Book Spotlight: Life’s Too Short for White Walls by Liz Flaherty

 

 

About Author Liz Flaherty…

Retired from the post office, Liz Flaherty spends non-writing time thinking about writing and wanting to travel. The author of 20-some books and her husband Duane share an old farmhouse in North Central Indiana. She thinks one of the things that keeps you young when you quite obviously aren’t anymore is the constant chances you have to reinvent yourself. Her latest professional incarnation is as a fledgling women’s fiction author and she is enjoying every minute that she’s not scared to death.

 

 

 

 

 

This is a spotlight on “Life’s Too Short for White Walls” by Liz Flaherty

 

Life’s Too Short for White Walls Blurb

Still reeling from her divorce, Joss Murphy flees to Banjo Bend, Kentucky, where she’d been safe and happy as a child. The family farm is now a campground. Weary and discouraged, she talks owner Ezra McIntire into renting her a not-quite-ready cabin.

With PTSD keeping him company, Ez thrives on the seclusion of the campground. The redhead in Cabin Three adds suggestions to his improvement plans, urging color and vibrancy where there was none.

Neither is looking for love, yet the attraction they share is undeniable. Can the comfort of campfires, hayrides, and sweet kisses bring these two lost souls together?

 

What Readers can expect from Life’s Too Short for White Walls

Life’s Too Short for White WallsÂis a later-in-life, starting-over romance. It has a rural campground setting and an interesting cast of characters. Ezra a former Navy pilot and college professor deals with PTSD while Joss learns to live with the betrayal of bother her sister and her ex-husband. If it was a movie, it would have a PG rating, with violence being referred to and mild language. While there is attraction and kissing, the romance is sweet.

 

Life’s Too Short for White Walls Purchase Links

Amazon

The Wild Rose Press

Google Play

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

 

 

An excerpt fromLife’s Too Short for White Walls…

“Cabin Three,” Ez said abruptly. “Let me get the linens.” He nodded at screen and keyboard on the counter. “The page is ready to go there. If you know how to use one of those things, go ahead and enter your information.” He went into the supply room without waiting to see if she complied. A moment later, as he searched out towels and sheets, he heard the keys tapping.

He wondered, as he stacked the little bunch of complimentary items on top of the linens, if she’d eaten.

 “This is where my mail is going,” she said when he went back into the office, “but I don’t have an address right now.”

He looked at the information she’d entered. “Murphy, huh? That’s a common name around here. You related?”

“This was my grandparents’ farm when I was a kid.”

She must be related to Gray, or maybe she was married to someone who was. Either way, it was her business, not his. “Do you want anything from the camp store?” he asked. He looked at the name on the computer screen. “Ms. Murphy?”

“Oh.” She looked startled, and he’d have bet she was new at traveling alone. “No. Thank you. Sorry. I haven’t been a Murphy for twenty-five years, and it still surprises me when someone calls me that. Just Joss will be fine.”

No wonder she was new at traveling alone; she had the look of being freshly divorced, something he should have recognized. Nearly everyone he knew had worn it at one time or another.

“There’s coffee in the cabin and the café in Whistler opens early. The bakery delivers donuts here every morning, too.” There was a little restaurant on the campground, too, created from what had once been a wagon shed, but it wasn’t open yet. Ez wasn’t sure it ever would be.

He wasn’t sure about much at all.

Outside, he pointed toward the rows of cabins, many of them partially hidden by the trees. “The second one on that side,” he said. “It’s not locked. I’ll follow you over and bring the key.”

“All right.” She stretched out her arms. “Let me take those things. There’s no sense in you carrying them.”

Empty handed, he followed the car toward the cabin, wondering if she felt uncomfortable here in the campground where she’d only seen one person, a scruffy-looking has-been navy pilot.

She was still standing outside when he got there, the sheets and towels in her arms. “That was our tree,” she said, pointing at the big sycamore that offered privacy from the inhabitants of Cabin Two. “We had a tree house in it. We used to sleep there in the summer when it was so hot we couldn’t stand the house and Gran and Gramps couldn’t stand us anymore.”

He thought there were tears on her cheeks, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t want to draw attention to them if there were.