Christmas Countdown Blitz Day Five: Snowdrift by Debra Erfert

"Debra ""DJ"" Erfert, a winner of a 2017 Kindle Scout campaign, has authored five published novels, three novellas, and one Kindle World’s novella, and several short stories. She writes what her alter-ego dictates. Maybe it’s her super-ego. In her Window of Time series, Lucy is fearless and strong and has a secret power—all qualities Debra envies. In real life, spiders terrify her, which is why they appear on a regular basis in her books. “Confront your fears, and have your characters squish them!” 

Debra uses the pen name DJ Erfert for her paranormal suspense/thriller books, and Debra Erfert for her romantic suspense/mystery books. She is an award-winning fine artist who lives in a southwest desert city in Arizona with her husband, Mike, a retired police lieutenant, where the average summer temperatures are well above 100 degrees—truly hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. After raising two Eagle Scouts, she now spends her time writing and shooing her polydactyl cats away from her keyboard."

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Artist Abigail Carson crashes off the deserted highway during a Wyoming blizzard while driving to reach her dying mother. Carbon County Sheriff Jackson Reynolds rescues her, leaving her Jeep in the snowdrift as the storm becomes a whiteout. They’re trapped at his ranch for the week leading up to Christmas, along with his two young daughters, a protective mother-in-law, and a bitter memory of his dead wife. 

Tensions rise as Abby’s attraction grows for the tough sheriff. She must crack through his emotional wall before the storm breaks or lose her only chance for real love. But if the storm doesn't stop soon enough, Abby may lose her opportunity to ask her mother's forgiveness for running away almost ten years before.

Snowdrift is a story about love, faith, and forgiveness."

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Snippet: 

If serendipity played a hand in Abby’s journey, she couldn’t see it through the blowing snow. With her sweatshirt sleeves pulled down over her hands for warmth, she squinted past the fast-paced windshield wipers into the Wyoming blizzard. Even with the Jeep’s heater on high, the icy wind blew in through the gaps of the soft-top fast enough it threatened to plunge Abby’s body into hypothermia. Common sense had told her to stop at the last town, but her heart whispered to take the chance and keep going. A hundred more miles on the narrow two-lane highway and she could see her mother before she died.

Twenty-seven-year-old Abby rubbed her sleeve under her nose and sniffed back another volley of tears. “Hold on, Mom . . . I’m almost there.”

It had been close to ten years since Abby had even talked with her. Truthfully, deciding whether or not to come had been made at the last minute. She’d changed her mind twice since climbing into her Jeep and driving away from her home in the low desert of Arizona. Abby lifted her phone from the passenger seat. Maybe she could redial the man who had called claiming to be her mom’s husband and tell him how close she was. At least then her sick mother would know she still cared.

A sick, gliding sensation drew her attention back out the windshield. She couldn’t see the road. Abby’s heart flipped when she realized the Jeep was skidding, turning out of control in the whiteness.

When the Wrangler jerked to a sudden stop, Abby hit her forehead on the steering wheel. She waited with her pulse pounding in her neck. Would the Jeep slide down some obscured cliff? Seconds dragged into minutes. Abby let loose of the steering wheel and touched her head. She couldn’t feel anything. Her fingertips were too cold.

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Book Blitz: A Strange Twist of Fate by Debra Erfert

While growing up, going to libraries felt like an adventure filled with mystery and wonder to Debra. The hushed tones invoked secrets, and the dusty, sometimes moldy scent of paper smelled like perfume. Leaving the library with just a single book never happened. Years later, her love of reading turned to passion for writing. Debra’s an award-winning artist who lives in southern Arizona where the average summer temperatures are truly hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

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One widow, one killer--who will die first?

  

Gutsy, grieving Anna is determined to find who murdered her husband. Hampered by agonizing loneliness, her obsessive-compulsive mother, and her over-controlling father, she defies convention and the law to investigate on her own. When she runs up against a handsome police detective who’s determined to save Anna from herself, she has to step up her rogue search for the killer before time, and dwindling leads, runs out.

This book is a winner in the Kindle Scout program

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Excerpt

“Which way?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “I live in Scottsdale.”

He nodded and turned north. He knew the way to the affluent city, and truthfully, he wasn’t surprised she lived there. Lee remembered what had happened to City of Phoenix Assistant Prosecutor Greg Eddington a year ago. He’d seen pictures of the prosecutor and his wife in the online newspaper shortly after his car crash. He’d had a promising career ahead of him. The crash was suspicious, but the highway patrol had no leads. There was an investigation, although he didn’t hear where it went—if anywhere.

Lee looked over at Greg’s widow. She kept her head turned away from him, staring out into the darkness. He wondered what she was doing tonight on a dangerous street normally occupied by prostitutes and strung-out losers. She said she wanted information. Now Lee was curious about what she would’ve asked that crackhead if she hadn’t been arrested. She was right. She probably wouldn’t have another chance to ask him any questions, but maybe Lee could for her.

“What’s your address?”

“East Gainey Ranch Road.” She finally turned to look at him. “Do you know where that is?”

“I do.” Lee glanced at her. “I started out as a patrol officer in Scottsdale about ten years ago.”

She nodded, then fell back into the quietness she’d been in for the past twenty minutes, resuming her staring out the window as if she would miss something important if she stopped looking. He headed east. Another fifteen minutes later, he pulled onto her wide street. He’d forgotten how huge the houses were on her cul-de-sac—and expensive.

“Second house on the right,” she said, just above a whisper.

The single-story, sprawling ranch-style house had stacked stone accents along the lower half of its exterior and sat back a good distance from the street. Lee stopped at the sidewalk in front of the curved driveway and killed the engine. Just as he reached for his door handle, she spoke up.

“The porch light is off.”

“Do you remember turning it on before you left?” he asked.

“I’m sure I did.” She turned and stared at him.

“The light bulb could’ve burned out.”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll walk up with you.” He got out and went around to her door, but she’d already opened it and was starting to get out. He followed her only a few steps up the driveway before she stopped.

“I’m positive I closed the courtyard gate,” she told him.

Lee could see the short wrought-iron gate standing ajar. Putting that together with the missing light, his internal alarm rang loudly. He took Mrs. Eddington’s elbow and moved her back to his car. Once inside, he backed up far enough that they weren’t in view of the front window any longer in case a perp heard his car drive up. He took out his cell phone.

“I’m calling this in, Mrs. Eddington.” Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t argue with him. He touched 911 and waited for only a moment before hearing a woman’s voice.

“Scottsdale police, fire, what is your emergency?”

“This is Phoenix Police Detective Lee Adams. I need officers at 3546 East Gainey Ranch Road for a possible burglary in progress. I have the homeowner safe in my private car—a 2010 black Buick, parked next door.”

“Yes, Detective. Right away. Do you want to stay on the line?”

“No, it’s not necessary. Thank you.” Lee pressed End but held on to the phone.

“You think I have a burglar?”

“I don’t know, but telling that to the dispatcher will get help faster than saying we have suspicious circumstances.”

Mrs. Eddington relaxed and sat back. “Oh, you don’t really think this is all that serious?”

Lee leaned over the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the dark house. “I don’t like to take chances.”

“But sometimes taking chances is a necessary evil,” she said quietly.

“Like what you did tonight?”

She didn’t respond.

It took another couple of minutes before Lee saw two cars with their headlights off slowly roll around the corner. When the streetlight hit them, he could see that they were patrol units. They stopped parallel but across the street from him.

“Stay here,” Lee told her. “I’ll explain what’s happened.” He paused before getting out. “Do you have dogs in the backyard?”

“No, no dogs. I’m alone.”

He gazed at the woman for several moments after that admission. His heart tugged knowing she didn’t have someone to go home to. He knew what that felt like.

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Valentine's Blitz Day Eight: Changes of The Heart by Debra Erfert

 

A coincidence is God’s way of staying anonymous.

Buying the 1920s farmhouse south of Phoenix, where the rumors of John Dillinger’s gang hid out in the 30s, is supposed to be Grace Evanheart’s way of escaping an old romance. When she finds an ancient diary with a map under the bedroom’s floorboard, the rumors solidify into fact. She doesn’t know who to trust with the news; Micah Stevens, the handsome deputy and the great grandson of the original landowners with whom she’s attracted, or Jerry, the young historian who seems too intent on learning about her new home?

Micah seems convinced their paths cross exactly at the right time and in the right place for them to fall in love. Now he just has to convince Grace of the same thing before suspicions of his real motive have her running again.   

      

"Debra lives in Southwest Arizona, and has been married to Mike for 36 years. She's the mother of two awesome sons, who married their forever loves, and she's a grandmother to three beautiful grandchildren with one more on the way.

Debra wrote her first novella thirteen years ago just for grins. That brief taste into the world of an author started an undeniable writing obsession rivaling only her love of chocolate. She's an award-winning fine artist, and loves traveling with her husband."

Facts about the Author:

1.      When I am not writing, I like to .... do artwork and craft.

2.      I am working on ... the rough draft of Window of Darkness, book 3 in the Window of Time trilogy. Since it’s about a serial killer, this is my most difficult piece to date.

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Snippet:

Micah leaned his hip against the cabinet, tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Heat filled my face at his assumption. I opened the freezer compartment and looked inside. “What makes you think I don’t?” Two empty ice trays sat on a small shelf. I grabbed them so I could hide my embarrassment. I felt unworthy of love. Being dumped by David had been hard on my ego.

“It doesn’t really make sense because you’re so pretty, but if you’d had one, he would be here helping you instead of me.” 

Even his compliment couldn’t cool the heat of the blush in my face. I twisted the cold-water faucet open, holding the tray beneath the stream, and listened to the clanking and groaning the pipes produced along with the water. “Why don’t I have a boyfriend? Huh, I guess you’d have to ask my ex-boyfriend that question. He . . . sort of . . .”

I took a deep breath, set the tray down in the sink and turned to look directly into Micah’s face. I hadn’t said it out loud since that night back in the apartment, when I’d poured my heart out to Chelsea, and I was curious to see Micah’s reaction. “He dumped me.” His brows went up marginally, and his eyes studied my face. He must have been looking for the hidden warts. “No, I don’t know why,” I said to his unasked question. “But it could possibly be because he didn’t want any deeper commitment than a girlfriend, and I was ready for more.”

I paced across the kitchen floor, the heels of my boots thudding like a hammer with every step. “We were together for two years, and suddenly he just wanted to be friends.” I turned and walked in the other direction. The kitchen wasn’t that big. “When a man says those words to a woman, the woman knows he doesn’t actually want to be friends.” I turned and marched back the other way. “We know what it means.”

“What does it mean?” Micah’s voice was quiet and gentle.

“That . . . that he never loved me.” I guessed at where the kitchen door was. I couldn’t see it through the stupid, self-pitying tears filling my eyes, blinding me. As I rushed outside I said, “I want to bring in the stove next.”

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