Monday, 13 May 2019

Cheryl Kaye Tardif and Lancelot's Lady!


On SALE $2.99
A beautiful nurse, a handsome recluse and an evil PI equals one deadly adventure.

When palliative care nurse Rhianna McLeod is given a gift of a dream holiday to the Bahamas from her
dying patient, billionaire JT Lance, she has no idea that her 'holiday' will include being stranded on a private island with Jonathan, an irritating but irresistibly handsome recluse. Or that she'll fall head over heels for the man. 


Jonathan isn't happy to discover a drop-dead gorgeous redhead has invaded his island. But his anger soon turns to attraction. After one failed marriage, he has guarded his heart, but Rhianna's sudden appearance makes him yearn to throw caution to the wind. 

To live fully in the present, Rhianna must resolve her own murky past, unravel the secret that haunts JT, foil the plans of a sleazy, blackmailing private investigator and help Jonathan find his muse. 
Only then can Rhianna find the love she's been searching for, and finally become...Lancelot's Lady. 




Buy Links:








Get to know...

Cheryl Kaye Tardif is an award-winning, international bestselling Canadian suspense author published by various print, e-book and audiobook publishers. She is best known for Children of the Fog (over 200,000 copies sold worldwide), Submerged, the Divine Trilogy and Whale Song. Many of her novels have been translated into various foreign languages.

When asked what she does, Cheryl likes to say, “I kill people off for a living!” You can imagine the looks she gets. Sometimes she’ll add, "Fictitiously, of course. I'm a suspense author." Sometimes she won't say anything else. 

Residing in West Kelowna, BC, in Canada’s beautiful Okanagan Valley, Cheryl is now working on a special project she hopes to sell to Netflix, Crave TV or Prime Video: twelve episodes of a television crime drama series set in the Okanagan. She’s also working on another thriller­—and a second children’s picture book.

Booklist raves, “Tardif, already a big hit in Canada…a name to reckon with south of the border.”

Cheryl's website: www.cherylktardif.com

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

Ramblings of a Crazed Writer...


A week into the new year and I’m already in need of a vacation. My head feels like it’s ready to explode. There are not enough hours in the day to do all of the things I need to get done. It’s my own fault really…I procrastinate and leave things until the last minute, and if any of you know me enough by now, you know that’s how I roll.
Deadlines to me are like the finish line to a runner, the last bite of dinner to reveal a clean plate and a full stomach.
I wait…I leave things until I cannot ignore them any longer and they press on my mind like a vise squeezing my brain.
Last year at this time my goal was to finish three books…I finished two and started another (it’s a series) and I left the one I’ve got almost done sitting in my folder waiting anxiously for me to write THE END.
Have I done it…NO!

I’ve got close to 62,000 words written, a good plot going on and some great characters. So, what’s my problem? Usually when this happens, I’m writing until I finish, but not this time.
Instead I’ve left it. Ignored the guilt, the nagging, the over whelming urge to pick it up and finish the damn thing. I’ve looked the other way, busied myself with other writing and researching and now here I am.
Stuck.
What is the problem?
Why can’t I finish this book?
Well, I’ll tell you. Something is wrong with it. I’ve known this since about 30,000 words in. There isn’t enough depth, emotion…or something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know it’s there, or maybe it’s my own way of saying wait. Hell, I don’t know and it’s driving me nuts. The thought of delving back into the story overwhelms me and instead of picking up the book, I find myself reaching for a glass of whiskey instead.
What’s a writer to do?
Most of my author friends understand what I’m going through. It is the creator’s way of finding perfection!


The book has to be seamless. I know this is not going to happen, but damn it the bloody thing needs to be close to it. I refuse to release a book my readers aren’t going to enjoy. I know some won’t like it, and that’s okay, but this is my career and I take it seriously. Yes, I write because of the passion inside of me, but I also write for them.
I must muddle my way through even though it will mean late nights, headaches, a lot of re-working, and even more whiskey. The finish line may be further off than I want it to be, but I will reach it—I have to!


And if all else fails…the liquor store is only a few blocks away!

Cheers!


Sunday, 9 December 2018

Merry Merry Mistletoe!



What is Mistletoe and where did it come from? I'd been pondering this idea a while back while plotting out a Christmas book for next year, and I came across this post I'd written for another blog years before. So I thought I'd repost it here. 

We all know that when you stand under the mistletoe a kiss is sure to be in your future, but where did this age old tradition come from? Who thought to pluck the berried leaf from the apple and willow trees to use as a kissing tool?

Thought to bring prosperity and protection against evildoers, the mistletoe was held sacred and magical by the ancient Druids in the late 1500's. Custom states that on the sixth night of the moon during the summer and and winter solstice, white priests would cut the mistletoe from it's tree with a golden sickle. Along with their sacrifices and prayers, the Druids believed the mistletoe would grant them prosperity.

Throughout centuries the tradition of the magical mistletoe carried on. 

In the Middle Ages branches of mistletoe were cut and hung from the ceilings to ward off evil spirits. In Europe the mistletoe was placed over home and outbuildings to protect against the entrance of witches. 

Mistletoe was also used as an offering of peace within arguing spouses and on the battlefield. 

The kissing under the mistletoe originated from Greece where it was believed that a kiss while
standing under the greenery brought on fertility and long life. In later years the British created the kissing ball, and for each kiss a berry was plucked from the sprig. Once all the berries had been taken no more kisses were to be given. A lady would stand under the mistletoe, to show she was eligible, and wait for any suitors to kiss her. If not kissed before all the berries had been picked, it was believed she would not marry within the coming year.

The tradition of the mistletoe has come into the homes of many throughout the years, and whether you believe it to be magical or not, it is the lighthearted fun that the mistletoe brings...and maybe even a kiss. 

Merry Christmas!







Friday, 10 August 2018

SNEAK PEEK!

Here is a sneak peek of the first book in my new series 

THE KELLY'S...


Jake Kelly didn’t care for much of anything, and when it came to outlaws he cared even less. He’d done his fair share of thievin’. Hell, he’d done a lot more than that. He spat the reminder of the past from his lips. Life had been different back then, exciting, dangerous and then horrible. He couldn’t stop the guilt from sinking in. He should’ve known—seen it coming. He sighed. But he didn’t. By the time he’d started to take notice their lives had spiraled out of control like the dominos Nate used to play with and one by one disaster struck. It wasn’t long afterward the Kelly brothers discovered fear and desperation like none other.
He adjusted the black Stetson to cover the shame he felt. Each day he struggled to come back from the edge—from what he’d always known—from right and wrong. And some days he just didn’t give a damn.
Three years before he would’ve been sitting in some hideout in the mountains, or a rundown abandoned shack in the forest. Awaiting the plan, a cultivated path that was taught and organized by Frank Kelly, their pa.
Jake’s stomach twisted.
He focused on the trouble before him. A woman was being tossed between two outlaws, her trunks overturned, the clothes strewn about the grassy floor. No horses were tied to the stage and he looked for the stagecoach driver, but couldn’t see the man. Had he been in on it? The possibility was there and he’d seen it before. The wagon had been on its way to Pine Valley, the place Jake and his brothers called home. The bandits must’ve known it’s arrival and waited until the stagecoach had come into the valley, hidden from anyone passing by before they attacked.
The woman screamed again, a high-pitched yelp that had the birds flying from the trees. Willow stomped the ground and neighed. Jake held tight to the reins to calm the horse and pulled the Winchester hanging from the side of the saddle. He inhaled. The metal star tucked in the pocket of his denims reminded him of the new life he lived, and the right he’d sworn to uphold. He propped the heavy rifle against his shoulder, aimed and fired. The man went down. There was probably a more civilized way to deal with the men, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment. The barrel found the other man and a loud bang from the gun kicked the butt into Jake’s shoulder.
 He nudged Willow’s sides and the animal made his way toward the woman and the outlaws. The Wyoming sun was hot during the summer months, with it came droughts, and fires. The dry grass crunched under Willows hooves; a reminder the land hadn’t seen a drop of rain in weeks. He held the rifle loosely at his side and ignored the sweat as it trickled down his temples.
Jake could smell the men before he rounded the stagecoach. They probably hadn’t bathed in a month the stench was so powerful, and remorse for the girl softened his eyes.
“Do not come another step closer or I’ll shoot,” she said.
He glanced at the woman, her dress torn, long hair pulled from whatever style it had been in and hung in dark waves around her shoulders. The colt shook within her hands as she gripped the handle and pointed the gun at him.
He ignored her, pulled the reins to stop his horse, and climbed down.
“I said I’ll shoot,” she said again.
 He went to the closest outlaw nudged him with the toe of his boot. Experience told him the man might still be alive. He saw the subtle movement in the eyelids before the outlaw’s fingers tightened around his gun. Jake pulled his colt and shot the man in the chest.
The woman screamed…again.
Satisfied the bastard was dead, he walked toward the other man. The hole in his side was enough indication that he no longer lived. It was just as well. The judge didn’t come through for another month and, he wasn’t up for babysitting.
“Go away or I’ll shoot.”
He faced the terrified woman and winced when her eyes grew wide. He held still and flexed his jaw. He was used to the stares, the pity, but the horrified look on her face stabbed him in the gut and stole the air from his lungs.
“Get on the horse,” he said.
“I will not go with you. I’ll die before that will happen.”
He blew out a long sigh.
“You’ll die out here all alone.” He picked up her clothes and tossed them into the trunks.
She scurried toward him and yanked something made of silk from his hands. The barrel of the gun rammed into his stomach.
“Leave!”
Jake had no time for this crazed woman. With skilled hands he grabbed the gun from her and tossed it onto the ground. The back of his neck ached. The sun was stifling, and he needed a whiskey.
“Get your stuff, or leave it here I don’t give a damn, but you’re coming with me,” he growled.
“I will not!”
He stepped toward her, and she retreated.
“I don’t barter with anyone.” He was an inch from her face. “Get on the damn horse before I put you there.” He’d intended to place the fear in her eyes, but not the tears.
Her bottom lip trembled, but before he could ease things over, she hauled off and kicked him in the shins.
Jake moaned. The skin torn, he could feel the air hit the bare flesh and sting. He pulled the colt from his holster and aimed it at her.
“Get on the horse,” he growled.
Big round eyes stared back at him and two tears fell lazily from the lashes.
It was too late. He couldn’t take back what he’d already done, and so he wouldn’t apologize for it. Instead he holstered his gun and tried to breathe some understanding back into his veins. He was a lawman now, had been for the last year, and there were times like this one where he wished to be anywhere but Pine Valley.
More tears fell from her eyes, and he took another deep cleansing breath. He flexed his jaw. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t be cleansed, hell he couldn’t even be saved after all the things he’d done. He berated himself again for taking the badge, for his promise to keep the townsfolk safe when he was no better than the bastards he arrested.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything to ease the tension he saw around her lips, but instead he turned and walked away. He’d never been a man of many words, and when it came to females he had less of them.
“I won’t go with you,” she said and the words floated toward him like leaves falling from a tree.
Jake waited…he searched his mind for something to say.
“Pine Valley is a few miles west.” It was just as well. She didn’t want his help anymore than he wanted to give it.
“You’re not going to harm me?” her voice was no more than a whisper and if he hadn’t been attuned to everything around them he would’ve never heard her.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I…I just assumed.”
Jake set his jaw. Willow grazed on some dry grass beside the stage; he grabbed the reins and swung up into the saddle.
“Wait! You’re going to leave me here?”
What exactly did she want from him? He’d offered to take her to safety and she welcomed the gesture with a kick to his shins.
“What are your intentions?” she asked coming toward him.
“To leave.”
“How am I supposed to get my things to Pine Valley?”
He looked at her trunks, two large wooden crates. He’d never had a need for more than what his horse could carry and he couldn’t fathom what she had in the damn things.  
“You cannot expect me to drag my trunks all of the way there.” She wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
“Where’s the driver?” he asked.
“Gone. He took off when trouble started.” She stepped closer and put out her hand. “Eva Daily.”
Tiny in stature, her small hand showed long fingers and pale skin. He didn’t take it within his own and instead he nodded. Her oval shaped face was sprinkled with freckles across her nose and cheeks, and when he looked closer he could see the red in her dark hair. She was young…too young to be out on her own.
“Gather your things back inside the trunks until I can send someone to fetch them.”
“But I can’t leave them.”
He shifted in the saddle and the metal star poked his leg. A token of the pledge to uphold the law whether he wanted to or not, and this snippet of a woman and her bags were one in the same. He jumped down and went to inspect the carriage. The wagon shafts lay on the ground, but the harness was gone probably still on the horse that had been pulling it. The trunks would have to stay.
“I’ve never been out west,” she said traipsing along behind him. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“I’ll take you to town, but the crates stay here.”
“Can’t you tie your horse to the stage?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He was tired, hungry and needed a bloody drink. His mood had turned from sour to downright annoyed. All his life he’d taken care of others, and today had been no different. He’d been on his way to town to rustle up his younger brother, Nate, when he’d come across the stagecoach.
“You can stay and wait,” he said.
She looked around the valley before bringing her blue eyes back to his.
“Out here all alone?”
He nodded.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“I don’t have all damn day.” He was back to biting her head off, and at the moment he didn’t care. He needed to get to town. Wyatt had told him Nate didn’t come home last night, and both brothers knew what that meant. Their little brother had been gambling. Jake didn’t even want to think about the trouble Nate had gotten himself into. Last time Wyatt had to pay the debts and Jake had to repair the saloon.
“Either you’re coming with me to Pine Valley, or you’re waiting.” Another layer of guilt fell across his shoulders. Jake hardened himself to it.
“You do not have to be so rude, Mr.?”
“Jake.” He refused to tell her more. The Kelly’s were known clear across the country for their outlaw ways. Most newcomers into Pine Valley had heard of them and wanted to meet the boys who were exonerated for turning their pa in. The brothers had thought about changing their names, but Hope had been the reason they didn’t.

     
A little snippet for my readers...I hope you loved it!