Last night I worked up the courage to launch the pre-order process for Tangled Roots, the second book in the Secrets in Casten’s Horn series. The launch date is firmly set as September 1st now. No going back!

I’ve also created a couple new pages here on the website and rearranged the menu a bit. There’s now a series page and landing pages for each book. The Driftless Spirits prologue has been up for a while. I’ve now added the Tangled Roots prologue as well. Here’s how it starts…

“Every storm has a story to tell, if you listen to it.”  Rosemary Moody grimaced at the dark clouds looming over the ridge as her late father’s voice whispered in her thoughts.  She settled into the soft leather chair at her desk but kept a wary eye out the second-story window.  Slender yellow leaves from black walnut trees swirled past her view in the late-September wind.  Those trees always gave up on summer first and the ones bordering the back of her property looked bare already.  In contrast, the tall oak standing in the backyard’s center still clung proudly to full branches of green foliage.  Below the brooding shades of indigo and gray steadily consuming the sky, the hills bore only a smattering of autumn color.

She sighed heavily.  As a child, she never liked storms.  Back then, she cringed at every thunderclap and screwed her eyes shut when lightning flashed at night.  Her father would perch on her bed and say the words echoing in her mind before prodding her to meet his gaze.  His gentle smile and raised eyebrows silently asked for a character that needed help.  Sometimes she said a princess was locked in a tower.  Other times a woodland creature was lost and searching for home.  As the wind whipped rain against her bedroom window, her father wove his magic, adding characters and twists to match the fervor of the tempest beyond the glass.  His sly distraction never failed.  She became engrossed in his story every time, the thunder losing its menace and becoming nothing but a soundtrack to her father’s tale.  To this day, Rosemary associated the easing of storms with happily ever afters.

Unlike the irrational fears in her youth, her dread of storms today was rooted in experience.  When she and her husband bought an old estate to make it their growing family’s home, her father’s romantic strategy provided little comfort during bad weather.  The roof leaked.  The basement flooded.  The expansive grounds became a treacherous swamp.  As she watched the clouds creep closer, Rosemary couldn’t shake the anxiety that rose with memories of those early years.

The Moodys slowly learned to tackle one problem at a time with an eye towards lasting solutions.  It had been a good lesson to instill in their boys, now grown men with homes of their own.  The restoration ultimately transformed the house and grounds into Rosemary and Ed’s pride and joy.  Once their sons moved out, turning the historic dwelling into an inn was the perfect next step for the empty nesters.  Now Moody’s Bed & Breakfast, they shared their home’s warmth with anyone who found Casten’s Horn and needed shelter.

Wind slammed against the window as the gust front delivered the first drops of rain.  The glass doors rattled at the cold fireplace in the corner and a downdraft moaned in the chimney.  Rosemary steeled her nerves and tore her eyes from the sky.  She’d returned to her office after dinner to review Charlotte Burke’s draft of the town’s October newsletter.  Its stories would help her ride out the storm this time.