Showing posts with label sr mallery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sr mallery. Show all posts

Saturday, December 9, 2017

Audiobook Promo Tour: The Dolan Girls by SR Mallery

Title: The Dolan Girls
Author: SR Mallery
Genre: Western Romance, Historical
Audiobook Release Date: October 9, 2017
Narrator: Nancy Peterson
eBook Release Date: December 3, 2015
Summary:
The Dolan Girls by S. R. Mallery has it all. Set in Nebraska during the 1800s, whorehouse madams, ladies of the night, a schoolmarm, a Pinkerton detective, a Shakespeare-quoting old coot, brutal outlaws, and a horse-wrangler fill out the cast of characters. Added to the mix are colorful descriptions of an 1856 land rush, Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show, Annie Oakley, bank/train robberies, small town local politics, and of course, romance. Two, in fact!



…The two sisters shifted into their usual standoff poses: Cora annoyed, self-righteous, her hands on her hips; Minnie, wiry, know-it-all, breathing hard.

Just then, one of their ladies entered. “Mrs. Cora, Miss Minnie, there’s a problem out on the floor.”
Cora sighed. “What now, Marlena?”

The soiled dove gulped before answering. “One of our customers, the old geezer one, is having a fit. Gettin’ real ornery, too.”

In recognition of a regular happenstance, the two sisters looked at each other and grimaced.

“Need any help?” Minnie asked Cora as she stood up.

“Nope, I have it under control. Thanks, Sis,” Cora replied and headed out the door, Ellie and her homecoming temporarily forgotten.

Out in the main parlor, the girls had already formed a wide circle around old Pete. Corsets, bustles, crinolines, pantaloons, and camisoles intermingled with a whiskey-stained suit, a grimy vest, and mud-caked boots. He was no match for them. As they gleefully shoved and tickled him, his fury rose with each breath, while his face ripened into the color of raw meat. Finally, when he could take it no longer, he sputtered, “She-devils!” which produced gales of laughter.

“Ladies, ladies. Enough. Leave the man alone,” Cora said, placing a concerned arm around the smelly habituΓ©. “There, there, Pete. They meant you no harm.”

As Mercutio proclaimed in Romeo and Juliet, ...’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ‘tis enough, ‘twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man. All I wanted was a little love, Cora. I swear it!” He sniffled pathetically as the girls giggled.

With a dirty glance aimed at the group’s ringleader, Charity, Cora turned back to Pete. “You did produce some money, right, love?”

He looked down.

“Now, Pete, you know the rules.”

“I just wanted a little love. As Henry David Thoreau said, There is no remedy for love but to love more. He also said…”

“Now, Pete, enough about Thoreau,” she interrupted, gently angling him toward the door. As soon as he left with a snort and an “After all we’ve been through together,” Cora shook her head and turned back to face her employees.

“Ladies, she said, “some women in this town may look down on us, but I do have my standards. Gentility is most important, above all else. I thought I had made myself perfectly clear.”

A few head nods and corset scratching was all she got before Marlena stepped forward. “Ah, Mrs. Cora?”

Placing one hand on her hip, Cora sighed. “Now what?”

“He was full as a tick, that one was. He almost fell down twice.”

Cora squinted her eyes, assessing her new employee. “I don’t care how drunk he was. He, Miss Minnie, and I go way back.”

“But you tossed out a feller from Fanny’s bed just the other night. I reckon he wasn’t half as likkered up as that ol’ coot.”

Cora frowned. “I could tell the man with Fanny was going to be big trouble.”

“Yes, zat one very, very scared me,” Suzette, the resident French girl affirmed. “I zink Mrs. Cora maybe saved Fanny’s life.”

“Trust Mrs. Cora,” Rosie interjected. “She’ll always watch your back, or at least your backside!” There was an explosion of laughter.

“All right, all right. Get a wiggle on, ladies,” Cora continued, her eyes sweeping over them. “I heard a group of cowboys are ridin’ through town, maybe even this afternoon. Now, go, go!”

What Others Are Saying:
1) “At times rollicking, at times poignant, but always authentic, well- researched and a beautifully told story.”

2)“A compelling read, perfect amount of romance, with a wonderful ending. With Mallery's warm writing style, you will be immersed in cast, time, and place.”

3)“S.R. Mallery’s words thunder off the page like a cattle stampede... her sharply written characters demonstrate that truly it was WOMEN who tamed the American West.”

4)“It's a rip-roaring, nail-biting, heart-throbbing ride...my Stetson is off to S.R. Mallery, five stars all the way.”

5)"What a marvellous story... A well-researched book of historical value for this reader--entertaining and very warmly written. Highly recommended.”

6)“Mallery has done it again. THE DOLAN GIRLS leads you on a trip that is sometimes painful and sometimes loving. You are taken from innocence to womanhood. From love to heartbreak... Definitely 5-stars!”

7) “As a history buff, I just loved this whoppin' good tale set in the old west...From the first word to the last, the pages couldn't fly fast enough. Highly recommended!”

8)“S. R. Mallery gives us a colourful view of America’s wild west of the 1800’s... The characters are endearing and the action is fast paced ... Looking forward to more from this talented writer.”

9)“If you're a fan of the old west, strong women, and enjoy a great read, this book is for you. Recommend highly!”

10)“The Dolan Girls is simply a wonderful book. It brings the West alive in a way that is not only historically interesting, but one can't help but become fascinated with how the story is going to play out.”

11) “S.R. Mallery knows how to write historical fiction in a way that hooks the reader..."

12) “I loved The Dolan Girls. It was easy to get interested in from the start. I recommend that anyone wanting a good read of a clean historical western romance give this book a try.”

Author Bio:
Let’s face it. S. R. Mallery is as eclectic as her characters. Starting out as a classical/pop singer/composer, she next explored the fast-paced world of advertising as a production artist while she simultaneously dipped her toe into the Zen biosphere as a calligrapher. Having started a family and wanting to work from the home, she moved on to having a long career as an award-winning quilt artist and an ESL/Reading instructor before settling on her true love––writing. Her short stories have been published in descant 2008, Snowy Egret, Transcendent Visions, The Storyteller, and Down In the Dirt. Her quilt articles have appeared in Quilt World and Traditional Quilt Works.


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Sunday, August 13, 2017

Genteel Secrets by SR Mallery

Title: Genteel Secrets
Author: SR Mallery
Genre: Historical Romance
Release Date: November 27, 2016
Summary:
What do a well-bred Southern Belle and a Northern working class Pinkerton detective have in common? Espionage . . . and romance. At the start of the U.S. Civil War, while young men begin dying on American battlefields and slavery is headed toward its end, behind the scenes, female undercover work and Pinkerton intelligence are alive and well. But in the end, can this unlikely Romeo and Juliet couple’s love survive, or will they be just another casualty of war?


CHAPTER TEN
“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
––William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

“Finally, we meet again,” he said so low, so deeply, she almost couldn’t hear it. Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have been able to hear much of anything he said, her heartbeat was rattling so loudly inside her chest.

When he took her hand to kiss it, it amazed her how wobbly and unsteady her knees felt, as if she had just been hit hard by a low-lying branch. Yet, she didn’t fall. Instead, for the first time in weeks, a broad smile appeared on her face.

“Oh Hannah,” he murmured and leaned in close, still holding her hand. “Why didn’t you ever come back to me?”

“I swear I tried, truly I did, but I kept being stopped by my family.”

. . .“Shall we go out onto the balcony?” he asked.

Nodding, she let him guide her outdoors, away from the waltzes, and the general conversation growing more sonorous by the hour. The evening chill had remained at its peak and the distant sound of soldiers maneuvering in their tented camps served as a soft, pleasant background. . .
.
Standing side by side overlooking Washington, they heard the occasional clacking of carriages over the cobblestones and saw the glow of street lamps casting long shadows everywhere.

“Still reading Wordsworth and Harriet Beecher Stowe?”

Laughing, she touched him lightly on his arm. “Always.”

She could feel that same gravitational pull overcome her, the same urge to touch him as she had felt that day on the park bench, only now, with the closeness of their bodies, it was stronger than ever. She thought about what it would be like to be in his arms, to feel his breath on her face, feel his broad shoulders underneath his jacket.

When he gently kissed her, it didn’t last long. It gave her just a hint of his lips. Still, she didn’t know how to handle the new sensations instantly sparking in her body. This was unchartered territory. He kissed her again, slightly longer this time as he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her up against his broad chest. Her only thought was she wanted, no, needed, more. The third time he kissed her, she could feel the urgency sweeping them both into some unknown cavern of pleasure, and when he kissed her a fourth time, it was long and deep. She lost consciousness of anything else but how he was making her feel. When he began gently kissing her neck, her breasts tilted upward to be touched, and as shameful as she always had assumed it was, she was no longer able to suppress the ache she was experiencing between her legs––her ‘thing,’ as she once overhead a couple of the slaves call it when they were discussing a topic no self-respecting, well-bred white southern girl would ever discuss.

“Hannah, we must stop,” he growled.

“Oh, my,” she managed, her breath shaky, her chest heaving.

He drew a large, wavering breath as well. “Exactly. That’s why I had to put a stop to this. You mean too much to me, Hannah, to let things go any further.”



Author Bio:
Let’s face it. S. R. Mallery is as eclectic as her characters. Starting out as a classical/pop singer/composer, she next explored the fast-paced world of advertising as a production artist while she simultaneously dipped her toe into the Zen biosphere as a calligrapher. Having started a family and wanting to work from the home, she moved on to having a long career as an award-winning quilt artist and an ESL/Reading instructor before settling on her true love––writing. Her short stories have been published in descant 2008, Snowy Egret, Transcendent Visions, The Storyteller, and Down In the Dirt. Her quilt articles have appeared in Quilt World and Traditional Quilt Works.

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Thursday, June 22, 2017

Unexpected Gifts by SR Mallery

Title: Unexpected Gifts
Author: SR Mallery
Genre: Historical Romance
Release Date: June 4, 2015
Summary:
A TRUE AMERICAN FAMILY SAGA: Can we learn from our ancestors? Do our relatives’ behaviors help shape our own?

In "Unexpected Gifts" that is precisely what happens to Sonia, a confused college student, heading for addictions and forever choosing the wrong man. Searching for answers, she begins to read her family’s diaries and journals from America’s past: the Vietnam War, Woodstock, and Timothy Leary era; Tupperware parties, McCarthyism, and Black Power; the Great Depression, dance marathons, and Eleanor Roosevelt; the immigrant experience and the Suffragists. Back and forth the book journeys, linking yesteryear with modern life until finally, by understanding her ancestors' hardships and faults, she gains enough clarity to make some right choices.


SONIA’S paraplegic Father --CHAPTER 2: Sam––Living With Fear
“First thing I killed was no kind of thing at all. It was an enemy
soldier, which was a hell of a lot easier to say than the first thing I ever killed was a man.”
--Steve Mason

“...Nearing the village, we passed women in their beige tunics, black pants, and Sampan hats, shouldering thick bamboo rods weighted down by buckets of water. Most kept their heads lowered as they walked, but the few who didn’t, stared up at us with dead, black-brown eyes and pressed lips. The afternoon was drawing to a close by the time we reached a village compound that reeked of nuoc maum rotten fish sauce and animal dung. An old, leathery woman, squatting by her hooch was our welcoming committee, but once she saw us shuffle by, she scurried back into her hut, clacking loudly in Vietnamese as chickens pecked at rice granules, bobbing their heads up and down in 2/4 time.

Carbini cut to the chase. “First, pull every one of those gooks outta their hooches, then line them up here,” he barked.

I watched my troop comb each thatched home, rounding up families of all ages and herding them out into the open like a cattle drive in Oklahoma. I, too, started the mission and stooping into one of the huts, saw a young woman sitting on a straw mat, eating some rice in a black bowl, a young child at her side.

She was exquisite—the best possible combination of French and Chinese ancestry, with such delicate features, she made my heart ache. My immediate instincts were to protect her and her son from Carbini and this horrendous war, but she just gazed up at me, emotionless.

I could hear Carbini yelling orders to get a move-on, and I signaled this girl, this treasure, to follow me. She shook her head vehemently, and curled her legs around her son. I motioned again, but still, she refused. I froze, unable to think, but when Carbini popped his head in the doorway and snarled, “Weylan!” she got the message and followed me out.

Whimpering slightly, she joined her fellow villagers, gripping her child’s hand and wiping off a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. I suddenly pictured slave owners in pre-Civil War days and felt my lunch rise up in my throat.

“Now, get your Zippos ready, men.” As Carbini’s face flushed red, I sucked in my breath. He caught sight of my reaction and came over. “Weylan here doesn’t like my orders. Anyone else here who doesn’t like my orders?” Nobody spoke up.

He opened up one of my backpack pockets, yanked out my Zippo lighter, and shoved it into my face. Immediately, you could hear the snap of pockets opening and boots shifting. We were getting ready to Rock ‘n Roll.

Carbini was first. He marched over to a hooch, flipped on his Zippo, and carefully lit the underbelly of its thatched roof. It smoldered for a few seconds, a thin, rising wisp of smoke twisting in the tropical air. From that, a flame grew, nibbling at the straw with a low, blue heat before suddenly bursting into a torch, arcing up towards the sky in a yellow-hot blaze.

Carbini turned to us and nodded, his eyes glazed. This was our cue, yet I spun around to search for the girl, who was at the back of the pack, crying softly as she hugged her son. I glanced over at some of the other men, their hands jammed deep into their pockets, and decided to follow their lead. The fire was raging full force on each hooch now, the thatch and bamboo crackling like a 4th of July fireworks display, leaving its reflections in the villagers’ eyes and turning the sky dark with thick, bulbous smoke.

Author Bio:
SR Mallery, Gold Medalist winner of the 2016 READER'S FAVORITE Book Awards for Anthologies, has been labeled nothing short of 'eclectic'. She has been a singer, a calligrapher, a quilt designer, and an ESL teacher. As a writer, History is her focus and is woven into her stories with a delicate thread. When people talk about the news of the day, or listen to music, Sarah's imagination likens the story to a similar kind of news in the past and is conjuring up scenes between characters she has yet to meet.

Interested in learning more about S.R.'s love for history. Visit her website and travel through her passions of the past.



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