cakes and tarts, pies and puddings, also caused people to
exclaim over them. Tara’s kitchen magic was weak by comparison. Despite her
best efforts, her meals ended up workmanlike
and plain, much like her choice of attire, even if they did nourish the body.
The soul was left to fend for itself.
“I’m
not trying to.” Tara shrugged off her sister’s observation. Everyone knew she
was not the baker of the family. Sure, she baked occasionally, but never
anything fancy or difficult. She couldn’t compete with her sisters in the
kitchen. Roxie, in particular, seemed
capable of accomplishing anything she set out to do. Tara was not so fortunate. But ask her to make a salad, and she’d whip up the best combination
of healthy vegetables and lean protein with a delicious, low-fat dressing any
day. She preferred simple and easy to elaborate and difficult. “See? There’s
the box from the bakery in plain view for all to see.”
Beth
leaned forward to peruse the label, her golden locks falling around her cheeks
to hang over the counter. “The new one over on Poplar Street?”
“The
Sweet Serendipity has a nice variety of breakfast buns and bagels.” She’d been
tempted to buy more than she had but decided to limit the indulgence. Her
thighs thanked her. “I imagine I’ll be a regular customer.”
“Where?”
Roxie strolled in, pushing up the sleeves of her crimson Alabama sweatshirt to
just below her elbows. Faded blue jeans and brown loafers completed her outfit.
Sensible and neat described her perfectly. Roxie spotted the white paperboard
box sitting open on the counter and nodded, making her brown and gold ponytail
swing side to side. “I see.”
“Tara…”
Beth pointed toward the stove with a manicured finger. “I think you need to
take them out.”
“No, they need a few more minutes to be good and
gooey warm.” Tara pivoted to reassure herself after the note of warning in Beth’s
voice. “Oh!”
She
raced to open the door only to cough as smoke poured into the room, triggering
the smoke alarm on the ceiling to blare
her embarrassment for all their neighbors to hear. She grabbed the hot pads and
quickly pulled the flimsy aluminum pan from the hot interior, popping and
smoking, and plopped it on top of the range. With a flick of her wrist, she
snapped the dial to the left to turn off the heat. Spinning around, she covered
her ears to dampen the blaring of the obnoxious alarm. Beth had opened the
outside door while Roxie used the bakery box to fan the smoke away from the
noise maker. After several minutes, the shrieking stopped and Tara forced her shoulders into their normal position.
What had she expected?
“You
used to know your way around the kitchen, Tara.” Roxie tossed the box onto the
counter and then retrieved a mug from the rack by the coffee maker. Pouring the
dark liquid into the cup, she glanced at Tara. “You need to get over it.”
“I’m
not sure I can.” Tara wouldn’t even pretend not to catch her sister’s allusion
so casually tossed in her direction.
She’d
been busy in the kitchen the day her mother died. Baking a lemon cake for her birthday as a surprise. Decorating the
layers with chocolate frosting and then writing in yellow buttercream icing had
taken forever but she’d managed to finish it with time to spare. Pride had
swelled her chest for a change. Not only had she managed to make the two layers
the same size without sloping one direction or the other. The writing even ended
up legible. Her mother would have been very pleased
with how neatly she’d written with the recalcitrant icing.
Only
the surprise had been on Tara when she had gone into her mother’s bedroom where
she’d gone for a nap. She’d felt tired and had a slight ache in her jaw and
head. Tara had offered to ease her discomfort,
but her mother had insisted it wasn’t necessary. A little rest and she’d be
good as new. Tara eased up to the side of the bed,
and whispered to her. No response, no shift, no eyes opening. Tara gently shook
her mother’s shoulder and then froze. Her mother had died in her sleep. Alone.
Tara had so much she wanted to share with her mother. Then to never have the
opportunity, or even the chance to say goodbye. Tears had flowed until she
thought she’d choke on them. But arrangements had to be made and people
informed of her passing. The following days remained a foggy blur of
condolences and sadness. The whole town turned out for her mother’s funeral.
Since Peggy ran the only bookstore in the area around Roseville, Tennessee,
everyone knew and adored her.
“It
wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s.” Roxie crossed to Tara’s side and peered
at her. “You need to put all that behind you and move forward. It’s what Mom
would have wanted.”
How
could anyone know what their mother would have asked of them had she lived?
People say that they know, but do they really?
Peggy Golden had been the sun the three sisters revolved around. They had lived
together in the historic home for as long as Tara could remember. Longer, since she was the youngest. She barely
remembered her father, Roscoe Golden, as a big man with a big laugh. He’d died
before she started kindergarten, leaving her mother to raise the three girls by
herself. A cohesive unit until the sun burned out and left the planets to drift
apart on their own. Somehow she had to find her way without the pull of a
central force.
“They’re
not too black if you want one.” Tara motioned to the pan of sticky buns and
then refilled her coffee cup. She’d not apologize for knowing her limitations.
An envelope Roxie apparently liked to push farther and farther. At some point,
the barrier would break and then she’d fail resplendently. She didn’t want to
contemplate such a dismal event. “You’re braver than I am to wear that to
work.”
“Do
you think folks will mind here in Volunteer territory?” Roxie dipped her head
to glance at the stylized white A on the front of the sweatshirt and then
grinned at Tara. “I’m not wearing it to the store. I have some errands to run
this morning so thought I’d risk it about town. You know, to get a reaction.”
One
thing the oldest sister could count on was eliciting a reaction from others.
Her personality and her attitude seemed to poke and prod people into a strong
retort. Always had. Both positive and
negative responses seemed to come with an added measure of punch. As if the
very air around Roxie intoxicated her audience, reducing their ability to
suppress their emotions much like the effect of alcohol.
“I’m
sure you will. This small town has a tendency to think small as well.” Beth
shook her head in mock disapproval, her long hair brushing her shoulders. She
studied Roxie’s attire for several moments. “You’ll surely get noticed. For
better or worse.”
“That’s
what I’m hoping for.” Roxie burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking as she
slapped a hand over her mouth. She moved to the other side of the island, still
chuckling. After she regained control,
she winked at Beth. “I know I shouldn’t do it. Some folks think it’s mean. But
I love to push buttons.”
“You’re
good at it, too.” Tara sipped her coffee before setting the cup on the counter.
The sound of Roxie’s laughter reminded Tara of her father’s, a faint echo of
memory decades old.
Beth’s
dig at the people of Roseville hinted at a growing dissatisfaction with small
town life. Not that Beth had said as much, but the increase in the number of
snarky observations sparked suspicions of her intent, whether she was aware of
them or not. Tara cradled the mug in both hands as she shifted her attention to
her oldest sister. She seemed different on this fall morning. The longer she
contemplated Roxie, the more certain she
became of a change in the air. Not just the clearing of the burned sugar smell,
either. Better to find out up front than to leave the lingering sensation to
tickle her conscious for hours or days. Been there, done that.
Tara
cleared her throat, fingers wrapped around her cold cup. “Speaking of buttons being pushed, you look like you’ve got a
surprise up your sleeve. What’s with the grin?”
Roxie
aimed hazel eyes at Tara and placed her hands on the island, leaning on the
surface to support her torso. “You’ve always been able to read my moods. That’s
part of your gift. You’re right. I do have a surprise. Can you guess?”
Her
sisters accepted her special abilities because they possessed their own gifts. Ones they employed with extreme
caution so others wouldn’t suspect. Or at least that was her goal. Roxie tended
to hide her proclivities in plain sight, her gift centered in the language of
spells and incantations. Beth’s gift also was easy to hide. Visions of the
future could only be seen in her mind,
after all. But Tara’s proved impossible to hide completely. She’d tried over
the years, but had only mastered subtlety
as a smokescreen. Her talent lay in detecting the health and wellbeing of a
person and then her touch would set matters aright. But first, she had to
determine what was amiss. All of which could require the laying on of hands,
literally, which could be tricky to do without raising questions.
She
had first discovered her powers when a little girl. Playing at the school with her classmates. One classmate had
climbed onto the jungle gym on a sunny, late August day despite the teacher
warning the children away from the hot metal. Tara had gravitated toward her,
sensing danger and a looming need. But nobody else reacted to the strange
sight, the pulsating energy, so she kept mum.
Waited with mounting fear for someone else to step in and stop the imminent
accident. When the small hand wrapped around first one and then the next bar of
the metal playground apparatus, Tara jerked in sympathy. After only a few
swings from one to the next, the girl had screamed and dropped to the ground
near where Tara watched in horror. The
air between them vibrated and pulsed, shimmering and glowing in a terrifying
way.
A
compulsion overcame her paralysis at the sight of the crying girl and forced
her to run to her side and grab both of her raw palms in her own. Tingling in Tara’s fingers cooled her palms until the
heat in the other girl’s hands dissipated like fog before the sun. When she’d
removed her hands, Tara was shocked to see the girl’s palms healed as if never
injured. The girl had looked at Tara with a grateful yet fearful expression and
then jumped up and ran away to surround herself with her friends. Leaving Tara
alone and scared with no one to turn to for an explanation of what had
occurred.
The
looks from her classmates warned Tara something weird and unexplained had
happened. Something frightening to everyone around her, including herself.
After school recessed for the day, she’d confided to her mother the events of
the morning while sitting in the conversation corner. Away from eavesdropping
or nosy neighbors. Away from the prying eyes of passersby. Her mother’s
revelations as to the sisters’ true nature proved eye-opening. She’d learned very quickly to keep her ability hidden
to avoid being ostracized by others.
As
she’d grown older, she’d learned when and how to use her talents. She’d chosen
to become an official healer in the form of a licensed midwife in order to
provide cover for her healing touch. Brief touches over a short period proved as effective as a longer contact. When she was with her sisters,
though, she could employ her gift. Together in their own house, they were safe.
Tara
tilted her head to one side and studied her oldest sister for several moments.
She sensed Roxie had made a decision, one involving her and Beth. “What have
you settled on that we may not approve of?”
“Oh,
you’re good! I’m sure you’ll never guess, so I’ll have to tell you.” Roxie put
her hands on her hips, bracing to reveal her bombshell as a wide smile split
her face. She tossed her head, her ponytail whipping over one shoulder.
“Paulette called, and she mentioned Grant
Markel arrived out at the plantation yesterday unannounced to share
Thanksgiving with his brother and her since their parents elected to go on a
world cruise over the holidays. She and Zak have tickets tonight for a dinner
theater with Meredith and Max, and she was worried about Grant being left all
alone.”
Grant?
Tara’s heart raced at the thought of the handsome man she’d tried so hard to
forget. She’d secretly helped him the month before when he’d accompanied Zak to
town in search of some alchemical solution to his desperate medical condition.
Several presses of her fingers to his temples were all she needed to save him.
Then he’d gone home, and she’d strived to
push him out of her mind. Away from her heart.
Yet how
could she forget his dove gray eyes smiling at her as they danced? Or the way
his thick brown hair with red and gold highlights caught the light from the
disco ball on the ceiling? His muscular shoulders swaying to the beat of the
energetic tune? The zing of electricity flowing through her fingers when she
touched his temples? He was a gorgeous sight,
but there was one huge problem. She had no intention of leaving Roseville, her
home, or her sisters. When he’d returned to Michigan and his home and work
after his week’s visit, she had moved on. Well, tried to move forward.
Roxie
lifted a charred but still gooey bun from the pan, picking off the black edges
with pincer fingers. Taking a bite, she moaned with delight as she chewed and
swallowed. At least the buns still tasted good. A
plus in Tara’s favor.
“He’s
such a hunk of man. I would love to get to know him better.” Beth tapped a
finger on the red-and-white checked tablecloth, leaning back in her chair, one
brow quirked and lips slightly parted.
Beth’s
comment sparked a bolt of jealousy, one Tara quickly suppressed. Beth could
have him if she wanted him. Tara shot a glance at Roxie, noting the laughter in
her eyes as she finished her bun in several quick bites. When Roxie turned her
gaze to Tara, her heart sank. “What have you done?”
“I
told her we’d be happy to help keep him busy.” Roxie cleaned her fingers on a
paper napkin then tossed it into the trash. “He’ll come over this evening for
dinner.”
“Tonight?
It’s taco night.” Tara shook her head, her ponytail whipping her cheeks. Each
sister took turns with the cooking so as to share the task or the fun, as the
case may be. Today was Tara’s day to handle the onerous chore. “I don’t want to
be responsible for making dinner for him. Let Beth do it instead.”
“Why?”
Roxie swiveled her head to frown at Tara. “It’s the perfect night since he can
pick and choose what he wants. It’ll be fine.”
“Come
on, Tara, don’t be a wimp.” Beth pushed out her chair and stood, bracing one
hand on a hip. “Tacos are the easiest thing to make. Even you can’t mess them
up.”
“We’ll
see.” Tara dragged in a breath and let it out with a huff. She’d never had a
problem before, so perhaps her sister was right. “Fine. But don’t blame me if
it all goes wrong.”
Roxie
sidled over to hug Tara with one arm, her free hand resting on Tara’s upper
arm, giving her a brief squeeze. “Relax. We’ve got your back. Besides, it’s
just Grant, and he’s family now.”
“Extended
family. Through marriage.” Tara managed to squash the desire to roll her eyes
at the idea of the brawny geologist as close family. “His brother, Zak, married
our cousin, Paulette, so that makes Grant, what?”
“A
cousin-in-law?” Beth chuckled as she lifted her keys from the hook and headed
for the back door. “I’ve got to get to the bookstore. See you all later.”
“I’ve
got to run, too.” Roxie dropped her arms to pivot on one foot, snatch her purse
from the shelf by the key rack, and follow Beth through the door. The jingle of
keys cut off when the door bumped closed.
Alone,
Tara surveyed the mess in the kitchen and tossed a quick prayer to the patron
saints of cooking, whoever they may be, to give her guidance. Pushing up her
sweater sleeves to the elbow, she picked up the blackened foil pan and tossed
it into the garbage. Best to keep busy and not dwell on her shortcomings. The
day had to get better. Triple damn.
Had she just jinxed herself?
About Bette:
Betty Bolté writes both historical and contemporary stories
featuring strong, loving women and brave, compassionate men. No matter whether
the stories are set in the past or the present, she loves to include a touch of
the paranormal. In addition to her romantic fiction, she’s the author of
several nonfiction books and earned a Master’s in English in 2008. She is a
member of Romance Writers of America, the Historical Novel Society, the Women’s
Fiction Writers Association, and the Authors Guild. Get to know her at www.bettybolte.com.
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