Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Jacqueline Rhoades' WOLVER'S GOLD Spotlight & Giveaway

Finding gold where you least expect it…
Lone wolf and Special Investigator for the ubiquitous Eugene Begley, Challenger McCall is sent to the town of Gold Gulch to take care of a problem that might involve the exposure of the wolver community. For McCall, it’s like stepping back in time - a hundred and fifty years back in time.
Gold Gulch is a tourist attraction where the wolvers take their work so seriously, they continue their Victorian lives long after the tourists have gone home. Much like their 19th century counterparts, the women are overworked and underpaid.
Rachel Kincaid is one such woman. Exercising the only power she holds, she has become a wolver oddity; a spinster who refuses to mate. Why would she, when she already has to take care of the short-staffed hotel, its restaurant, and her ne’er-do-well father? Angry and bitter, Rachel decides she deserves a better hand than the one she’s been dealt and finds herself drawn to the handsome new sheriff, Challenger McCall. Why shouldn’t she, for once in her life, enjoy the same freedom as the Soiled Doves on the hill?
Things get complicated when Rachel's wolf awakens after a long sleep and the town's women seem to awaken along with it. Papa's gambling debts leave them on the brink; the pack is at risk; and the women rebel. Oh, and don't forget the murders. If ever a pack needed rescuing, Gold Gulch is it, but as the girls up at Daisy's Bouquet point out, - A smart woman needs to look after herself!

She'd just bent to sweep her neat little pile of debris into the pan when he

spoke above her.
"What's freckled and pink and red all over," (Jack Coogan) asked with a snickering laugh and then sang his detestable ditty. "Tell me Rachel dearest, if what they say is true, are you like the other redheads and red all over, too?"
Anger rose in Rachel so quickly and violently that it should have frightened her. Her spine snapped to attention, shoulders back and squared. Gripping her broom with two hands, she spun it upright like a soldier presenting arms and then she swung that broom like she knew what she was doing and had done it before. She thrashed that obnoxious wolver, who was now hunched over with his arms curled around his head to protect himself from the blows of the tightly woven fan of straw.
"Do you really want to know the answer?" she hissed at him, continuing the broomstick battering. Whomp. "Because I'll gladly tell you, Mr. Coogan.” Whomp. “Your whole body, that's what.” Whomp. “Or it will be by the time I'm finished with you! Now get out of here before I really lose my temper.” Breathless, she gave him yet another swat. “And don't come back!"
"Aw, Rache, I was just trying to get your attention," Coogan complained as he scuttled around the edge of the large vestibule, Rachel right behind him threatening another bout of violence. "It was just a bit of fun."
"It's Miss Kincaid, and the next time you think that's the way to get a lady's attention, you'd better think twice. Do you hear me, Mr. Coogan? I have neither time nor tolerance for your fun. Now get out and do not dare to enter this establishment ever again."
She drove him through the open door with the threat of her broom. Someone stepped aside when, with one last stroke of the broom, and as if she was sweeping the last of the dirt out the door, Rachel chased the man out.
A large, booted foot connected with the seat of Jack Coogan's trousers with enough force to send him sprawling over the porch and down into the dirt.
"Always happy to help a beautiful woman," said a deep voice.
Cheeks flushed from the heat of battle, green eyes blazing with a hundred grievances ready to explode, and trusty broom at the ready, Rachel turned to the owner of the boot.
"Whoa, little lady, whoa." He waved his hands in front of him to ward off the imminent attack. "I'm on your side," he laughed. "No guy in his right mind would say that to a lady." He laughed again. "I would have helped you more, but you looked like you were doing fine without me."
Rachel felt her mouth open, yet no sound emerged. With a conscious effort, she forced it shut, but could do nothing about her wide and staring eyes. To calm herself, she drew in a breath deep enough to make her corset creak, and caught the heady scent of a prime alpha wolver.
"Are you okay?"
No, of course she wasn't 'okay'. How could she be? She'd just lost her temper in the most unladylike manner in front of this, this…
"Oh dear," she breathed and looked at the broom in her hands as if she'd never seen one before. "Oh dear," she said again.
Reason tried to reassert itself when she spotted the dog, sitting at the wolver's heels. Out of all the thoughts whirling in her head, only one made it to her tongue.
"You can't bring the dog in here, and out there, it must be on a leash."
"Actually, I was looking to rent a room for a few days." He stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. "Miss Kincaid? I think you should sit down."
Her face fell into a different kind of frown. Etiquette, practiced for years, was lost. Words of polite discourse were nowhere to be found. "How do you know my name?" she asked rudely.
"You told the guy you just gave the ass whuppin' to. It's Miss Kincaid, you said."
She started to reprimand him for his language and then her befuddled brain kicked in and she realized what he'd said. "How much did you hear?" she asked in a high pitched squeak that sounded nothing like her own well-modulated voice.
"From the minute the bastard spoke," he told her, grinning. "I was standing in the doorway, admiring your, um, dustpan skills, when the jackass made a crack about your…"
"You saw the whole thing? Why didn't you speak?" And save her from making a fool of herself.
"Should I have? You looked like you had it under control." He winked at her.

"Next time I'll remember to step in."
"There won't be a next time, Mr.… I'm afraid I didn't get your name."
"Challenger McCall, though most folks just call me…"
"Sheriff McCall." She rolled her eyes heavenward with a silent prayer to the Good Lord to strike her dead without delay.
"I hope so," he said, starting to laugh. "Is that a problem?"
"No, sir, of course not. Why would it be?"
"I don't know. You just seem a little upset by it, that's all."
Upset? Why would she be upset? It couldn't be because the visitor, who should be, as all visitors were, gone in the next day or two never to return, a visitor who witnessed the most improper, unrefined and disrespectable circumstance she'd ever found herself in, turned out to be the very handsome and unsettling new sheriff. Oh, heavens no. That wouldn't be upsetting at all. Her stomach rolled and fluttered in unaccustomed discomfort, as if she’d ingested something alive and still moving. Panic started to rise.
No! She’d spent almost half her life avoiding just this situation and she wasn’t going to fall for it now. She was no cub in the first bloom of adulthood with no defense against the primal call to mate. She didn’t care if he teased her and made her laugh. It didn’t matter if he thought she was cute. It was of no consequence that those beautiful gray eyes looking into hers could melt her heart. Listen to her wolf? No! Better the old adage; “Let not your wolf lead your human.”
She must tighten her stays and steady her course. She had not wavered in fifteen years. She would not waver now.
“You don’t go to church, do you, Mr. McCall?” Rachel asked when the Mate was far enough away not to overhear.
“Not since I was ten and too big for my grandmother to wrestle to the ground. Why?”
“Because it is obvious you have not heard enough sermons on the subject of prevarication.”
“I really need a notebook,” he sighed. “No, no! A copybook! See? I can learn, Miss Kincaid.” He grinned at her like a mischievous boy. “I just need a teacher and don’t say I need Mr. Washington, because I don’t swing that way. I need you to teach me, Miss Kincaid. Who else would put up with me and what the hell is prevarawhatsits?”
“Prevarication, Mr. McCall. Telling lies.” Rachel started back toward the hotel, leaving him standing behind her. “I was looking forward to meeting you,” she mimicked in her version of his deep voice. “I regret not meeting you sooner. Miss Kincaid and I were just speaking of it. She’s agreed to hold my hand.”
He was suddenly in front of her, blocking her path. She moved to her left. He stepped to his right. She stepped to the right. He moved to the left.
“You’d better stop. People will think we’re dancing in the street.” He laughed at her scowl, grabbed her hand, held it over her head and walked around her, making her turn with him.
“Stop it!” she hissed. “What will people think?”
“That Miss Rachel Kincaid has the good sense to dance with the best looking guy in town?” He pulled her to a log bench meant for tourists to take their rest, and sat her down beside him.
“I would have no sense at all if I were to dance with you,” she laughed, unable to hold her frown. “You hold too high an opinion of yourself, Mr. McCall.”
Rachel told herself she ought to rise and go, but Mr. McCall was still holding her hand against the rough bench, discreetly hidden by her skirt. There was nothing she could do without creating another scene, one that might be noticed. He wasn’t holding it tightly, but how could she know what he’d do if she tried to pull away? Better to stay where her hand was warm and comfortable.
“If I don’t have a high opinion of myself, Miss Kincaid, who will?”
When he released her, Rachel felt the loss. Her hand wanted to follow his, but she folded it demurely with the other in her lap. “Have you no family to think well of you, then? No friends or acquaintances?”
Laying her packages at his feet, McCall spread his legs a little and leaned forward, elbows on thighs. His hands hung loose between his knees as he stared down the street. From a few feet away, a passerby might think he was watching the newly arrived tourists unloading from the wagons that carried them from the parking lot. They wouldn’t see the sad and faraway look in his eyes that Rachel saw.
The hand he’d so recently held crept up and out to his shoulder in a gentle touch of sympathy. The touch startled him out of his reverie. The faraway look was replaced with a grin, but the sadness remained in his eyes.
“I do indeed, have family, Miss Kincaid, but I doubt they think any better of me than you do and my few friends are far away.”
Her resolution to terminate her acquaintance with Mr. McCall was lost the moment those eyes looked into hers. “Not all your friends are far away and you shall make new ones here in Gold Gulch.”
“Is that an offer, Miss Kincaid?”
“I suppose it is,” Rachel said, surprised at how good she felt, “But if we are to explore this friendship, there will be no dancing in the streets.”

Buy Links for all books:

Guardians of the Race Series

Guardian’s Grace: Amazon 
Guardian’s Hope:  Amazon  
Guardian’s Joy:   Amazon 
Guardian’s Faith:  Amazon   

Wolver Series
The Alpha’s Mate:  Amazon
The Alpha’s Choice:  Amazon
Rabbit Creek Santa:  Amazon
Wolver’s Gold: Amazon   Smashwords   B&N   

Hidden Mountain Series
Preston’s Mill:  Amazon   

Changing Times:  TBD  Release date:  1/15/14

Author's Bio: A New Englander by birth and an Ohioan by choice, Jacqueline, known as Jackie by her friends, makes her home in a small, rural town with one lovable husband, one spoiled dog and one disinterested cat. (The adjectives are often interchangeable). An avid reader from a very early age, Jackie has an eclectic taste for books and therefore has trouble naming a favorite genre or author, though she does admit that for pure personal fantasy and 'take-me-away' books, you just can't beat a good romance.
Jackie believes in the beauty of all women and thinks most women don't see themselves as they should (herself included). She tries to make the women in her books reflect the best of 'average' in a variety of shapes, sizes, personalities and backgrounds, and each is beautiful in her own way. Some of her heroes are movie star handsome, while others are not. All her characters are beautiful in the eyes of their lovers and that, to Jackie, is the most beautiful of all.


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