By
Sally Brandle

Loyalty to family. Trusting instincts. The will to survive. These virtues are deeply embedded in a mature Dutch teenager, Annika Wolters. Her attributes prove useful as she navigates typical coming-of-age insecurities and a blossoming romance with a handsome lieutenant in 1939 Batavia, Java.

Nothing prepares her for the distress of Hitler’s attacks on European countries followed by Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor, toppling her idyllic life in the Dutch East Indies colonial society and separating her from the man she loves. Uplifting events from a true story showcase how determination, nursing basics, and language skills keep a young woman and her mother alive in the worst Japanese internment camp in the Pacific. If you admire clever women and unfailing love in a tropical wartime setting, you will be captivated by Sapphire Promise.

1938 Batavia, Java. Threats of war brings them together. The Japanese invasion tears them apart. A true story of trust, hope, and enduring love.

I have always been a bit of a history buff and when you take that history and add to it a true life romance it’s an unbeatable combination. This book takes us on a journey through the eyes of Annika Wolters, with a view the pre-war island of Java and the life during and after WWII.

The book opens with the present and quickly reverts into the past with a scene that is part of the book later.

We first meet Annika as she is recovering from Mumps, not an auspicious beginning but also important as she first views Lieutenant Phillip Von Hoven from her bedroom window. To say she is immediately smitten is an understatement.

She has to wait to be introduced since she is under quarantine and she will finally have the opportunity after she dances at the celebration of her mother’s birthday. Her parents are hoping for a match between her cousin Emily and Phillip and have told her she should refrain from flirting. You have to know that’s not happening. She’s already decided he will be her husband not Emily’s.

Annika is a talented dancer and choreographed a number to perform at the celebration. Phillip couldn’t take his eyes off her as she danced and afterward they would dance the night away together. Although at this point Phillip doesn’t know her real age.

This is a favorite scene.

Luther came to the rescue. He approached, bearing a tray full of drinks, and stopped between them. “A cool refreshment, Meneer?”

“Thank you,” Phillip said, and lifted a Manhattan in a cocktail glass, garnished by the requisite Maraschino cherry. “And for the lady?”

Lady. He must assume her to be eighteen, the typical age of a graduate. “White wine, please.” Her hand brushed his wrist as she took the glass from him. Tingles shot up her arm. She sipped the cool, sweet Riesling, then placed her goblet on the little half-wall in front of the dining area. She drummed three fingers on her cheek. “About your offer to tutor me. I could use help in chemistry, physics, and calculus.”

He straightened his wide shoulders and threw her a mock salute. “I’ll do my best to convince your father I’m the recruit for the job. Wouldn’t want you to fail an exam if we can help it.”

Failing would never happen, an irrelevant detail. Pappie must agree, he simply must. She’d prove to Phillip she could be more than his student. “I’d be forever grateful,” she said quietly. For an instant, her world contained only the two of them, even while surrounded by family and friends. Ice clinked in cocktail glasses and laughter punctuated conversations.

Quick notes of a Samba rang out from the veranda. The trumpet player waved his hand to invite the dancers back to the floor. Phillip’s focus shifted to the musicians for a moment. “Ready to cut the rug?”

“I believe so,” she tried to sound non chalant, but grinned while he led her to the dance area. After a samba, they glided through a foxtrot, and then a wild sort of cake walk in a tapioca. After a fun mambo and a cha-cha, the guitar player strummed the first chords of a tango. Yes! Sparks shot through Annika’s body at the thought. Nothing could top the night like the most passionate and sensual dance partnered with Phillip. She stepped to a vase of flowers, broke the stem of a white chrysanthemum, and stuck it purposely behind her left ear to show she was not available.

Phillip led her to the edge of the marble area and stared straight into her eyes. Was this part of the Tango stance, or did he believe they belonged together? Annika kept her gaze locked on his, as the romantic dance required. They spun and dipped through the complicated steps. She arched her back and swished past him. No one else joined them on the floor, and Phillip utilized the entire area by swooping and twirling her. At the final chord, he dipped her low, her hair sweeping an inch from the floor. Annika’s chest heaved. She’d never danced romantically before.

His firm grip brought her upright. “My instructor from long ago lived for the tango,” he disclosed. Guests smiled and clapped from the edge of the dance area. Off to their left stood her frowning mother. Emily stood solemnly beside her.
Sally Brandle. Sapphire Promise: Based on the true story of loyalty, trust, and unfailing love (Kindle Locations 673-694). Copper Horse Publishing.

We follow these two through their courtship, with tours and dinners, to their engagement and marriage. Only to be separated by the war.

The invasion of the Japanese, the camps and the horrors that due to her nursing training is a bit more bearable for both herself and her mother. The hardships, family and longing for those who are off fighting the war or perhaps prisoners.

This book was as hopeful as it was heartrending. Truly a love story for all time.

5 Contented Purrs for Sally!

Sally Brandle

Dodging male offspring and her functionally adept engineer husband, Sally steals away to her office to free non-princess types residing in her brain. Her trusty Australian Shepherd rescue pup, Tallulah, gives her input as the adventures unfold.

Childhood in rural Michigan, family, friends, critters and travel stateside and abroad feed the speed of her fingers to the keys. When stalling occurs, she heads to Lance, her trusty steed stabled close to miles of wooded trails. Off they go for a head-clearing ride in fresh air, or a note session while the big gelding grazes.

Sally is a member of Romance Writers of America, Greater Seattle Romance Writers, Eastside Romance Writers and She Writes.

In 2014 she won the ECO Romantic Suspense category, and in 2015 finaled in Pages from The Heart, Hot Prospects and the Heart to Heart contests.
She invites you to sit back, get comfy and prepare to drop into her stories.

By
Sally Brandle

Threats forced her to flee Seattle.
Honor binds him to Montana.
A second chance at love tethers them together.

Elon Hardy’s romance skills are rusty after a loveless marriage ends, but upon meeting hunky rancher, Rane Calderon, sparks blaze hotter than her welding torch. To support her collegiate sons, she’s determined to acquiesce to the bullheaded, female-phobic boss until her divorce finalizes from her deceitful husband.

A woman Rane trusted ruined his life, and at forty, he won’t be fooled again. Blisteringly mad he’s hired a female bearing a man’s name, he fights attraction for the curvy, determined brunette while thwarting efforts to build a private prison atop his Blackfeet ancestors’ burial ground.

Can Elon and Rane realize love doesn’t have a “best used before date”? If you enjoy smoldering romance, mercenary villains, and rescued animals, you’ll love escaping again to Emma Springs, Montana.

Once again Sally Brandle takes us through a swirling range of emotions surrounded by mystery and suspense.

Even as Elon is traveling to her new job, her almost ex is causing her problems. The man is as evil as they come and she hasn’t been able to prove anything against him.

In order to keep her children in college she needs this job that comes with room and board. She just hopes she remembers enough about welding to pass the muster.

As she nears her destination, she witnesses a dog thrown out of a truck and immediately rescues the pretty pup. Now she has a pet and still has start her job.

This is a bit longer than my usual favorite scene, but I needed to share all of it.

Elon’s Mercedes crested another rise in lord-only-knew-where Montana. She adjusted the sun visor to view the first sign of human existence in over an hour. The shiny red pickup ahead slowed to a crawl in the valley below.

A silver silhouette of a reclining nude woman decorated one black mud flap; the other side advertised BABE TRADER written in shiny chrome. The truck’s passenger door opened. A bald guy leaned out and tossed a live animal as if it were trash.

Elon gasped. A dog with its legs braced for impact landed on scraggly tufts of grass.

Tires squealed, and the truck sped off.

“Scumbags!” Her pulse spiked, every impulse screaming to give chase and ram decency into the creeps. Instead, she stomped on the clutch and brake while her hand shifted.

Her focus moved to the poor dog. The hollow place in her heart knew exactly how the animal felt—chucked out after tolerating disrespect for too long.

The black and white ball of matted fur hunkered near the ragged edge of the road.

Border collie? She steered to the shoulder and parked. Her fingers shook while she shifted her suitcase in the trunk to locate the emergency blanket and a granola bar. Sweet aromas wafted in the clean air from the unwrapped peanut butter snack.

The cringing dog raised its nose. A silver choke chain jingled on its shaking body.

“It’s going to be all right,” Elon whispered. “I got thrown out, too.” She scowled, picturing Tim waving his single-owner deed to the house in her face. “Come on, pup.”

The dog took a tentative step, stopped, and tucked her tail, as if expecting a kick.

“You’re safe with me.” She pitched the snack bar between the dog’s front paws. “The way you flew out of that truck brought to mind a furry, fallen angel.”

Chocolatey brown eyes studied Elon’s face before it snatched the granola bar and swallowed it in a single gulp.

She took slow steps to within a couple feet of the quivering animal. “If you’re hurt, I’ll find a vet.” Beyond the dog stretched a horizon dotted by pine trees and sloping foothills shaded by fluffy, cotton shaped clouds. Brown fall grassland stretched endlessly ahead, blemished only by snaking blacktop. Too bad life’s circumstances wouldn’t allow pooch or savior to enjoy the beauty.

“I’m going to carry you to the car and pray you’re not injured.” Elon gradually approached, draped the blanket over the dog’s back, and lifted her. “Easy now, little Angel.” The animal quieted in her arms. “You don’t weigh much for your size. Didn’t those thugs feed you?”

Inside the car, the dog slunk against the bucket seat, one speckled paw gripping the leather cushion.

“May I call you Angel?” she asked quietly and patted the seat. “You can lie down, Angel.”

The dog dropped to a tense crouch.

Curses on the men who’d do this to an innocent animal, and curses on Tim! She grabbed her phone from the console, bent a paperclip, and removed the tiny SIM card, as Jeremy had instructed. Her pulse quickened as she gently shut the door and stepped to the back bumper. She raised her hand over her head and chucked the cell to the ground.

The case crashed against gravel. Field crickets stopped chirping.

“Trace that, Tim Hardy,” she announced, and stomped her heel onto the screen, cracking the glass. Sun glared off the shiny pieces. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, collected the shards, and dropped it in the corner of the trunk. Her eyes caught sight of her wedding band. Should she pitch the meaningless symbol?

She slid the plain silver ring to her knuckle, then stopped and moved it back in place. As much as she despised Tim, she’d decided to keep it on to prove to the boys she took vows seriously, even though his view of marriage equaled access to her parent’s money. Also, wearing it might continue to ward off unwanted advances. Once burned, twice wary.

Angel raised her head when she climbed inside. “Probably should’ve waited until we found the ranch. Ah well, service is spotty here, and severing another connection to Tim felt great. Not like he’d ever care where I went.”

A niggling suspicion told her he did.

She placed her hand next to the dog’s grubby outstretched foot and stroked until no toenails dug into the seat. “We’ll be at our new home soon.”

Angel’s warm doggy tongue licked the top of Elon’s hand, easing nerves rattled to brittle by events of the last weeks. Her teary eyes met the pup’s timid dark ones, and a bond of undeserved humiliation passed between them.

“We’re both due for a fresh start on a farm.” The Mercedes’ engine hummed to life after she twisted her key.

Not a pickup or hay-hauler appeared on the two-lane highway.

Quick glances in the review mirror helped her fight the creepy sensation she wasn’t alone while the car covered the last fifty miles. Still, fine hairs rose on her forearms.

“I see our landmark,” her hand trembled, down shifting.

Angel tilted her head, one black ear cocked and the other flopped at an angle. “It’s an old stove my employer described in his letter. Those two ‘C’s’ welded side by side on the warming shelf stand for Calderon Cattle.”

The skills she’d learned to create metal sculptures in high school were rusty at best. And basic. And lifting broken machinery took strength. “Saints preserve us.”

Her hands stuck to the wheel as she turned onto the dusty lane, passing a mailbox welded to one end of the boxy cast iron antique.

Baking and cooking might save her. Years ago, her grandma used a similar wood burning stove at their cabin to bake the best bread on earth. Elon had first learned cooking secrets at her side. Memories of her loving parents and grandparents had forged to steel in her brain. Thoughts of their harmonious marriages had kept her trying to please Tim after she’d discovered his infidelity.

Nothing had dazzled him, but fresh makeup never hurt during a first impression. Throwing the car in neutral, and stepping on the brake, she fished out blush and lipstick and applied a liberal dose.

Her hand hesitated before she shifted into first. Quit stalling, she scolded herself, and stepped on the gas. At a curve, she veered left in time to dodge a branch hanging from the last tree on the hill.

Below sat a rambling log house, a sizable barn, and a square building attached to a carport capable of holding a couple of tall RV’s. The structures sat adjacent to an open field. Cattle grazed in the background.

Her decades old car, engineered for the autobahn, bumped on rutted gravel leading down a gentle slope. She parked at the edge of a large corral, beside a shiny white truck. Edward Bell, DVM stood out in black letters on the cab door. Her fingers relaxed.

“Stay here, Angel.” She patted the dog and lowered the windows. Dust surrounded her feet as she approached an assortment of men outside a wooden corral, standing with their backs to her. Not a Stetson or baseball cap swiveled her way. All heads faced the activity in the corral.

She stood on tip toes. On the other side of the split rail fence, a mountain-sized bull lay flopped on the ground, a wide canvas sling around his belly. Its dusty head was cradled by a broad-shouldered man. His cowboy hat topped jet-black hair and a rugged, handsome face, right down to the square jaw and chiseled cheeks.

It was a scene straight out of a Levi’s ad—the boot cut style. She blinked and noticed a gray-haired man wearing a dark blue jumpsuit crouched over the animal’s hind leg. A stethoscope dangled from his chest pocket. He held a needled syringe in one hand, balanced a probe in the other, and used his pinky to adjust settings on a portable machine sitting near his feet.

Elon glanced at the blurry screen image, wiped her palms on her jeans, and stepped closer to the onlookers. “I may be able to help adjust the image for clarity,” she offered quietly.

The guy ahead of her flinched and turned to face her. “Hey, there’s a gal here who says she can help,” he shouted.

Grubby male faces jerked around. A ruddy-faced younger man looked owl-eyed surprised.

“Might be able to help,” she corrected in a shaky voice. “I’ve only assisted with ultrasound images of babies.”

The man in the jumpsuit raised his head. “Bones are bones, Miss. To a doctor or a veterinarian.” He waved the probe and threw her a relieved smile. “Come on in. I’d appreciate an extra pair of experienced hands.”

Pungent diesel and manure scents radiated from nearby blue jeans and Carhartt’s.

“Excuse me,” she said, then turned sideways and shuffled between two men.

A stocky guy in greasy, blue-striped bib overalls swiveled his barrel chest and gave her the once over. A low wolf-whistle pierced the air. “Nice ass…istant, Doc.”

Snickers came from the group until the cowboy holding the bull’s head shot them a glare fierce enough to send a sane person running for cover.

The foul-mouthed brute in bibs kept staring. Heat rose to her face. She’d had it up to her hairline with men—doctors, lawyers, and creeps in red pickups.

“Clear a path, boys.” Beads of perspiration lined the vet’s wrinkled brow. “A doctor’s office you say?”

“Correct. I know an ultrasound from ultra-crude.” She tugged the back of her wrinkled, crimson-colored blouse over her butt and wiggled through the gap in the wooden fence rails. Barely.

“I appreciate you already.” The vet raised the syringe. “Serum I’m injecting needs to flow precisely into the fracture above the bull’s fetlock.”

“Not familiar with a fetlock. Let’s see if we can clarify the picture.” She bent over the machine and adjusted two dials until a clear image appeared.

“Yes, that’s it. Perfect.” The vet nodded.

His eyes remained on the monitor while he moved the probe. “Now, I can administer the BoneGlu.” He poked into the cow’s hide and pushed the plunger of the fist-sized syringe. The screen displayed liquid oozing into a bone break.

The doctor removed the long needle and wiped the patch of shaved hide. “You had excellent timing, Miss. Next, I’ll splint and wrap the area.” He threw a two-fingered salute to the cowboy kneeling at the front end of the animal. “Rane, you can relax.”

Rane, as in Rane Calderon? No way! Elon swallowed a groan. Tall, dark, and deadly described her new boss. And he had to be within a couple years of her age.

Rane gently patted the sleeping bull’s head. “Thanks, Ed. Tomo deserves a fighting chance. Glad the BoneGlu inventor sourced and overnighted enough. I’ll tell him how it works on a two-thousand-pound patient.”

The veterinarian tipped the control pad of the machine and snapped it shut. “Good idea. And a huge thanks to your guest. Watch for signs Tomo’s waking from the sedative in twenty minutes.”

“Got it.” Rane’s attention shifted to Elon. “To whom do I owe gratitude?” Narrowed eyes pierced into her—cold, confident, and demanding an answer.

She’d saved the day, so why’d his glare mimic Tim’s perennial disdain? “I’m Elon, the welder and cook you hired last week.”
Sally Brandle. The Targeted Pawn by Sally Brandle 3.3.20 to ARC (Kindle Locations 277-365). Soul Mate Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Now aside from the shock Rane gets at Elon being a woman, he also has reservations about her abilities as a welder.

Then there’s the mystery factor when someone starts taking pot shots at folks.

Plenty of suspense and the romance between Rane and Elon grows slowly but surely into something so much more. Even as her ex is making her life miserable financially.

We get to see the folks from the other books as well as Red the donkey. I love them all so much!

I hope this series continues, I love all the characters I’ve met so far, well except for the bad guys.

5 Contented Purrs for Sally!

Sally Brandle

Dodging male offspring and her functionally adept engineer husband, Sally steals away to her office to free non-princess types residing in her brain. Her trusty Australian Shepherd rescue pup, Tallulah, gives her input as the adventures unfold.

Childhood in rural Michigan, family, friends, critters and travel stateside and abroad feed the speed of her fingers to the keys. When stalling occurs, she heads to Lance, her trusty steed stabled close to miles of wooded trails. Off they go for a head-clearing ride in fresh air, or a note session while the big gelding grazes.

Sally is a member of Romance Writers of America, Greater Seattle Romance Writers, Eastside Romance Writers and She Writes.

In 2014 she won the ECO Romantic Suspense category, and in 2015 finaled in Pages from The Heart, Hot Prospects and the Heart to Heart contests.
She invites you to sit back, get comfy and prepare to drop into her stories.

By
Sally Brandle

A Seattle lawyer must trust a hunky Montana doctor for help when a secret from her past threatens his town and her career.

Look over your shoulder, he’s watching…

Corrin Patten is solidly on a path to make partner in a prestigious Seattle law firm when an ominous threat from her past turns deadly. She can handle circumstances necessitating a temporary move to the backwater town of Emma Springs, but its charming physician is another matter, as she’s issued a permanent moratorium on men.

Dr. Kyle Werner revels in trust from patients he regularly treats in a community he’s never wished to leave. Yet Emma Springs lacks one thing, a woman to share his perfectly bucolic life. He’s read about pheromone attraction, but never experienced desire until meeting Corrin. They make an unbeatable team, but convincing her that his interest is sincere while they dissect layers of deceit requires the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Can they defeat the wealthy stalker bent on mistaken revenge against Corrin and destruction of the peaceful Montana setting?

If you thrive on tenacious heroines, sizzling attraction, and a shadowy villain with a grudge, you’ll love this prescription for thrills.

This book continues the saga started in The Hitman’s Mistake. Corrin is a lawyer working long hours to make her way to partner. Unbeknownst to her the past that haunts her is about to surface in a very unpleasant way.

Her friend Miranda’s testimony is eminent and Corrin decides to visit her in Emma Springs to give her moral support. What she doesn’t realize is that Grant and Miranda are on their way to Seattle. She is fortunate that Kyle Werner has to swap out vehicles at their home since the taxi she took from the airport left her there, in the middle of nowhere.

After a light meal, some getting to know you, a glimpse at predatory females, and a paunchy guy she keeps seeing. Kyle takes her to his father’s home.

This is a favorite scene.

The Jeep topped a hill. At the bottom sat a placid lake. A small inlet held cattails and a dead tree poked out of the water. A tiny house sat close to the shoreline with a large one further down.

Kyle pointed. “My folks gained their first essence of Emma Springs while living in that little cottage.” He slowed to almost a stop.

She craned her neck. Not a single barn in sight. Corrin smiled. “The lake’s charming. Straight out of a storybook featuring a tiny enchanted cottage on its shore.”

“Nice description. Sorry, no fairies in residence, or humans either.”

Enchanted cottage? She blinked. “No renters? What do people do for a living besides farm and guide hunters?”

“Sunrise Lake’s a summer draw to tourists, being one of the cleanest and warmest swimming lakes in Montana. Hot springs flow into the north side. My folks bought the cabin first, and once Dad’s legal practice took off, they also purchased the bigger home across the street. He has room for his practice in the lower level.”

Inviting lights glowed from the front windows of his dad’s two-story house. Stone pillars framed the wide front porch.

She’d grown up dreaming of being loved by sober, functioning parents in a stately home. “Aunt Iris lived next door to a similar Craftsman in Seattle. I used to imagine having a bedroom there all decorated in peach tones.”

Kyle’s eyes searched her face. “My folks welcomed newcomers to Emma Springs into their home.”

“And you carry on the tradition.”

“I try to. In recognition of attaining my medical license, my parents provided the down payment for my place.”

Contrasted to her family. “I got a graduation card from my parents.” She turned to the window, a hollowness forming in her chest. “You’re lucky to own a home.”

Kyle Werner, MD was printed on a sign out front of a white clapboard rambler sitting in the middle of a big lawn.

“Until I get loans paid off, the bank and I are co-owners. The townspeople were excited to have a doctor and helped remodel it to hold my office.”

“Couldn’t you have converted the tiny house next door?”

“Not really. Your enchanted cottage accommodated guests, barbecues, and birthday parties while Mom was alive. It holds too many memories for Dad to make any changes.”

“The cottage deserves an occupant who appreciates the charm.”

He gave her an appraising look. “It does.” He pushed the button on a remote and drove into a three-car cement walled garage. Interior lights flicked on and the door slid shut.

“Your dad’s not a mob lawyer is he?” Corrin blurted, surprised at the volume of her own voice inside the garage. “The steel door leading to the house should hold off marauding Vikings.” She slid off the seat and stood beside Kyle, watching him press his thumb into a sensor pad.

“Dad and I were both Boy Scouts. Be prepared.” He held up two fingers in the bunny ear pose.

“You probably surmised I wasn’t a Girl Scout.” She pointed to her shoes.

A green light blinked on the pad.

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” Kyle twisted the door handle. “My dad collects valuable clocks and secured the house according to his comfort level.” Clunks reverberated as bolts retreated from their holes.

“Solid gold, diamond encrusted clocks?” Corrin asked.

“I wish.” He rolled his eyes. “Rare antiques. Dad came from a tough town and also wanted Mom to feel protected if he traveled overnight.”

Vines decorated the windows of the enclosed walkway from the garage to the house. The winding tendrils climbed heavy, wrought iron scrollwork, resembling the covered entrance to a Spanish fortress.

Kyle spoke into his cell. “Hey Dad, the mystery guest’s arrived.”

Corrin peered through the greenery to the road. Her eyes widened. The silver car slowed at their driveway, then sped off. “Kyle—”

A thick wooden door to the house swung open.

“Enough mystery. I want an introduction.” An older man stepped out. Lines creased the edges of his friendly blue eyes, the same shade of blue as Kyle’s.

Welcoming eyes. Precisely what she needed after seeing the damn car again.
Sally Brandle; Unknown. Torn By Vengeance (Kindle Locations 905-941). Soul Mate. Kindle Edition.

Actually having dinner with Kyle’s dad is put on hold as a child fallen into an old mine shaft.

Corrin makes a name for herself, and uncovers some disturbing things. Compounded with her unease after seeing a ring she never wanted to see again.

We see Miranda, Grant and Red ‘the mule’ in this one too.

Suspense and intrigue abound as Corrin has to make some decisions and begins what could be a long term relationship with Kyle.

I can’t wait to see where this series goes from here.

5 Contented Purrs for Sally!

Sally Brandle

Dodging male offspring and her functionally adept engineer husband, Sally steals away to her office to free non-princess types residing in her brain. Her trusty Australian Shepherd rescue pup, Tallulah, gives her input as the adventures unfold.

Childhood in rural Michigan, family, friends, critters and travel stateside and abroad feed the speed of her fingers to the keys. When stalling occurs, she heads to Lance, her trusty steed stabled close to miles of wooded trails. Off they go for a head-clearing ride in fresh air, or a note session while the big gelding grazes.

Sally is a member of Romance Writers of America, Greater Seattle Romance Writers, Eastside Romance Writers and She Writes.

In 2014 she won the ECO Romantic Suspense category, and in 2015 finaled in Pages from The Heart, Hot Prospects and the Heart to Heart contests.
She invites you to sit back, get comfy and prepare to drop into her stories.

By
Sally Brandle

After Miranda Whitley stops crooked cops from assassinating a prominent Seattle judge, she’s next on the hit list, and her survival depends on the buff FBI Agent she’s had one awkward encounter with. But can she find him in time?

The last person Grant Morley expects to discover on his annual supply run to a Montana mountain hermit is alluring Miranda Whitley, nearly dead from a bullet wound in her side. An accidental witness or the cold-blooded accomplice to would-be assassins?

Miranda must convince Grant of her innocence, evade the killers intent on preventing her testimony, and fight her unwanted attraction for the agent…an attraction which seems to be mutual. Fortunately, love thrives in Emma Springs. 

Miranda Whitley had been working late when she meets ‘Agent of Interest’ Grant Morley. It was an auspicious meeting since she nearly hits him with a branch she was pruning, and he stepped on her coffee, prompting a dialog for the first time. She learns a bit about the man even if she didn’t get a new coffee out of it. Knowledge that would aid her a bit later that night.

Unfortunately by working late she witnesses the almost murder of her friend Judge ‘Ike’ Gilson. The Judge urges her to leave town and wait to hear from him or his wife, trusting no one, since the Detective that showed up was dirty.

With the help of her neighbor and friend Corrin, she manages to get out of town. Looking for the only person she believes can help her, Grant. Thankfully she remembered he was going to his home town, Emma Springs, Montana.

She secures a room at a ranch where she manages to befriend her mount for a trail ride, Red the mule. Red saves her when she gets shot after separating from the group. Leading to Grant finding her stitching her up and still fulfilling his family obligation to a mountain hermit.

This is a favorite scene when he gets back to the cabin after delivering the supplies.

He relied on a gun as his constant companion. A lump of deadly metal he grabbed out of habit, and a huge part of his life.

Tiny threads of tenderness appeared infrequently. Anger or distrust he couldn’t always hide. She sat on a backless bench and stuck her feet close to the fire. Her fingers began yanking out tangles. It wasn’t good timing to start a romance, no matter how tempting those biceps were. Not with Venom hunting her.

The door opened, sending a frigid draft against her back. “It’s me.” A loud thunk indicated he’d dropped a load of wood into a bin.

Hesitant footsteps came closer. He reached over her and his hip brushed her shoulder, sending tingles through her, awakening unwanted urges.

“Want me to detangle your hair?” he asked.

The room stilled, energy crackling between them. He’d have to tug out snarls, which wasn’t sexy.

“Sure. Have at it.”

He lifted a wooden box from the mantle and took out a carved, wide-toothed comb. The chair scraped across the floor. It groaned from his weight, and his knee brushed her hip from behind.
Grant generated heat stronger than a blast furnace, and strength from him seeped into her. “Forests are peaceful,” she said.

“Poppy used to say, ‘quiet as a plow laid aside at the furrow’s end.’” With competent strokes, he methodically worked from the bottom, teasing out knots.

Damn Grant Morley and his magical petal-soft touch!

Gentle pulls sent chills through her body and made her insides as soft as a pool of melted caramel. His fingers brushing her skin sent shivery sensations deep. She’d been wrong again.

His way of untangling her snarls was so, so sexy. An inner glow wrapped her in a warm cloud of pale peony pink, while every female component of hers ached for attention. His attention.

Sparks shot into the chimney.

Sensibility kicked in.

If she wasn’t on a mountain, held together by stitches, she’d imagine falling against his muscled torso. The one bearing the gun holstered at his hip.

Still, what harm in enjoying a little cat and mouse sparring? After she’d gotten one matter cleared up.

She rotated her head. “So, you appear to know what you’re doing. Does your wife have long hair?”

“No, can’t say she does.”

Miranda jerked to upright.

“Don’t strain my stitching. No wife, or girlfriend. My dad used to make me comb out horse tails before he’d show them at the Spring Round-Up each year. I’ve practiced on long tangles, but yours is the silkiest I’ve worked on.”

His voice had deepened to a low, husky tone. By the soft tugs, he’d begun gliding his fingers down the length of her hair. “It’s like holding a perfect sunset.”

Perfectly sinful. So the armor holding tough-guy Grant in place did bend.
Sally Brandle. The Hitman’s Mistake (Kindle Locations 2672-2707). Kindle Edition.

This book grabbed me and held on tight. There isn’t one page that doesn’t hold some kind of suspicion, drama or almost sweet romance.

The rapport between these two is sizzling without going the distance. Plenty of innuendo and snark, mixed with long forgotten sayings.

It’s not so much the who done it, but whether Miranda would live to testify and have a chance at the blossoming relationship. To be honest I’m not sure who I loved more Grant or Red!

Don’t miss this book!

5 Contented Purrs for Sally!

Keep reading for more about Sally!

I know the Seattle places are real, but are the ones in Montana or are they based on places you’ve visited?

Correct, the areas in Seattle are real, although I’ve renamed the Seattle Justice Center to the Seattle Justice Building, etc. Its atrium lobby is based on another favorite commercial building. The fictitious town in Montana is a compilation of places I saw there on business travel. I created a Pinterest page with photos for readers to see the splendor.

What’s a typical day of writing for you? Are you a panster or a planner?

I write best first thing in the morning, and can edit all day. Typically (in a perfect world), I get up about 7 AM and write for two to three hours in my jammies. Injuries from two car accidents induce me to pause and swim or go ride Lance (my 28 y/o Quarter Horse) to get my back limber from sitting. I’m a combo pantster/plotter. When a book idea pops into the gray matter, the heroine/hero/villain appear along with the opening scene. I write it and then take the time to fill out detailed character sketches. Next, I use a giant piece of butcher paper to do story arcs and see how they intersect. At that point I fill in gaps and then write from start to finish.

What is your favorite part of writing? What is your least favorite part?

The action and dialogue falls from the sky and into my stories. The emotion, motivation, and inner thoughts require several rounds of edits, unearthed through the skills of a very patient editor.

What genres do you enjoy reading? Do you have any favorite authors?

I read romantic suspense (Jayne Anne Krentz, Cherry Adair), historicals (Mary Balogh), and romantic fantasy (CB Williams and Susan McDonough-Wachtman). One of my new favorite authors is Beatriz Williams. I highly recommend the non-fiction book, The Gift of Fear, for anyone who doesn’t live in a bubble-a great reminder to trust your intuition and pay attention to your surroundings!

Who would you say is your mentor or inspiration?

Local author, Cherry Adair, puts her techniques into workshops and her Finish the Damn Book contest spurred me to complete three books. Jayne Anne Krentz attended a local RWA meeting/cold read session, gave me positive encouragement, and suggested I cut about five pages to open The Hitman’s Mistake at the elevator. Both these NYT bestselling authors and countless others have offered kindness, workshops, and critiques. The Greater Seattle RWA and Eastside RWA chapters host craft classes to increase writing skills. I’ve never met a more supportive group of women. Readers can meet all of us at The Passport to Romance reader appreciation event on October 27, 2018 at The Bellevue Westin.

Do you think it’s important for an Author to be involved in social media?

Great question, and one I revisit daily. Finding readers who get my humor, can imagine intimate scenes, and want a straight forward romance to progress while the characters take on a villain, is a challenge to work in with writing time. That’s why authors truly appreciate blog sites and feel Amazon/Goodreads reviews are better than gold!

If you could be a character in a book, which one would it be, and what part would you play? (Romantic lead, sidekick, etc)

An upcoming book features Elon, a heroine with college age twin sons, who’s going through a divorce. She depends on her rusty welding skills (learned from her grandpa as a teen) to keep a job on Rane Calderon’s ranch. I’d play her. Life’s been twisted into a knot and she’s got to untangle the threads of her maturing sons, respect for herself, and an inconvenient love for her boss-a hunk of Montana rancher with an aversion to females. They’re both near forty and never known romantic love. But love has no expiration date…

Sally Brandle

Dodging male offspring and her functionally adept engineer husband, Sally steals away to her office to free non-princess types residing in her brain. Her trusty Australian Shepherd rescue pup, Tallulah, gives her input as the adventures unfold.

Childhood in rural Michigan, family, friends, critters and travel stateside and abroad feed the speed of her fingers to the keys. When stalling occurs, she heads to Lance, her trusty steed stabled close to miles of wooded trails. Off they go for a head-clearing ride in fresh air, or a note session while the big gelding grazes.

Sally is a member of Romance Writers of America, Greater Seattle Romance Writers, Eastside Romance Writers and She Writes.

In 2014 she won the ECO Romantic Suspense category, and in 2015 finaled in Pages from The Heart, Hot Prospects and the Heart to Heart contests.
She invites you to sit back, get comfy and prepare to drop into her stories.