To all my readers, thank you for waiting so patiently for Book Two in my Desert Hills Trilogy. It is currently with the publisher and I’m anxiously awaiting to see what the cover and interior will look like. When it’s ready for the world to read, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, keep checking back here to read updates on the publication of “Till My Last Day, Book Two in the Desert Hills Trilogy.”
You will be happy to know that Emily and Caleb continue their journey in book two along with many new characters you can’t help but fall in love with. Of course there is always a nefarious character, or two. So stay tuned to wander back to the 1880 desert hills of Yuma, Arizona Territory with a bit of romance, a dash of mystery, a skosh of suspense and the unexpected hint of time-travel.
Rebecca Young Ackerman, was raised to be a prominent lady of Boston society in the late 1800s. Being a dutiful daughter, albeit young and naive, she always did as her father said. When he marries her off to a man of his choosing, she comes to realize how fast dreams of marital bliss can fall apart. Fearing for her life, an unexpected telegram regarding her brother, gives her the opportunity she needs to take her boys and flee from her narcissistic husband. Always looking over her shoulder, her fear is real. Traveling across country, a chance encounter with a certain gentleman finds herself wishing for a better life.
Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Burns, In 2016 Nathaniel Burns, a well-respected police officer serving the tough neighborhood of Roxbury, in Boston, finds his partner and himself, answering a domestic violence call one airless summer night. Events unfold quickly, and he suddenly finds life as he knew it coming to a tragic end. Due to his mother’s ‘Celtic Gift,’ Nathaniel is transported back to 1875 to begin life anew. What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with a lady in peril in the Yuma desert of 1880.
Both long for a new life but can they leave their past behind to find love.
Boston, 1880. Rebecca Young Ackerman
“I was terrified.
Elliot was home making another of his late-night entrances where his careless disregard destroyed the portrait of wealth he so carefully meant to depict for Boston’s high society.
As I gripped the arms of my chair, my fingernails dug deep into the fabric . I tried standing, but every single muscle in my body stiffened. Was this a dream? No! The sound was real. Motionless, I envisioned the gaping hole the door handle left in the wall.
The last thing I wanted tonight was to face my husband.
Jaw clenched, I pushed myself up and found my feet frozen in place as I anxiously waited for his usual acerbic outburst to commence. On other nights, I had been able to persuade him to go upstairs and sleep off the effects of the alcohol. But I sensed I would not succeed tonight. So, I silently prayed that God would protect me and my boys from his wrath.”