Rustic Stories

Lena didn't notice the exact moment things changed. It wasn't sudden enough for that. It started with small adjustments-the kind that didn't ask permission. A shelf above the kitchen window. A presence that didn't announce itself but stopped leaving. A man who spoke in certainty instead of explanation. Tate didn't fit into her life so much as he worked his way through it, as if space was something you could measure, build into, and quietly occupy without disrupting what was already there. At first, Lena kept watching for the moment it would feel wrong. For the moment she would need to step back. But the moment never came. Instead, there were mornings where his tools stayed out longer than expected. Evenings where silence felt less like absence and more like company. Conversations that didn't circle toward meaning because meaning was already understood. Nothing about it demanded definition. And that was what unsettled her most. Because people weren't supposed to stay like that. Not without explanation. Not without effort. Not without being asked. Tate never asked. He just came in-and didn't leave. And somewhere between routine and recognition, Lena stopped trying to decide what this was becoming. Because it already had. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just the way things do when they're allowed to remain. *This is book 1 that will be part of a 3 book series.

A girl named Dolores Santos makes her way back home, what else will greet her on her journey?

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In a world parallel to our own, a rampant prince is on the rise. The descendants of the original warriors against the prince now live on Earth. What will happen when they are transported to Tempitis, the city stuck in time? In this novel, Jax, Vera, and Kai explore the wonders of teenagedom as well as having special powers. Doesn't sound like an average day for a couple of kids!

Still floored by news of her grandmother's death, Abilene is met with her past all at once. This time, she won't be able to escape it so easily. She has a farm to take care of, a book to write, and a heart to keep from breaking.

Fear is different for everybody

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The path ahead is your path to walk, you would not always thought of an early end, but always ending with another road to choose to turn and to walk.

This is not my story. It is both remarkable and shameful that I get to tell it. Before now, life did not intend for my eyes to see the brunt of this war without it swallowing me whole. I am not from this country. I do not follow the Holy Book. I am lucky they deemed me a proper soldier at all; I had only hoped for a mercenary's title. My objective was to play some minuscule part in a victory that would avenge the death of a father I only knew for seven years. No, this is not about me. This is the tale of a great man who no longer walks this earth. A warrior who could have been the reason I saw my goal through. Only, his story has a plethora of details that I cannot fill in. I did not know him long enough to see that much of his world. I will have to tell this history as my own, though it torments me to do so. Whatever being created our world did not mean to make life fair. I should not get to tell his story. After all, it is my fault that it ended.