Hi, everyone! I’m thrilled to be back with Vision and Verse to share my
latest leprechaun love story!
About the Book
–
Laid off
from her job at the bank, Carla turns to her friends for support only to find
they’re more concerned about their jobs. The one person she can count on is
local bartender Murphy, but what kind of example is that to set for her
daughters? Having learned the hard way, Carla’s not depending on any man, even
if he is cute, charming, very kind, and some kind of leprechaun?
Murphy is used to sneers. Clurichauns are the redheaded stepchildren of the leprechaun world and then there are the late-night throw-downs at his bar. What he wants, however, is to protect the dainty little mom who ogles him when she thinks no one’s looking. He knows she’s fighting overwhelming odds, but she’ll need more than bravery when the conflict between the King and Queen of the Fairies becomes outright civil war!
Murphy is used to sneers. Clurichauns are the redheaded stepchildren of the leprechaun world and then there are the late-night throw-downs at his bar. What he wants, however, is to protect the dainty little mom who ogles him when she thinks no one’s looking. He knows she’s fighting overwhelming odds, but she’ll need more than bravery when the conflict between the King and Queen of the Fairies becomes outright civil war!
Book
Links –
Book trailer - https://youtu.be/Y2QLlOC1f9k
Excerpt from Fighting Mad –
The door to Murphy’s bar burst open and several men ran out,
yelling. One older guy circled to the front of the car and flapped his arms,
his mouth open but apparently unable to find the words to express his shock.
The guy who yanked open my door and hauled me out had no such problem. Words
poured from him in a furious tirade that was odd because Murphy was not a
talkative man. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you completely
daft? This isn’t a speedway.”
Murphy, the owner, or at least chief bartender, shook me with
every syllable, so my head flopped back and forth. He had the broad shoulders
and long arms of a seasoned fighter, but stood quite a bit taller than me. I
came up to his shoulders, which probably put him somewhere around six feet,
maybe middle weight instead of heavy weight. It was hard to tell because I was
short compared to everybody and because of those broad shoulders.
I had a problem with Murphy and not just that I crashed in his
parking lot. Murphy reduced me to every bit of the giggly teenager my own child
wasn’t, a tongue-tied, stammering mess. It was ridiculous, but seriously, you’d
have to be dead not to notice Murphy. He was a damn fine man. He had a broad
face with a high forehead and square jaw that was a perfect frame for a fine
wisp of mustache over a thin upper lip and a full bottom lip. Usually he was
solemn, but every once in a while, he smiled, a slow grin that lit up his
entire face.
Not at the moment, though. At the moment, he looked like he was
gearing up for one of the regular dust-ups held in the bar’s parking lot,
glaring at me angrily from beneath brows drawn tightly together and jaw
clenched. I couldn’t help but notice the dark-blond stubble that decorated it.
And yes, I’d just spent a good ten minutes itemizing every feature of this
man’s face. Maybe I could claim I bumped my head.
“You could have been killed driving like that,” Murphy shouted.
“You, you, you . . .” Words failed him, but he did stop shaking me. He didn’t
let go though, his fingers flexing around my upper arms.
“Here now.” The older man who’d been waving his arms in front of
the car earlier recovered his voice. “Let go, Murphy. You’re going to hurt the
lady.”
Murphy stepped back, his nostrils flaring. He took a deep breath
and dropped his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, not quite looking at me. “Are you
all right?”
“Oh sure,” I mumbled. “I just T-boned my car in front of the
cutest guy in town, no problem.” I then realized what I’d said and winced.
Obviously I had a concussion.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Murphy quirked one eyebrow
and peered at me intently. “What did you say?”
The older man’s glance bounced between us and I could feel my
face redden. “Nothing?” I suggested.
About the
Author –
Kathy
Bryson knew she wanted to be a writer when she finished reading through her
school and local children’s libraries. She honed her writing skills on
marketing brochures, websites, and several unfinished manuscripts before going
into teaching and finishing award-winning books with all the stuff she enjoys
most – from coffee to love to Shakespeare! Kathy lives in Florida where she
caters to the whims of spoiled cats and wonders what possessed her to put in 75
feet of flower beds.
Author Links –
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/kathybryson22
Google+ - https://plus.google.com/+KathyBryson22
Twitter - https://twitter.com/kathybryson2
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