#blogtours

A hot new series celebrating midlife, friendship, and older women who crave adventure by Melle Amade. Perfect for fans of K.F. Breene, Shannon Mayer, Jana DeLeon, Darynda Jones, Robin Peterman, Elizabeth Hunter and Denise Grover Swank.

“Middle-aged and starting over is the last thing I ever wanted on my bucket list. But since my husband announced he was gay and my daughter left for college, I don’t really have a choice.⁣”

⁣ Midlife Witch Unexpected by @melleamade is book 1 in a new paranormal women’s fiction series, Cougar Creek Coven, and it’s out NOW

Excerpt

“Do you see those graves?” Branson asked, pointing at the looming dark stone pillars that were covered in knots and braids.

“They look like Celtic crosses,” I said. There were a couple rows of them. They looked quite beautiful, sharp, and crisp against the blackening sky.

“They are for sure,” Branson said, pointing toward the three on the highest ground. “Those are the Celtic Martyrs. Your ancestors.” 

“The martyrs?” I asked, moving toward the rise where the largest Celtic cross stood. “I thought martyrs were European inventions.”

“There were martyrs here, also,” Branson said. “They are the daughters of the first Hayes who established The Estate. Something happened to them at birth and the younger one came out stronger than the older one and the middle one was always stuck in between. So the three of them lived in the house together their whole lives and managed The Estate.”

“And let me guess, they were killed by the local town folk when they found out my ancestors were all sorts of crazy?” I said, because the more stories I heard about my ancestors the more I realized the altar in my aunt’s living room wasn’t just the renters. 

“No, they died battling an influx of zombies and monsters,” Branson said.

I laughed. What else was I supposed to do? “Zombies? Monsters?”

“Creatures.” Branson ran his finger over a moss-covered gravestone. “You didn’t seem too shocked by the altar. Did your mom raise you Wiccan?” 

“Absolutely not.” I laughed at the thought. “No. We were good Catholics, always going to church on Sunday. I took all the steps to be a good Catholic girl, but it never really stuck with me. I couldn’t bear to bring my daughter up through it all so it kind of died with me.”

“Sometimes religion seems outdated,” Branson commented, stretching past me to knock some gravel off a grave. I could smell the rich personal musk of his skin. It made me want to accidentally fall against him and feel his arms around me.

I cringed a little inside. I was way too old for feigning inadvertent falls. But the truth was, I wanted him. Despite his age, despite his obvious way-too-hot-for-me-ness. I shoved the feeling away.

The cemetery was peaceful and still in the evening light. The breeze was uplifting the trees and the birds were calling out at sunset. We stood in the natural silence, our gazes colliding. 

There was no mistaking Branson’s predatorial look. I shook my head, both to him and myself. I was way too old to be a deer in the headlights. I knew that look on a man’s face. At least I thought I did. But what I didn’t understand was why it was coming at me from this amazing, hot young man.

“You must stop giving me the eye.” There. I said it. I called a spade a spade and now it was out there in the open. He could laugh and deny it and we could move on.

“What?” He asked, leaning back against the gravestone and not taking his eyes off me.

His mojo wasn’t going to work on me. “That thing you’re doing right now,” I pointed out.

“I’m not doing anything.” His mouth pulled up in a flirtatious grin.

“You’re looking at me.” I accused him, taking a casual step back.

“Are you telling me I can’t look at you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that,” I insisted. “You shouldn’t be looking at me like that. I know I’m not a married woman anymore, but I’m not interested.” I folded my hands over my chest for emphasis.

“I don’t believe you.” He grinned, stepping forward.

The audacity.

“That is exactly the opposite response I was going for.” I put my hands up as he entered my personal space. “You were supposed to back away. I don’t want to do this.” I was pretty sure I looked like a deer in the headlights now.

“I don’t believe you for one second.” He reached forward, slowly sliding his fingers underneath my ear and around the back of my neck.

AUTHOR BIO:

USA Today Bestselling Author. Farm Girl. Marketing Director.

Since I was eight, I have been writing stories that capture the adventures in my head and the characters strong enough and flawed enough to have them. When I look at an empty field, I see a formidable citadel. When I meet a vulnerable old man, I greet an emeritus warrior. When I walk through city streets, I feel dimensions hiding around every turn. It has been my lifelong passion to explore these worlds that reveal the pain of loneliness, the joy or self-actualization, and the hope of magic.

I grew up in a place called Potter Valley where the Milky Way is held aloft by a circle of mountains and the central business district consists of a bait store and a saloon. At 19 I moved alone to London and spent the next ten years exploring the world, even becoming an Australian citizen, before I returned to California and found a new home in Los Angeles. My world revolves around my two wee children, storytelling, and my love of travel.

Author links:
https://www.facebook.com/MelleAmadeAuthor/
https://www.melleamade.com/
https://www.instagram.com/melleamade
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/melle-amade
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15813968.Melle_Amade