MEET THE AUTHOR: Anna Durand - "The Mortal Falls" [Undercover Elemental, Book 1]

Please welcome Anna Durand who is from Michigan, the Great Lakes and Midwestern regions of our nation. She writes romance, both paranormal and erotic contemporary. When she sneaks away from her computer, you might find her listening to an audio-books.

                                When asked what she's working on now, she says...

"I've always got at least two projects in progress at any given time, so I can switch back and forth between them as needed. If I get stuck on one, I can work on the other. Right now, I'm deep into writing the second book in my Hot Scots series, Wicked in a Kilt, and having a great time with it. I love writing the hero, Aidan, because he has a wicked sense of humor and revels in the seductive effect he has on women, without being arrogant about it. The heroine, Calli, insists she will never sleep with him, or worse, fall in love with him--which gives me plenty of opportunities for humor as her resolve slips."

I'm also working on the second book in the Undercover Elementals series, The Mortal Fires. Lindsey and Nevan return in this book, but I've thrown them into even more trouble this time. Nevan's wife shows up and an incubus sets his sights on Lindsey, so you might say they've both got their hands full!

My third project in the works at the moment is Kinetic, the third book in the Psychic Crossroads series. I'm exploring the idea of psychic terrorism and what that might look like, and of course, the romance gets steamy! That's about all I'm working on at the moment. 

Blurb:

A pragmatic human thrown into a world of magic...

Lindsey Porter fled from her traumatic past, determined to lay low, but now someone has framed her for murder. The quest for answers leads her into a parallel realm where magic reigns, and with a hostile sheriff and a shapeshifting assassin on her trail, she must place her life in the hands of a seductive, supernatural man who tempts her like no one else.

An immortal sylph enslaved by magic...

Nevan is trapped by a desperate bargain struck a century earlier, yet the beautiful, spirited Lindsey has enticed him to abandon his magically enforced duty. As forbidden passion flares between them, they'll risk everything to uncover the truth and find what they both need the most—redemption.

When two worlds collide...

The fates of the elemental and mortal realms depend on the star-crossed lovers. As dark secrets from their pasts threaten to shatter the fragile trust between Lindsey and Nevan, a shocking revelation holds the power to deliver salvation or destruction.

Excerpt:

        He jerked his head, glancing past me, past the tree. I listened, but my ears detected nothing except the soft rumble of the falls and the thudding of my own heart. His gaze shifted to the water. "I wish I could assist you, but I'm afraid I must go."    
        "You can't. We have to call the police."
        He pushed away from the tree. "Sorry, darlin'. Can't help ye with that."
        "You must've seen something."
        He shrugged, his shoulders flexing. "I saw what you saw, nothing more."
        "You have to stick around and tell the police your story."     
        Humor glinted in his eyes and his lips twitched into a half-repressed smirk. "My presence would do nothing to help the situation. Take my word on that."     
       Well, he did have a point. A half-naked man with freaky eyes corroborating my story probably wouldn't console the sheriff. Oh hell, given my relationship with the sheriff, he'd slap cuffs on me for being in the vicinity of trees, never mind my stumbling onto a corpse.     
       The stranger swung his head to the left, diving his face into my hair, and inhaled deeply. Sniffing my hair? What the hell? I slapped my palms on his chest and shoved. He didn't budge. I pushed harder, but I might as well have wrestled with a giant redwood.
       He lifted his head, eyes clouding with confusion. "How odd. I thought it was your hair, but it isn't. You smell of—I must've imagined it."    
       "I don't understand a word you've said."
       He fingered my hair, then withdrew his hand. "At least I succeeded in distracting you from the poor dead fellow."
       The stranger pulled back and opened one palm. A flower appeared there, as if by magic. A daylily, its white petals blushed with pink. His other hand spread open, revealing my gun balanced on his palm. He pressed the derringer into my hand and curled my fingers around it. "Thought ye might like to have this."
        I stared at him. "Uh…yeah."
        He tucked the flower behind my ear, planted a kiss on my forehead, hopped back a step, and vanished.

Links: 

Website: https://annadurand.com/

Blog: https://www.spunkandhunks.com/

Social Media:

https://twitter.com/TheAnnaDurand

https://www.facebook.com/AnnaDurandFiction

https://www.goodreads.com/annadurand

https://plus.google.com/+AnnaDurandFiction/

https://www.pinterest.com/Anna_Durand/

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06W9G63ZS

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-mortal-falls-anna-durand/1125784652?ean=2940154010112

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-mortal-falls/id1205286541

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-mortal-falls

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Anna_Durand_The_Mortal_Falls?id=jj8fDgAAQBAJ

Author Bio:
Anna Durand is an award-winning, bestselling author of sizzling romances, including the Hot Scots series. She loves writing about spunky heroines and hunky heroes, in settings as diverse as modern Chicago and the fairy realm. Making use of her master's in library science, she owns a cataloging services company that caters to indie authors and publishers. In her free time, you'll find her binge-listening to audio-books, playing with puppies, or crafting jewelry.

 

FINALLY IT'S RELEASED AND FOR SALE!

                   FOUR WHITE ROSES - $4.99

Can a wily old ghost help
two fractured souls find love again?

 

When widower Rich Redman returns to Pennsylvania with his young daughter to sell his deceased grandmother’s house, he discovers Grandmother Gertie’s final request was for him to find a missing relative and a stash of WWI jewels.

Torrie Larson, single mom, is trying to make her landscape center and flower arranging business succeed while attempting to save the lineage of a rare white rose brought from Austria in the 1900s.

Together, the rich Texas lawyer and poor landscape owner team up to rescue the last rose and fulfill a dead woman’s wishes. But in their search to discover answers to the mysteries plaguing them, will Rich and Torrie also discover love in each other’s arms? Or will a meddling ghost, a pompous banker, and an elusive stray cat get in their way?

 

 LINK:  

https://www.amazon.com/Four-White-Roses-Judy-Davis-ebook/dp/B06XPBKY7F

 

 And follow on the Goddess Fish Blog Tour 

from May 29th to June 9th to win a 

$25.00 Amazon Gift Certificate!

"Rain in May is a barn full of hay."

The old hay loader

There's an old farmer's saying, "Rain in May is a barn full of hay," but a barn full of hay doesn't get there by wishing. I remember as a child how my father used to take in loose hay with a hay loader pulled by an old flatbed milk truck from the 1930s which he actually drove at the age of thirteen, picking up cans of fresh milk daily from local farmers and delivering them to the creamery.

The rusty old truck we used for haying was far from the truck it was in its finest days. I can still smell the old gasoline engine and its pungent, oily-smelling exhaust system. It was a shabby-looking pile of metal with a seat made of springs you might actually feel if it wasn’t for the old carpets covering it. It lacked a door on the driver’s side, and the window was removed on the passenger side to allow for the free flow of air. The windshield on the old truck vented outward as well which helped the fumes filtering up from the floor boards to escape.  

Hay being fed up a loader

As the driver, my job was to steer the dilapidated truck slowly down a row of hay, straddling it with the front wheels. Dad caught the loose hay rolling its way up the hay loader and distributed it evenly onto the flatbed until we had a full load. Once the hay was stacked to a certain depth on the bed, it also buried the driver’s view out a low rectangular back window. The only way to see the person on the load was to step out on the old running board and look around and up. 

A sharp whistle was my signal to stop immediately. It either meant the hay was thick and coming up too fast or the truck bed was full. Or every so often a black snake would take a hike up and have to be pitched off. The worse possible scenario was when we hayed the side hills on our farm. If the hay was extremely dry and slippery, it shifted and slid off, taking Dad with it. That meant a delay, since the hay would have to be thrown back up onto the truck bed. 

Hay forks

When at last, we reached the barn, a giant hay fork from a track, extending from roof peak to roof peak, was lowered and the hay was pulled upward, onto the track, and onward to the end of the mow where a trip rope would drop the huge heap. These giant forkfuls would then have to be again distributed evenly about the loft, outward to the corners.

 

Haying in summer meant hot days, muggy nights, and sore muscles. But the smell of newly mown hay or dried sweet clover in the loft negated all the sweat and hard work. And when the hay reached the rafters, you could look out the little window at the peak and see the fields spread out before you and the swallows gliding at eye level—and you thought you were queen of the mow.  

Finally, It's Spring in Central Pennsylvania!

It's springtime! Everything around us in Central Pennsylvania whispers of the beginning of spring ever since the calendar has been turned to April. The onion snow has melted, and warmer temperatures have antsy homeowners mowing lawns and inspecting the flora and fauna in their yards.

The rhubarb has valiantly pushed itself out of the ground, fearless of freezing nights. Fiddleheads have recently appeared, along with the first dandelions the bees have patiently been waiting for.

 Lilac bushes are decked out in green buds and tiny purple blossom tips which will transform into delicate, lavender flowers to make the evening air smell sweet and pleasurable. Daffodils and the tiny Muscari Latifolium, from the grape hyacinth clan, have popped up and spread out low to the still-chilly ground.

The chickadees and cardinals, two of the first birds to appear each spring, have found the seed feeders and persistently call to their respective mates. Sparrows sing a merry tune while a nearby wren just chatters her displeasure like a cranky child.

Canada geese, winging north, honk out a lonesome sound  and skim the trees looking for the safety of water where they’ll rest for the night before taking flight the next day. And in the swamps, marshes and pond perimeters, the peepers send up a nightly chorus of a song reminding everyone that finally—yes, it’s springtime in Pennsylvania. Finally!