by Caryl McAdoo
--Christine Barber, author of Broken to Pieces
…for One and Done
Faster than a major league outfielder pulling down a popup fly ball, Caryl McAdoo’s romance is guaranteed to snag baseball lovers and romance readers alike. This Christian story is written with wit, verve and Caryl McAdoo’s usual flare for dialect and spicy dialogue. Be warned. Those readers searching for a saccharine, man-meets-woman story will soon discover this is no sanitized romantic fairy tale. From the beginning, the reader will identify with real people who live clearly in the mind, so much so, that a person can almost smell locker room sweat or the mouthwatering scent of spicy Mexican food. Identification with the hero and heroine is nearly immediate. With so much to rave about, this review cannot begin to cover all the delightful surprises, so the reader simply must buy “One and Done” to see for themselves.
–Cass Wessel, multi-published devotional author
Contemporary Apple Orchard Romance
…for Lady Luck’s a Loser
A very unique, witty plot. I couldn't put it down. I love that my favorite characters are still very much active at the end of the book only their relationships have changed. What a way for Dub to fulfill his promises to his deceased wife. Love, trust, forgiveness, and many emotions make for a well written book.
--Joy Gibson, Tennessee reader
The Generations Biblical fiction
…for A Little Lower Than the Angels
Caryl McAdoo used her research and knowledge of biblical scripture combined with an incredible imagination as a foundation to fill in the gaps of the story of Adam and Eve and their children. I was caught up in the story from page one to the ending. I particularly appreciated the "Search the Scriptures" section at the end which explains some of the Biblical clues for this work of fiction. I loved it and highly recommend it. --Judy Levine, reader, Arizona
…for Then the Deluge Comes
Deluge is the second book in The Generations Series, and if the books still to follow are as good as this one and the first one in the series are it is going to be an incredible series. The author has a way of breathing life and emotions into the characters that made me feel like I was on the sidelines watching their stories unfold. This is some of the best Biblical fiction that I have read and I look forward to the rest of the series. I was furnished with an e-copy of the book in return for an honest review. --Ann Ellis, reader, Texas
…for Replenish the Earth
Caryl tells the story of the flood in such a unique way.. I like how she makes the characters so real. This Bible story just comes to life. Noah's family on the Ark taking care of the animals and then when they come to a stop, starting all over on a barren earth. I found that the family conversations, their actions and the descriptions just made this more real to me. I like that Caryl gives scripture references and her thoughts at the end of the book
--Deanna Stevens, reader, Nebraska
…for Children of Eber
So much of the tale remains faithful to the Scriptural account, but where there is silence, Caryl’s author voice sings through in delicious detail. For the reader familiar with the Biblical account, she fleshes out a mere paragraph or two until the narrative vibrates with life. As if transported through a time machine, the reader reenters the world of the Ancients experiencing their lives and seeing their surroundings afresh. Those who know the Biblical account will delight in following the ancient pair into Egypt, then back to Canaan again.
--Cass Wessel, multi-published devotional author
Mid-Grade that Grandparents love
…The King’s Highway
I can't remember when I have enjoyed reading a book as much as this one. If I really like a book, I can read it in a day. I read this twice in two days. I couldn't quit reading. It has to be right up there with my all-time favorites. If anyone thinks they won't read it because it’s for mid-grade, I encourage you to reconsider. You’ll miss a blessing.
Anyone reading age from the mid grades to senior citizens (that's me) will love this book. The characters in the book are delightful.
--Louise Koiner, reader, Texas
Non-Fiction
…for Story & Style, The Craft of Writing Creative Fiction
This is a wonderful book for those wanting to learn more about writing. I know from experience. The content helped me tremendously!! It especially helped me gain a clear picture of POV and the use of action versus attribution to strengthen my writing and make my debut book the best it can be. Thank you, Caryl, your continued helping hands are a blessing to many of us rookie writers!!
--Andy Skrzynski, author of The New World, A Step Backward
And Coming Soon…
…in the Texas Romance series
At Liberty to Love
The Bedwarmer’s Son,
The Chief of Sinners
The Son of Promise
…in the Days of Dread Trilogy
The Sixth Trumpet
Jackson marches back into danger to rescue his mom after he dreams of her whereabouts. Al follows his captain, but no one knew Aria did, too.
The Kidron Valley
For your enjoyment, I offer a preview of book seven in the historical Texas Romance series…coming in May, 2016. Wallace didn’t want to strap his beautiful wife with a cripple. He said it himself…he wanted her to be ‘at liberty to love.’ He adored her that much.
At Liberty to Love
Chapter One Sample
Clarksville Texas, October 2, 1865
“Are you sure about this?”
Rebecca nodded. “Yes, Daddy. I’ve considered every angle and studied long and hard on it. I am certain, and my mind is made up.”
He closed his eyes as though he couldn’t stand watching her leave. “I hate this.”
A chuckle threatened, but he was being so pathetic, she swallowed it. “I know, but don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
His lids lifted, then he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice. “You’ve got both Derringers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re wearing the petticoat Laura made you?”
Mother May punched his arm. “Henry, leave her be. She’s a grown woman.”
“Mercy, baby. I hate this.”
“You’ve already said that, Daddy.” Movement caught her eye. The driver hustled from the stage’s boot up to the front then climbed aboard next to the guard. “Looks like he’s ready to go, and that I’m his only hold-up.” She reached up and kissed the-only-father-she’d-ever-known’s cheek then hugged Mother May. “I love you both.”
More hugs and kisses followed. One each for her to pass along to west coast clan. She thought they might never stop, but soon found herself waving from her window until the dust cloud blocked her view.
Hard even for her to believe it, but there she was. Really doing it. A big part of her heart remained on the boardwalk in front of the Donoho with her parents. Except they weren’t, not really. Neither one of them.
From the first, she’d known that God sent Henry Buckmeyer in answer to her prayers. And, of course, her perfect daddy proved to be the perfect husband for her mother, too. Wow, that had been thirty-three years ago, and she was two years younger than Charlotte then. Hard to believe her littlest sister was eleven already.
What a trip lay ahead!
Traveling over the exact same ground as in ‘32 where she’d almost immediately fallen in love with her step-father. But she’d never thought of him that way, not since the beginning. Why, she’d been calling him Daddy from the second day on the Jefferson Trace.
Good thing her mother said yes when he asked her. She smiled remembering her mother’s stories about meeting and marrying the love of her life. She really never should have agreed since he wasn’t saved yet, but he’d captured her heart by then, and her blurting out yes kept everything in God’s plan.
Another smile crossed her lips remembering her own husband.
Daddy always claimed he would never have prop
osed to Mama again if she’d turned him down that first time. But Wallace? He’d asked Rebecca more than a hundred times at the least. He would never have quit until she agreed to marry, that was for sure and for certain.
The man had no pride when it came to loving her. He was a good man.
She stared out the window.
The landscape hadn’t changed much, but the means of travel definitely progressed. Back then, two mules could only pull a loaded wagon ten miles a day. Twelve or thirteen took some doing. The stage covered the same distance in a single hour. She loved it. But like Mama, still hated the dust and the coach’s swaying and bumping.
“Going far?”
She looked up.
On the opposite bench, a matron smiled, sitting next to what appeared to be her husband.
“Yes, ma’am. On my way to California.”
“Oh, dear, sweetheart. You’re going the wrong way.”
She smiled. “I know, but I’ve chosen to take the easy route even though it’s a bit longer. I’ve loved riding steamboats since only a girl.”
“Oh, I see. We’re staying in Mount Pleasant a few days. Louie, here…” She patted the man’s hand. “He’s a watchmaker, and we figured he can find a week’s worth of work, maybe longer. We get to move around a lot, see the country now that the children are grown.”
“Yes, ma’am, maybe even a month the way Titus County has been growing. If you get by Mister Andrew’s Titus Trading Post, please tell him Rebecca Buckmeyer sent her love.”
“I’d be pleased to.”
“He’s an old friend.”
In the next three hours, she learned way more about the couple than she ever wanted to know, but the conversation helped pass the time, and she’d only brought three novels…not that Jefferson and New Orleans didn’t have stores that stocked books. She could hardly wait to get into Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. She’d been saving it.
At Mount Pleasant, the couple said their good-byes and promised to visit the Titus Trading Post. A man dressed in an ill-fitting corduroy suit climbed aboard, taking the window seat on the opposite bench. The driver hollered for all to board, but no one else did. Leather snapped, and at his ho, the coach lurched forward, pushing her back into the seat.
The oversized wheels turned. They’d be fun to ride up as she had on the trace when she was nine. Grown, though, she could understand her mother’s horror at her fearless feat. The thought brought a giggle, and she immediately glanced at the gentleman who appeared to be ignoring her. Which was fine. Maybe she’d read.
She went for a hankie to cover her mouth, slipping her hand in her purse.
A wave of unease washed over her.
Instead of the lacey handkerchief, her fingers found the Derringer’s trigger, and she positioned her clutch so that the gun’s barrel pointed right at the stranger. Not that the new passenger seemed all that threatening. Rather, he reminded her of someone she knew, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on who.
Daddy would be proud.
Always…better safe than sorry. That’s what Mama said. What had it been? Almost twenty-one years since she passed. She’d never quit missing her.
The position proved uncomfortable, trying to read with one hand in her purse. Not to mention all the bumping and swaying. And though the man looked her way now and again, he’d neither said nor done anything to suggest he meant her harm. She chocked her anxiousness up to traveling alone for the first time ever in her forty-two years.
Adjusting to lean against her corner, she abandoned the pistol and changed the book from her left hand to the right then went back to reading.
A bit before Dangerfield, the man tapped the bench.
She looked up. He stared, and she matched his gaze. But holding it proved a bit difficult…his blue eyes…so deep… threatened to pull her in. What? She’d never….
He grinned. “I should have known it, first thing.”
Thankful for speech to break the temptation of falling into those azure pools, she couldn’t resist responding. “And what would that be?”
“You’re Rebecca Rusk.”
“Do I know you, sir?”
“No, but I know you, well, in a roundabout way.” He tipped the bowler. “Condolences, ma’am, on your husband’s demise. He sure didn’t tell the half of it.”
“I’m sorry. To what are you referring?”
“Your beauty. Wallace and Levi never missed a chance to brag on your looks.”
She made her eyes return to her book, the man’s baritone much too melodious to encourage. Her cheeks warmed, and his words tugged at the piece of her heart Wallace’s stubbornness had scarred. Despite her resolve not to, she looked up. “How is it you know my husband and brother?”
“I served in General Buckmeyer’s regiment.” A finger brushed the short brim of his silly looking hat. “Major Ford at your service, ma’am.”
“Thought you were a Colonel?”
“No, that’s my cousin Rip.”
“You have a given name?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned again, flashing his perfect teeth. “Are Bart and Houston well, doing good?”
“They are.” The man had her at a disadvantage. She stiffened her back and stared right into his baby blues. “Where are you headed, Major?”
“Memphis. I’ve applied at the university there.”
“Oh, I see.” Mixed emotions roiled inside. A part of her relaxed, relieved that at Jefferson, he’d be going north, but another, disappointed he wouldn’t be going on to New Orleans. “So you’re going back to finish your education? Now that the war is over? Very commendable.”
“No, ma’am. Offering my services in mathematics or Latin, perhaps both. Doesn’t matter what I teach.”
His rich, soothing tone washed over her, followed with a refreshing wave of his eloquent words. She had to look away. A man of letters. Yet he wore such an ill-fitting suit and ridiculous hat. Glancing back his way, she eyed him. “If I may suggest…perchance…might you consider more appropriate dress prior to your interview?”
He snickered. “Not everyone is as well-heeled as your father.”
“True.” Her words had no ill effect on the man, as if he deemed what he wore of no consequence—much the same as what he would be teaching. Did the man care about anything? “Perhaps you should have come to Clarksville first. Daddy would have loaned you money for a new suit and a proper hat.”
Without a hitch in that smile of his, he removed the bowler and flung the silly thing out the open window. “Shall I toss the suit as well?”
“No, of course not.” She searched the page for her place then looked right back up, cheeks warm again. “Well…do you have another?”
“I do not, but if you’re so concerned that my attire might dampen my chances at employment, perhaps trousers and a cotton shirt would win the day.”
Before she could answer, the driver blew the bugle outside the town that had sprung up around Captain Dangerfield’s spring. The first place Daddy held Mama’s hand.
“I’ve got needle and thread in my bag. Alterations could make a big difference.”
Why had she said that? Sewing on the stage would most likely prick every fingertip and only get blood all over his only suit, making things worse. But how could she not help one of Wallace’s comrades-in-arms?
Maybe ignoring that she’d mentioned it would accomplish its purpose. She’d just fetch her kit in the chance it did not.
“Well, I do thank you for your condolences, sir.”
The stay in Dangerfield allowed Ford an opportunity to change. If the lady could improve the second hand suit he’d found in Dallas, then why not?
Back in his seat with the stage once again heading south, he handed over the corduroy coat first. “The pants aren’t too bad.”
Rebecca took his offering. “Hold out your arm, fingers straight out.”
He complied, reaching across the center bench. “Thank you again, Mis’ess Rusk.”
&
nbsp; She spread her cloth tape measure from his shoulder to his wrist. Her fingers touched his skin lightly and sent a warmth straight to his heart, but he kept a straight face. It disappointed him a bit that she hadn’t told him to call her Rebecca.
Wait! He knew. “Marcus Aurelius.”
She smiled—the first one offered—and his heart skipped a beat. “What about him?”
“My given name. You see, my mother.…” He shrugged, shouldn’t speak poorly of his father’s widow. “Bless her pea picking heart, the woman loved the last good emperor of Rome.”
“Marcus Ford.” She smiled again, even bigger that time. “Rebecca Baylor Buckmeyer Rusk. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I prefer Major, if you don’t mind.”
“But why, pray tell? There’s not a thing wrong with Marcus, or even Mark. It’s a strong, disciple’s name. Though I can understand steering clear of that middle moniker.” She smiled again, and he practically swooned. My, the affect the beautiful lady had on him proved quite surprising. If he didn’t know better, he’d think himself smitten.
The desire to tell her his life grew with each breath, but he decided it best to keep his tongue. “Long story. Perhaps when you’re grown, I’ll enlighten you.”
Ah. She snickered, and he loved it. “You, sir, are nothing more than a flirt. Or either blind. My youth has long since faded.”
His lips curled into a smirk, almost the same one he hated on his sister’s mug, but the practiced expression had served him well. “You must have married very young, my lady. I doubt you’ve seen twenty and five winters in your short and obviously protected life.”
