Land of Falling Stars
Amazon:
Snippets of Reviews:
“This is one steamy hot erotic historical ebook that I devoured as soon as I got a couple of pages in…I recommend that all erotic romance readers go out and buy this ebook. It’s a keeper.” –Phoebe Jordan, Talk About My Favorite Authors (Five Stars)
“Keta Diablo has woven a tale set in Civil War times that is truly engaging.” –The Girls on Books Blog (4 “martinis”)
“I thoroughly enjoyed Land of Falling Stars, and hope to read more of the people of Arbor Rose and Fredricksburg.” –Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews (4.5 “cherries”)
“If you enjoy passion and emotion in your romance, Land of Falling Stars is one you won’t want to miss! –Jennifer’s Random Musings (4.5 stars)
“A story that has the ups and downs of a roller coaster and keeps the reader hanging on with bated breath, Land of Falling Stars is captivating. The author has a great knack for weaving words together to bring a vivid picture to the reader’s mind.” –Bookwenches (4.5 stars)
Crave More Romance says: “If you haven’t read Keta Diablo you haven’t lived!”
Night Owl Romance says: Diablo has penned a beautiful, haunting love story full of passion, deception, and danger that will leave you breathless and longing for more! (Five Stars)
About Land of Falling Stars:
Penniless, her parents and brother dead, Sophia Whitfield struggles to save her beloved childhood home during the Civil War. Another bluecoat staggers down the hill, but before Sophia allows him to rob and pilfer like the others, she shoots him. How was she to know it was Gavin, the dark knight of her youth, carrying secrets too horrific to imagine and a passion that ignites her darkest passions.
As Sophia gradually learns Gavin’s secrets and falls under his seductive charms, she discovers her own heart. Can she survive in the Land of Falling Stars, or will she lose it all to the horrors of the War and Reconstruction? And will the Southern lady and the Yankee soldier be able to recapture the bliss of their youth – this time in each other’s arms?
Excerpt:
Near Fredericksburg, Virginia
May 1864
Sophia Whitfield cupped a hand over her brow and squinted against the sun’s harsh rays. A tiny speck on the horizon drew her gaze: a deer, or perhaps a man. Her mind wandered to her dreams from the night before. Down that same road he’d walked, Jesse Gaines Grantham, her gallant man in gray. Seven tortuous nights she dreamed Jesse returned from the war. The thought this figure might be him caused Sophia’s heart to quicken.
The porch steps creaked behind her. “Lawdy, Miss Sophia, you gonna stand there all day dreamin’ on what was?”
With a guilty start she turned toward the familiar voice. “I’m thinking.”
At 60-odd years, Daddy Brister’s brown skin reminded Sophia of tanned deer hide. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was prone to laughter and indisputable loyalty. His benevolent brown eyes sat deep in his skull, topped by bushy brows the same color as his white hair.
He walked toward her, his leg bearing evidence of a negligible limp. “Thinkin’ ’bout Massah Cooper’s offer to marry his son?”
“Even if Jesse never returns, I would rather die than marry Billy.” She paused. “Despite the fact I’m nearly twenty-and-three years.”
“White trash father an’ son both,” Brister mumbled.
Sophia’s hands clenched into fists. “No better than dirty Yankees in my opinion. Why, just look what’s happened to Arbor Rose since the war.”
“Yes’m,” Brister said. “But them blue bellies moved on, got their eyes on Richmond.”
“I hope they ride straight into the gates of Hell,” Sophia said.
Memories from her childhood surfaced. Built near the banks of the Rappahannock more than 100 years ago, the old manor maintained the timeless grace of a Virginia willow, albeit one that endured several seasons of blight. Traces of abandonment stuck out like a hammered thumb: the faded exterior, sun-bleached gray shutters, and blistered white paint. She drew a deep breath. When the war ended, she’d marry Jesse and restore the manor to its prior magnificence.
Brister’s words broke her reverie. “I knows Cooper had his eyes on Arbor Rose for years, an’ he had somethin’ to do with Massah Reuben and Mistress Ellen dyin’ in that fire.”
“Don’t forget about Rolf,” Sophia said, the words piercing her heart. She pictured her brother dashing across the fields on one of their father’s bays, his dark hair gleaming beneath the midday sun. “At least I don’t have to worry about Whitfield Manor now.”
“No, Missy, you don’t.” Brister sighed. “Weren’t nothin’ left.”
“Rolf loved our summer home, said he wanted to raise his children there.”
Brister turned to her. “No sense talkin’ ’bout what was, Missy, when it pains you so.” With a smile, he added, “An’ right now, I needs you to help me and Nap corner that turkey.”
“You go on ahead, find Ol’ Nap and I’ll meet you in the barnyard.”
The tiny speck had grown. It wasn’t an animal. Could it be Jesse? Onward he walked, past once-green fields, down the oak-lined drive overgrown with barley and witch grass.
Daddy Brister shuffled off and Sophia paused at the entrance to her mother’s gardens, a formidable childhood sanctuary against the outside world. The vegetables and herbs were dug up long ago and the perennials trampled; but aromatic trellises remained, cloaked in thick, twisting vines of wisteria and rose blossoms. Rooted in her favorite spot, Sophia fixed her eyes on the approaching form.
A guttural growl from the porch warned her of danger. A mixture of wolfhound and setter, Ricochet embodied ferocity. Three feet tall from his arrow-shaped head to his giant paws, his rugged brindle coat matched his temperament.
The bedraggled specimen of a man on the road advanced toward the manor at a foot-dragging pace.
He wasn’t wearing gray.
“Another Yankee,” Sophia spat. “Thanks to your friends, there’s nothing left.”
She fled to the house, raced up the porch steps, and scurried into the parlor. Retrieving her father’s Springfield, her heartbeat gathered speed. From the porch, Sophia lowered the musket to the floorboards, loaded the cartridge, and rammed it twice. She lifted the gun level with her chest. With one eye on the stranger, Sophia inserted the primer cap and cocked it.
Lord above, he moved slower than tree sap, apathetic in his quest to execute whatever malicious deed he had in mind. Hatred roiled in Sophia’s bosom. The scourge of the earth had destroyed her beloved home. The war reduced her family to beggars and took Jesse from her. She wouldn’t tolerate one more smidgen of degradation.
Sophia drew a bead on the lanky form and set her sights on a spot above his heart. Pulling back on the trigger, her heart swelled with sweet revenge. Seconds later, she heard the retort and watched the soldier topple to the ground in a heap.
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