Monday, July 29, 2019

Bloody Creek Murder by Susan Clayton-Goldner


Blurb:

Five days after a tragic fall kills her 10-year-old son, Blair Bradshaw, an actress with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, is found dead. Her husband, Franklin Bradshaw, an esteemed criminal defense attorney, discovers her body. It is carefully displayed under her son's tree house, among the flowers and other memorabilia left at the site of his death.
Franklin insists her death is a suicide brought on by the loss of their son. But Detective Radhauser finds evidence at the scene—bloody shoe prints on one of the rocks in the nearby creek, the careful way the body is arranged, and the fact that no weapon is found near her body—leads him to believe otherwise.
Was it grief that killed her? Or was it murder?

Extract:

Friday, May 4, 2001

Detective Winston Radhauser lunged the roan stallion in the round pen on their ranch in Ashland, Oregon—a thirty-two-acre paradise they’d named Graceland. Ashland was a Renaissance village set in the foothills of the Siskiyou mountains. It was most renowned for its diversity and its world-class Shakespeare Festival. The picturesque university town had surroundings so beautiful, visitors often called it God’s Country. After nearly a decade, Radhauser and his family called it home.
The bay stallion, Ameer, the Arabic name for prince, was a lean, spirited Arabian about fifteen hands high with four white feet and a blaze. Radhauser wanted to prove he’d learned a few things about horse training. He planned to saddle break the horse for Gracie. Ever since the cancer, diagnosed during her pregnancy with Jonathan, he was a bit over-protective of his wife and couldn’t imagine his world without Gracie and the kids. She’d come through chemo and radiation like the trooper she was. All signs pointed to a complete recovery. Still, he knew how fast his world could change, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down again.
At first, Ameer had reared and kicked until he worked up a sweat. But over the last few weeks, the stallion became accustomed to the halter and bridle and had even allowed the saddle blanket to stay on his back for an extended period of time.
Radhauser stopped lunging and draped the blanket over the subdued horse, added the saddle, then carefully tightened the cinch. The air around them was tinged with the smell of alfalfa from the dozens of bales he’d stored in the alcove behind the arena.
With the coat of molasses he’d put on the bit, the horse took it without a fight. He led Ameer over to the fence surrounding the pen, then climbed up the rails until he was higher than the saddle.
“Are you gonna ride him now, Daddy?” His six-year-old daughter, Lizzie, sat on the fence beside her mother. Just like Gracie, she wore a pair of denim jeans, red cowgirl boots, and a short-sleeved, red T-shirt with the Arabian Horse Association logo, a black sculptured horse head, on the front.
Outside the round pen, seventeen-month-old Jonathan sat playing with bristle blocks in a playpen set up under the shade of a big leaf maple tree.
“I suggest you lunge him with the saddle on for another ten minutes or so.” Gracie smiled and gave him one of her looks that said, Listen up. I know more about this than you.
Radhauser ignored her advice and slowly lowered himself into the saddle until his full weight was resting on it. But before he was firmly seated or could grab the saddle horn, Ameer reared and bucked. With his ears pinned back, he snorted and jerked his head, his black mane flying. His front legs lashed out, and his dark eyes were wide open like he’d been spooked.
The detective was tossed backward off the smooth leather saddle and landed with a thud on the sandy floor.
Gracie laughed.
Radhauser let out a sigh, stood and brushed off the seat of his jeans while Ameer bolted in circles around the fence line of the pen. His pride hurt more than his body.
“Better stick to what you know,” Gracie said. “You’re not exactly Bill Shoemaker.”
Shoemaker was one hell of a rider—an old-time jockey who held the world record of most professional wins for twenty-nine years. “I’m a foot and a half taller than he was and about a hundred pounds heavier. It puts me at a slight disadvantage.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Believing yourself invincible can be a handicap.”
“Daddy fell off the horse.” Lizzie covered her mouth and giggled. It came out in little bubbles, like water starting to boil.
Gracie slipped from the fence and walked slowly toward Ameer. “It’s okay, boy. You’re okay now.”
At the sound of her voice, the horse’s ears shot forward and he whinnied a greeting. Gracie Radhauser, the horse whisperer, took a carrot out of her back pocket.
Ameer moved closer to her. While he nibbled, she removed the bit and bridle, replaced it with a halter and led him around the pen.
When she passed Lizzie, still sitting on the fence, she squeezed the little girl’s leg. “Maybe Daddy needs a little more training.”
Lizzie giggled again—a sound Radhauser loved more than any other.
Even Jonathan got in on the fun. He scrambled to his feet, stood in his playpen, and clapped his hands. “Daddy go boom.”
As if on cue, Radhauser’s cell phone rang. He answered, relieved to discover it was his new partner, Maxine McBride.
“I know you’re on vacation. But any possibility you can help me out? Officer Corbin just called. He’s at a house over on Sand Creek Road. The husband suspects his wife committed suicide because of the recent death of their ten-year-old son, Tommy. But Corbin isn’t so sure and wants us to check things out. He thinks we may have a murder case. And from what I understand, it isn’t pretty. The victim is Blair Bradshaw. Apparently, she’s an actress with the Shakespeare Festival.”
“Nothing I’d rather do.” Radhauser wrote down the address and gate code. “Meet you there in ten minutes. And call Heron. You know how he likes to investigate the scene himself.”
Gracie continued to work Ameer, but glanced up at Radhauser and smiled. “Looks like you’ve been saved by the bell.”
He lifted his hands, palm side up. “What can I say? Murder calls. So, I’m off to do something I’m actually good at. But you be careful. That’s a stubborn one.”
She gave him a gratuitous smile. “Don’t worry. Ameer has met his match in me.”
And Radhauser knew she was right. Gracie was a far more skilled horse trainer than he’d ever be.
His daughter, always the diplomat, grinned. “You’re good at being my daddy.”
He ruffled her dark hair, releasing the smell of apple shampoo and sunshine. “Thanks, Lizzie girl. That makes me feel a lot better.”


About the Author:

Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She is a graduate of the University of Arizona's Creative Writing Program and has been writing most of her life. Her novels have been finalists for The Hemingway Award, the Heeken Foundation Fellowship, the Writers Foundation and the Publishing On-line Contest. Susan won the National Writers' Association Novel Award twice for unpublished novels and her poetry was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Animals as Teachers and Healers, published by Ballantine Books, Our Mothers/Ourselves, by the Greenwood Publishing Group, The Hawaii Pacific Review-Best of a Decade, and New Millennium Writings. A collection of her poems, A Question of Mortality was released in 2014 by Wellstone Press. Prior to writing full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona.
Susan shares a life in Grants Pass, Oregon with her husband, Andreas, her fictional characters, and more books than one person could count.

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• Find Susan Online •

Monday, July 22, 2019

The Crucifixion by Daithi Kavanagh

Today, we introduce Daithi Kavanagh.



ISBN: 9781370988266
ASIN: B075TYS8RQ
Kindle USKindle UK
Smashwords
AppleKoboNook
Tirgearr Publishing

Blurb:

Detective Tadhg Sullivan’s break away from serious crime comes to an abrupt end when he is pushed into investigating the murder of a retired Christian Brother. A newly elected left wing government fear that the media will hold them personally responsible for what is believed to be a hate crime against the Catholic Church.
Ella Kavanagh, the new Minister for Justice, hopes that placing Sullivan in charge of the investigation will help to distance the government from any mud-slinging by the media. However, no one is prepared for the litany of abuse and corruption stretching back decades, which is about to explode in all of their faces.
Can Sullivan save this fledgling government, or will the sins of the past remain buried, and so doing destroy the future of everyone concerned?


Extract:

It was a beautiful late spring morning. The sun was starting to burn through the haze. He could hear birds chirping, high up in the trees. They were welcoming the summer, which would turn the leaves green to camouflage their nests. He loved the early morning; it blew away the cobwebs and made him feel fresh and clean. At night, his past would engulf him, filling him with fear and guilt. He hated the dark and always slept with the light on.
He took his early morning stroll down to the old barn-style church. The tiny church was only a stone’s throw from the main Parochial House. His leather shoes crunched the gravel path, just as they had done for twenty years, since his retirement. At the time, no one would have imagined him still there. It’s hard to kill a bad thing.
He was just about to enter the church, when he heard a movement behind him. He hadn’t time to turn and see what it was, because suddenly a hand had clasped him around the mouth. It pulled him backwards; a stinging pain in the side of his neck and then everything went black.
When he came around, it felt as if his body were being torn apart. Taking his head away from his chest he could see that his hands had been nailed to the church door. Unable to scream, due to being gagged, his head dropped back onto his chest and his hands and arms felt like they were on fire. The searing pain pushed him back into unconsciousness as he was grabbed by the hair and his head slammed against the church door. His gag was pulled off and a face from the past appeared before him.
“Remember me, sir?” was all that came out of the grinning demonic mouth as his tormenter began to speak.
“What do you want?” the old man answered back, but they were the last words he spoke before he felt a piercing pain in his side and the smiling face welcomed him to hell.


Meet the author

Daithi Kavanagh lives in Trinity, County Wexford with his wife and two teenage children.
He has worked for several years as a musician.
In the last couple of years, after taking up adult education, he began writing.

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• Find Daithi Online •

Monday, July 15, 2019

A Wizard's Choice by Maya Tyler


Blurb:

Dreams or duty?

Wizard apprentice Kurtis Warde doesn’t want to become a full-fledged wizard, but he feels obligated to his grandfather who raised him. Making The Choice, whether or not to become a wizard and join The Circle, doesn’t feel like a choice at all. Leaving The Circle would give Kurtis the freedom to follow his own dreams, and to pursue vampiress, Dee, who has always intrigued him. He knows there’s more to Dee than the icy being she portrays, but will she give him a chance to know the real her?
There is unrest in the magical world. Fairies, a magical being thought to be long extinct, still exist. And the long-time feud between wizards and fairies threatens everyone Kurtis cares about, including his life coach, Alina, who has quickly become a close friend. And perhaps more. He discovers his connection to the ancient beings The Annunaki, the ancestors of wizards and fairies, may be key to the future. The more he uncovers, the more questions he has.
Will Kurtis choose to follow his heart or risk sacrificing his own happiness for peace in the magical world?



Excerpt:

Evanston, Illinois
Present Day
It was an unspoken rule, among the many rules, in our house; we didn’t speak of my father. I wanted to please my grandfather, make him proud of me, and erase the pain my father caused. I knew the story of how I came to live with Waldor. But I didn’t know my father—beyond a hazy memory which was likely a dream and not a real memory at all. It would be fair to say I had no knowledge of him, no clue where he lived, no idea if he was even alive or dead. I knew even less of my mother. Waldor was my only parent, possibly the only person around with answers, and I couldn’t ask him any of my questions.

Thick, dusty tomes covered the scarred wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. Kurtis Warde brushed off the thick layer of grime coating one book and opened it up. The musty smell of an old book assaulted his senses as the cover opened with a reluctant creak. He doubted these ancient texts would even be applicable to modern wizardry. The days of adding “toe of frog” to “hair of dog” were long gone. Yes, incantations and spells created magic, but it evolved with the times. Kurtis considered himself to be a modern wizard. He liked technology and all the possibilities and potential that came with it. The Circle kept peace among the supernaturals and guarded the fragile barrier between the magical and human worlds. But providing magical security services and conflict resolution wasn’t exactly a glamorous job.
“How are you doing, my boy?”
Kurtis sat up straight in his chair. “Waldor, you startled me.”
“Which book are you reading?”
“Uh.” Kurtis checked the cover of the book. The History of Spell Making.
Waldor chuckled. “You might find The History of Wizardry more interesting.” He settled down into the chair next to Kurtis’. “It shows the development of the practice over the last three thousand years or so. You might be surprised to learn our ancient predecessors were actually quite advanced.”
Kurtis responded with a non-committal shrug.
“Even in the very beginning, wizards used the world, and elements around them, to create magic. Finding their strange abilities frightening, humans decided to hunt and destroy them, rather than seek understanding. We still encounter ignorance, but today’s humans see the ‘wizard’ as more of a fairy tale than a truth.”
“If you’ve already covered the book, then I guess I don’t have to read it?” Kurtis scowled and closed the book in front of him.
“You haven’t read any of these books yet, have you?” Waldor pointed to a book with a gilded cover, turning his palm up before raising his hand. The book levitated above the table and opened. The words, written in golden script, rose from the page and circled the room.
Kurtis’ head swiveled from one side of the room to the other as the words lined up into neat rows, hanging in mid-air. “What’s going on, Waldor?” he demanded.
“Magic, my boy, magic.” With a wave of his hands, Waldor released the book and set it down on the table. “Reach out and touch the words.”
Kurtis’ eyes widened. He extended his hand toward the golden words. As soon as his fingertips made contact, the words surrounded him like the funnel of a tornado. Amazingly enough, he absorbed and comprehended the entire text in a matter of minutes. Once he finished reading, the words returned to the book. Kurtis found himself speechless, although hundreds of questions ran through his mind.
“Magic, my boy.” Waldor nodded, his eyes filled with wisdom. “The answer you seek is magic.”
“But what does this,” Kurtis gestured toward the books on the table. “have to do with my training?”
“You must understand where we come from to know where we are going.”
“I get the history part—”
“Then you must continue.” Waldor stood. “And, in the meantime, be patient.”
Kurtis stared at the little particles of dust floating in the air. This is impossible. I’m more behind now than ever, like my training is running in reverse. At this rate…How will I ever get ahead? Anger welled up inside of him. He pounded one fist on the table, disturbing the books. One slid from a precariously stacked pile and landed in front of him. He read the words The Modern Wizard from the new and, surprisingly, dust-free, cover. Now we’re talking. Kurtis flipped open the book. The white, crisp pages were empty. He riffled through the rest of the book and discovered the whole book was blank.
As if by magic, a gold-tipped pen appeared on the table.
Kurtis smiled. This is the lesson. He knew what to do now. One by one, he absorbed the information from each ancient tome.
About the Author:
Maya Tyler writes paranormal romance with a twist. She believes in a happily-ever-after, but she likes to make her heroine and hero work for it. Mystery and action propel her stories forward.
Writing a book was her lifelong dream, which came true with the publication of her debut Dream Hunter. The dream continues with the release of her second book A Vampire’s Tale.
Maya is a testament that happily-ever-after doesn’t just exist in fiction. She loves life with her husband and two young sons in their little house in the country. There’s never a dull moment in a house full of boys! Life is good and writing is the cream cheese icing on the cake. It’s never too late to follow your heart and make your own dreams come true. We live in an era of infinite possibility.

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• Find Maya Online •

Monday, July 8, 2019

Finding My Highlander by Aleigha Siron



Also available in paperback: Amazon USAmazon UK

Blurb:

On a windswept cliff above San Francisco Bay in 2013, 27 year-old Andra Cameron, the last member of her family, prepares to scatter her family's ashes to the wind. An earthquake catapults her to the Scottish Highlands in 1705. She wakes, aching and bloody, to the sound of horses thundering through the trees. Terrified and with no other options, Andra accompanies these rugged warriors. She can't deny the undeniable attraction that ignites between herself and the handsome but gruff Kendrick. Will she trust him to provide protection in the harsh reality of 18th century Scotland and with her secret, or will she find a way to return home to the 21st century?
Laird Kendrick MacLean and his men, escaping a recent skirmish with their worst nemeses, clan Cameron and their Sassenach allies, are shocked to find an injured, unprotected female in their path. How could she not know her kin and how had she landed in the middle of the wilderness alone? His men suspect she's a spy or a witch. Still, Kendrick will not abandon an injured woman, even if she speaks unusually accented English, and her name is Cameron. Will he ransom her to others or will their closed hearts open to each other? Although he questions her every utterance, this feisty, outspoken woman inflames his desire like no other.


Extract:

“Lass, can I help you?” His voice was softer than the others, his stance relaxed, composed, despite the dirt and blood splattered over his massive arms and clothing. He seemed to be a quiet, gentle man, though physically as imposing as the others.
“You could bring me my bag.”
He moved his hand from behind him and cautiously extended her mother’s old carpetbag. “Do I need to check it for weapons?” A slight crinkle lifted the corner of his mouth. A piece of leather cord tied wavy, light-brown hair at the nape of his neck and tight braids spilled alongside sharp, scruffy cheeks. His eyes were dark and shadowed.
“Thank you…it’s Rabbie, correct?”
“Aye,” he nodded.
Andra granted him a guarded smile. “I’ll pull no further weapons if you promise to be kind.” The slight attempt at humor from both of them eased the tension coiled in her gut.
He swept an arm gracefully in front of him and bowed, “Always, m’lady, as I learned at me mother’s knee.” Then he left her to tend the horses.
She searched her bag for the washcloth, hand towel, and first aid kit she always carried when traveling. The washcloth came to hand first. She dipped it into the cold water and wiped the dried and clotted blood from her face and hair. Then she dunked her head in the pool several more times.
“I seem to be awake,” she whispered, just for the comfort on her own voice. “My surroundings feel solid enough,” she pounded her fist on the dirt, “so it must be real. Accept it, Andra, and decide what to do next.”
She could hear the men speaking Gaelic, hushed yet clearly distraught about the condition of their clansman. They gathered near another pool of water several yards from where she knelt. She watched them over her shoulder for a few minutes struggling to fit the scene into her new reality. A million questions rose in her throat.
“Not now. Patience and observation are what’s required. All will be revealed in time.” What a stupid cliché.
Should she offer her help with their friend; would they accept it? She could not sit here and do nothing when one of them was seriously injured. Besides, anxiety always spurred her to take action. Her father had always said, “Move, keep busy, and don’t let dust gather under your feet.” With her father’s words ringing in her ears, she approached the men cautiously, keeping her eye on the mean one, Struan.
“May I be of assistance?” She stood with her feet firmly planted on the hard-packed, dirt floor, her head held high, one hand pressed flat against her side, the other rested on the cross dangling on her chest. It took an extreme effort to control her trembling body. Her palms moistened with sweat. She steadied her focus on Kendrick. His strong hands moved carefully over his brother’s body. The mean one harrumphed and growled.
A growl? Really?
Kendrick looked up, concern etched on his face. His dark, probing eyes bore through her. “Are you a healer, then?” he asked.
“Not a healer exactly, but I have cared for ill and injured persons and have some training in first aid. I wish to help if you’ll permit me.”
“I dinnae ken your meaning. What’s the first aid of which you speak? As you can see, we give him aid, but if you can do anything to help save my brother’s life, I will gladly accept your offer.”
The mean one growled again. “Don’t trust her, she’s the enemy and will just as soon slit his throat.”
Ignoring the slur, she continued, “Have you determined the extent of his injuries?”
“Aye, his shoulder is dislocated, several fingers broken, which we have straightened and bound as best we’re able. We need to stitch multiple, deep wounds, and he’s lost a lot of blood, though blood no longer flows freely.”
The injured man lay on a plaid, stripped completely naked, his kilt torn away from his battered body. Mud, blood, and all manner of vile debris caked the hard planes of his bronzed chest. Andra couldn’t identify the severity or location of all his injuries. He moaned but appeared unconscious, or so she assumed, since he hadn’t opened his eyes. Clumps of dried blood crusted over wounds on one leg and foot. Dark, matted refuse covered the entire other leg.
His manhood lay flaccid against his thigh, and none of the men seemed concerned about his state of undress in front of a strange female. She stood quietly, waiting for several breaths.


Meet the author:

Following an accident several years ago, Aleigha's road to recovery was paved with the adventures and excitement of romance novels, inspiring the creation of her own tales. Recently learning about distant Scottish ancestors, she traveled to the land of craggy peaks, mists, bogs, and the ubiquitous heather, where she fell in love with the setting for her first full-length time-travel romance novel.
In her lengthy business career, Aleigha wrote and derived an array of management and other technical training programs until she turned her writing efforts to her true loves: fiction, and poetry. Her poetry has been published in numerous anthologies and university presses. Most recently, her poetry was included in an Escondido Municipal Art Gallery collection, merging art and poetry, a form known as ekphrastic poetry. The San Diego Poetry Society also selected a poem for publication in their 2015-16 Annual Anthology.
Currently, Aleigha is busy working on two new novels and plans to revisit a Children's Book written years ago for her many nieces and nephews. When not writing, reading, or attending poetry workshops, she often walks along the shore at sunset with her husband and her trusty Labrador helper, Strider, breathing in the ion charged air while seeking inspiration.

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• Find Aleigha Online •

Monday, July 1, 2019

Sweet Redemption by Olivia Peters


Blurb:

Brooklyn

Breaking off my marriage of convenience to start a smoldering affair turns my world upside down. Trevor was supposed to be worth it. He nearly made me spontaneously combust in bed while showing me a love I never thought possible outside of it.
Except it was all a lie. Happily ever after with a man who betrayed me? Not a chance.

Trevor

I planned to destroy Brooklyn because someone had to pay for the sins of her father. Instead, her touched healed everything that was broken inside me, and I fell hopelessly in love with my enemy’s daughter.
Brooklyn thinks she can end us, but I’m not spending another day without her by my side. Give up on love? Never, even if it kills me.




Extract:

Trevor

Always knowing I’d face off with Arch Winslow didn’t truly prepare me for a confrontation with him.
His gaze circles the sprawling, expensively decorated office, focusing on anything but me. He shows the power he wields through arrogant displays of wealth and authority and hatred boils in my gut until it threatens to consume me.
Everything from the Parnian desk to the van Gogh artwork to the Persian rugs announce to all who pass through the monochromatic corner office that Arch is an important man who can have the finer things in life. If this is how his office is decorated, I can only imagine his penthouse.
His body language screams confrontation, making it clear he never wanted to see me again. Yet here I am, a common plebeian in his sacred kingdom. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me.”
How can he look me in the eye and say that? “Restitution.”
Arch stands behind his imposing desk while I sit before it, a power play if I’ve ever experienced one. Despite our massive class difference, or perhaps because of it, he’s uneasy, at least a little bit, which inflates my confidence.
“It’s been years—” Arch starts.
“And I can see you’ve done a fine job moving on, sir. Unfortunately, my family hasn’t had that luxury.” He bristles at the interruption and weaker men likely cower in his presence while defaulting to saying, ‘yes boss.’
My eyes skirt to the photographs of Arch shaking hands with the who’s who of New York City and it’s clear he’s earned his place among the elite on the back of my family.
Arch sighs. “Look, I paid your mother a fair market price, which was more than reasonable given the circumstances.” A vein in his jaw tics, another hint that he isn’t over the betrayal from the past either.
“Fair market price?” Indignation has me half-rising to my feet and ready to pummel him senseless. Years of practice reining in my natural instincts allows me to breathe through the red haze consuming my vision. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
Arch makes a show of checking his Patek Philippe watch worth more than my house. “You showed up unannounced, and I made time for you, son, despite not having any to spare.”
My teeth grit against the familiarity of the endearment. When I was still knee-high to a grasshopper, Arch could have called me son, but not now. Not after he took my father away from me and then destroyed what was left of my broken family.
My eyes narrow, but Arch holds up a hand. “If you came for money, you won’t be leaving with any. If you came for an apology, remember it was your father who should have apologized to me. I’ve been more than generous, but my patience has run out.”
I’m not looking for a handout, only justice. Arch screwed my family over at our weakest and most vulnerable, an unforgivable act. As a child, I couldn’t do a damn thing. Now, though, I can make it right. He can make it right so my kid brother, Brandon, doesn’t repeat my childhood.


About the Author:

Olivia Peters is a Canadian girl who works as an executive ghostwriter by day and a romance novelist by night. While she has never mixed up her two roles, she sometimes thinks about it just to inject some fun into the boardroom.
She writes unapologetically about hot, dirty talking alpha men and the strong, sexy women who bring them to their knees. Her writing style is accessible with stories readers can relate to and characters they can get emotionally invested in.
Olivia’s erotic scenes will misfire your synapses. Don’t believe us? One of her friends forgot how to use her microwave after reading Olivia’s debut novel, Twist of Fate. Be warned that if you proceed, your Kindle may set on fire.
She is a country girl and spends as much time as possible at her lakeside cottage dreaming up her next story. When she’s not writing, she’s outside doing something active, cooking up a storm in her cluttered kitchen, or spending time with her husband, James, and their boxer, Buster.
Olivia is also a lifestyle blogger, sharing her passion for health and wellness with her followers. She is most active on Instagram, so head over and say hello—Olivia responds to every message she receives and would love to hear from you.

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• Find Olivia Online •