LiFE IS GOOD!

Hello all you Goddesses

I hope the holiday season was good to you and that 2012 will bring all that you desire. I hope that includes lots of reading and for the authors out there, lots of words on the page and lots of sales to eager readers.

My bio

Award-winning author Bev Irwin lives in London, Ontario, with three assorted cats and a collie-cross named Tiff. Her three children have flown the coup. As a registered nurse, she likes to add a touch of medical to her romance and mystery novels. She also writes YA, children’s, and poetry. She prefers spending time with her granddaughter, Jasmine, or being in her garden, or writing and reading to being in the kitchen. For her romance novels, she writes under the pen name of Kendra James. Irwin's YA paranormal novel GHOSTLY JUSTICE and her suspense novel MISSING CLAYTON will be released by Black Opal Books in 2012. WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE was released by Soul Mate Publishing on Dec 7/11 It is available at Soul Mate Publishing, Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Excerpt from WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE

WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE

Book Blurb

Molly Tanner, unjustly suspended from her nursing position, is choosing flight over fight. Driving along a lonely, twisting highway, Molly misses a deer, but the oncoming car is not so lucky. She rushes to aid the injured motorist. Slumped over the steering wheel, he is not moving but Molly hears the cry of a child coming from the backseat.

Smelling gas and afraid of the car exploding, Molly pulls the driver and child to safety. Semi-conscious, Pearce Taylor beseeches her to pretend to be his wife so his daughter won’t go into foster care again. Remembering her own life in the system, she agrees. But while caring for Gracie, and her father, Molly finds she’s in danger of losing her heart to both of them.

Excerpt

Chapter One

     “No one ever said life was fair.” Molly clutched the leather-wrapped steering wheel of her Cavalier, her grandmother’s favorite saying echoing in her head. 

     Well, wasn’t that the truth. Fight or flight. Those were her two options. But was fleeing the right decision? 

     The sun had set an hour before, and the cloudy sky overhead hung like a mantle of coal. Molly tried to banish the fatigue descending on her. She should have stopped at that last motel, even if it did look like it would qualify for a five-star roach award. She could add that to her list of regrettable decisions. 

     The highway, arrow-straight when it left Hillsborough, now twisted and turned like a corkscrew. Pine trees bordered the roadway, encroaching like shadowy ghosts. Scenes from horror movies with lonely highways sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t she left while it was still light? 

Molly tried to suppress a yawn. Wake up girl, you need to stay alert.

     She flipped the air flow to maximum. Maybe the cool air would keep her going for a few more miles. She glanced in the rear-view mirror—no one else on the road, nothing to distract 

her, nothing but blacktop and an inky saw-toothed line of trees. She turned the radio up and listened to the lonesome country tunes. 

     It wasn’t working. She switched to a rock station. “I’m not ready to make nice, I’m not ready to back down.” That was better. Just the way she felt. Molly sang along. Opening the window, she let the pine-scented breeze slap her awake. 

     A car approached, its bright headlights flickering like fireflies between the thick trunks of the evergreens. At last, a sign of life, the first she’d seen in the past half hour. The lights came closer, causing the pavement to take on the appearance of a striped swamp snake. The roar of a high-powered engine amplified as the distance between them shrank. Thankfully, the high beams switched to low. 

Molly jerked herself alert. What’s wrong with you? He’s on his side of the road, and he isn’t speeding. Why did she have a sudden sense of apprehension? Calm down. The road’s wide enough to share.

     There was a flash of movement. A white-tailed deer darted across the highway fifty feet in front of her. Instinctively, she white-knuckled the steering wheel. Her foot eased off the gas, and the car slowed. 

     At least something was going right. Her hands loosened their grip, and she settled back into the seat. A screech of 

tires broke into her thoughts. Her back stiffened and her heart rate spiked. She clutched the steering wheel again, but her palms were sweating and she had trouble maintaining her grip. The oncoming car veered towards her, its headlights hitting her full in the face, momentarily blinding her. Molly froze. Oh God, no. Her breath wedged in her throat. There was nothing she could do. Her heart skipped several beats as she battered the brakes. Too late. She was heading straight for the car. She hunched forward, bracing for the inevitable crash. 

     Unable to breathe, Molly watched as the sports car lurched to the left and hurtled away from her. 

     Hands trembling, Molly relaxed her foot and eased the Elantra to the side of the road. One car out of control was enough. She watched in horror as the Jaguar’s wheels caught the ridge where pavement met gravel. It freewheeled sideways. There was a thunderous crash. A mushroom cloud of sand and gravel littered the darkness, obliterating the car. 

     Where was her cell phone? She fumbled through her purse. When would she learn to keep it on? The phone had migrated to the bottom corner of her canvas bag. Her fingers grasped the oblong object, and she flipped it open. Molly pressed the ‘on’ button. Only three numbers, why was she having trouble finding them? Seconds crawled as she waited for the screen to illuminate. 

She twisted in the seat. Like a theatre curtain drawn in reverse mode, gravel and dust sifted back to the ground. In horizontal slices, the car inched into view. The hood and driver’s side were crunched into the base of a large pine tree. Her thumbs finally managed the number. 

     “911. What is your emergency?” 

     “There’s been a car accident...on Highway 57...about 15 minutes north of Arva. There’s someone in the car...he swerved to miss a deer...the car slid into a tree. Get an ambulance!” 

GHOSTLY JUSTICE and MISSING CLAYTON will be coming out in 2012 with Black Opal Press

Excerpt from GHOSTLY JUSTICE    

           PROLOGUE
 
                                 AMANDA
 
After all these years, I could finally feel something. It was as if a jolt of electricity surged through me, and my heart almost began to beat again. 
 
At first, I didn’t know what caused it. I only knew an undeniable force drew me to my bedroom window. With each step, the tingle of fingernails tracking down my spine increased. The thought passed through me, maybe I should be afraid. But really, what was there to be afraid of? It couldn’t get worse. What’s worse than being dead? 
 
 I’d floated toward the window. Two girls walked in front of the house. They looked about my age, maybe younger – fifteen, sixteen. I was drawn to the one with the dark curly hair. Her friend called her Daria. I reached out my hand, called her name. She looked up at the window. She sensed me. I knew it. I saw her shudder, but she kept walking. 
 
I watched until they turned the corner at Colburn Street. Then the energy vanished and a profound sadness filled me. Even playing the piano held no joy that day. 
 
I have to talk to her. But how? 
 
I gave up trying to contact the living years ago. It became so tiresome – appearing in front of them, touching them, talking to them, yet never being noticed. 
 
Until now. 
 
Every day, I watch for her. Every day, I try to make contact. Every day I plead for her to look up at my window again. Two weeks have passed now. And every day, she hurries past; her gaze focused on the street ahead. 
 
I must talk to her. 
 
Daria is the first person I’ve been able to communicate with since the day I was murdered.



Excerpt from  MISSING CLAYTON


      CHAPTER ONE
              
 I don’t like it here. It’s dark. It’s cold. Why doesn’t Mommy come and get me? She knows I don’t like the dark.
 
  "Your mommy has to find you," the man said. 
 
 Where is she?
 
 “It’s a game,” he said.
 
 He grabbed my arm. It hurt. It’s not a good game. He’s not nice.
 
 I called her, but he put his smelly hand over my mouth. I wanted to bite it. Mommy doesn’t like biting. But he’s mean. 
 
 I don’t like this place. Will she find me here? She will. She’s good at hide-and-seek. I hope she finds me soon.
 
 The boy sat cross-legged in the cave-like space, a scrap of blue tweed rug his only protection from the damp dirt floor. Putting his head in his hands, he felt the mud coating his hair. He screamed when the man rubbed it on his head. 
 
 “My mommy doesn’t like my hair dirty. She’ll be mad at you.” 
 
 The man laughed. Not a nice laugh either. He sounded like the Joker in Batman. He reminded him of his father when he got angry. He had to be good. There was no closet to hide in here. 
 
 The thick mud covered his blonde hair. Clawing at his head, bits of clay came loose. He remembered that morning and his mother brushing his hair. She said it shone like the sun. 
 
 They were going to his new school and she wanted him to look nice for his teacher. If mommy didn’t find him in time, would he have to stay in grade two? He scrubbed at his head until his hands hurt, yet the dirt remained. He didn’t want to cry, but tears slid down his face and merged with the dirt. They ran into his mouth, the mixture stung his tongue, and he spat it out. More tears ran down his face. His mother didn’t like spitting.
 
 He clenched his fists and pounded at the rug beneath him. It wasn’t long before his hands throbbed. He stopped pounding and began tearing at the ragged fringes along one end of the rug. When his fingers slipped beyond the rug, he touched earth – cold and hard and damp. He shivered. 
 
 After what seemed like forever, curiosity overcame his fear and he began to investigate. His eyes, adjusted to the dimness, saw a few feet beyond the rug. A dirt wall, like the one behind him, ended the open space in front. He stretched out his right arm and his fingers felt the dampness of another wall of dirt. To his left, the area stretched into a black space. 
 
 He peered into the darkness. Several wooden crates, each filled with different shaped objects too blurry to make out. Above him, he saw the wooden door he’d been shoved through. He counted four wooden rungs leading up from the crawl space. The trap door allowed only a sliver of light to enter the space. 
 
 I don’t like the dark. 
 
 Mingling scents of mold, dampness, dried animal droppings, closed in on him. It made his throat tight and he coughed. 
 
 He stretched a hand above his head. Sticky strands closed around his fingers. He jerked his hand back, scrubbed the spider webs onto the rug, and retreated to the safety of the woven mat. Maybe it was better not to explore. Sitting Indian-style, he cradled his arms around his chest and rocked back and forth. The cave was jet-black. He tried to hold back the tears. Soft scuffling sounds came from the corners of the dugout. He knew they weren’t human. The rhythm of his rocking increased.
 
 When is Mommy coming? I’m going to curl up here and sleep until she finds me. There’s just enough room. If I close my eyes, I won’t see how dark it is. It will be as dark inside my head as it is on the outside.
 
 He curled into a fetal position. Somewhere close he heard the scurrying of tiny feet. Stuffing his fingers in his ears, he made himself think about playing in the safety of his backyard. Anything to drown out the wild pictures crowding his head. 
 
 He remembered building the castle in his sandbox. He was scooping out the moat when someone called his name. The man came into the backyard. 
 
 “I have a surprise for you.”
 
 The chocolate was soft and gooey. “More in the truck,” he said. But he didn’t have any more. He lied.
 
  He remembered the smelly rag pressed into his mouth, he remembered the bandana tied over his eyes, he remembered the man grabbing him, running with him, he remembered being shoved in the back of a truck. 
 
  “We’re playing hide and seek,” the man said. “Your mommy has to find you.” 
 
  The smell of gas and oil stung his nostrils as a blue tarp landed on top of him. It shut out the sun. He heard a door slam, an engine start, wheels squealing, and the truck sped away. 
 
 How is Mommy going to find me? Maybe he lied about that too.
 

As you can see I like romance but I love to add some mystery. I hope you get a chance to read my work. Where to find me besides Facebook.

Web site     www.kendrajames.net

             www.bevirwin.com    (A work still in progress, waiting for son to finish. What is that line about relatives and being a priority?)

            www.soulmatepublishing.com
            www.blackopalbooks.com/ 

 
Where to buy WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE? Soul Mate Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, 
 

 
An longer excerpt of WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE is on my website.

Hope you have enjoyed this post. Please comment and leave an email for a chance to win 
a free ebook copy of WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE.
 
Thanks again Kendra James, or is it Bev Irwin today. I really like being Kendra James.