Spooky's Maze Of Books: June 2025

Prologue ALONE AND LOOKING TO BONE! LOUDMOUTHED MOUNTAIN MAN SEEKS FIERY FEMALE TO STEAM UP HIS LOG CABIN Calder, 35 years old 🎓 Fletcher Mountain University 💼 Full-time cat daddy with a side-hustle in screwing and nailing 📍 14 miles away Height: 6'3" at the doctor, 6'5" at the bar Eyes: Blue and Full of Feelings Body: Toned and overly inked to conceal my real personality Personality: My mom says I’m great 🍆 Size: Not as big as my brother Luke’s but honorable mention What I do on a typical day: Mountainside strolls with my cat strapped to my chest. Self-summary: I might be tall, tattooed, bearded, and all the classic things one might look for in a rugged mountain man . . . but like an onion plucked from the soil, you must peel back the dirty layers to see the moist inner belly that shows my true essence. I’m not a “go with the flow” kind of guy. I catch feelings with direct eye contact. If you don’t text me back within an hour, I’ll probably cry a little before showing up to your house to see if you’re cheating on me. I once had a girl hold the door open for me, and afterward I asked her, “What are we?” The other day, a bartender poured me the wrong beer and let me drink it for free . . . it was a weird way for him to propose, but I said yes. If you like the taste of my potent onion, swipe right and let’s giggle and make some soup together. Chapter 1 CAT DADDY Calder “What the actual fuck,” I state out loud, and my cat, Milkshake, lets out a high-pitched meow from where she sits on my naked chest. I sit up, clutching her black-and-white fur to me for comfort as I use my free hand to scroll through my Tinder account. “Have I been hacked?” My eyes scan over the contents of my dating profile, knowing damn well I didn’t write a single word of this. Catch feelings with direct eye contact? I don’t catch feelings. I catch boners with a light breeze. I catch ladies’ attention with my tattoos and muscles. Feelings? Fuck feelings! “Can Tinder profiles get hacked?” I ask Milkshake who tips her head up to me and drags her sandpaper tongue over my beard. “Who gives a fuck about someone’s dating life enough to mess with their profiles? There has to be way cooler things to hack.” I quickly check my other hookup apps that I keep armed and ready at all times and see the same long-term relationship bullshit spewing out of every one of them. Make some soup together? My God. This is the complete opposite of what I look for in these apps. I’m very clear about that. Who the hell did this? I reread the penis-size line, and my eyes narrow. “Fucking Luke,” I growl and stand up from the sofa to stomp across the knotty pine flooring of my small cabin. I glance out the window that faces uphill to see if his truck is here as I drop a soft kiss to my cat’s ear. “Someone’s gonna die today,” I coo in a saccharine voice to my girl. Without putting a shirt on, I throw the baby carrier on my chest and stuff Milkshake inside. That was the only part of the hacked profile that was true, but dammit, little fuzz loves being outside. And there’s way too much wildlife around here to let her run free. So when my future sister-in-law, Trista, gave me a cat carrier to help Milkshake enjoy the great outdoors safely, that meant I turned into a big, tatted mountain man who wears a cat more often than not. Come at me. Fuzz gets to enjoy the fresh air and mountain scenery, and I get to sleep at night, not worrying she’s going to get eaten by the coyotes that roam the dense forest surrounding us. Milkshake secure, I storm out in the bristly early March temperatures, the cool air doing its best to cool down my fiery temper as I make my way to Luke’s to tear him a new asshole, but an errant thought stops me in my tracks. I pivot to look downhill at the cabin on the other side of my place. Maybe the Luke dick-size comparison on my profile was a diversion to get me off my older brother Wyatt’s trail. I certainly have payback coming from Wyatt after posting a Help Wanted ad for him last year at the local bar when he was looking for a baby mama. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t work. The fucker is probably tucked inside his architecturally obnoxious cabin cuddling his fiancée and their nearly three-month-old daughter, Stevie, in front of his stone fireplace, watching the snow melt outside the window. Gives me the ick. My brother went from never wanting a wife so much that he was looking for a surrogate to have a baby for him to now preparing to fly us all to Mexico so we can watch him marry his incubator-turned-fiancée in a couple of weeks. It’s enough to make a guy puke. Not that I dislike Trista. She’s cool, and I’m low-key obsessed with my niece that she gave birth to a few months ago. The two of them are fine additions to Fletcher Mountain along with the pick-and-mix assortment of farm animals that keep showing up in the red barn located down the drive. But my two brothers and I made a pact nearly a decade ago: us three and this mountain. No one else. Now we have a soon-to-be wife for Wyatt, a baby niece who has us all wrapped around her finger, eighteen random animals including a horse with a tongue deformity, and probably a fucking partridge in a pear tree somewhere in that barn. Wyatt is a sellout. My eyes shift to movement in the distance, and I see Trista emerge from the Dutch doors of the barn. She has a baby carrier strapped to her chest, and I decide to let Wyatt live for a few more minutes while I investigate. Feeling Milkshake purr against my chest, I beeline straight to the barn, my boots crunching over melted snow as I intercept Trista walking back up toward her and Wyatt’s cabin. “What do you know?” I bark, my eyes narrowing on my brother’s woman. Trista smiles as she glances down at my pussy. “I knew Milkshake would love that cat carrier, for one.” I dig my calloused fingers into Milkshake’s cheek, and her purr quickens as she nuzzles into my chest. “This isn’t about my cat, and you know it.” Trista’s smile drops, and she hits me with a scolding look. “Calder, it’s barely nine in the morning. I had this feral little animal on my tits four times last night. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” “My dating profiles have all been fucked with, and I want to know who did it. My guess is your soon-to-be husband.” “What does it say?” she asks, her eyes narrowing curiously. I pull my phone out of my pocket to show her the proof, and her face lights up as laughter bubbles out of her. “This definitely looks like payback from Wyatt.” “That’s what I thought,” I grind out as I turn toward my brother’s house. He must pay for his crime. “Sorry, Stevie. Your dad is going to be out of commission for a while.” “Although you know who else it could have been . . .” Trista’s voice stops me in my tracks, and I turn on my heel with a frown as she adds, “Your niece.” “Stevie’s too damn young to be on Tinder,” I exclaim, my eyes dropping down to the mound of chestnut curls sticking out from her little stocking cap. Her hair is wild and unruly just like Trista’s. “Not this niece, you moron,” Trista bites back a bit too comfortably. She’s definitely not the type of sister-in-law you can fuck with. She puts me and my brother Luke in our place whenever the mood strikes her. I kind of love that about her. She pats her daughter’s back and adds, “I’m talking about Everly.” My brows furrow. “Everly is at college in Ireland.” “They have the internet there, Calder.” My mind races with this new possibility I hadn’t considered. How did my nineteen-year-old niece hack my dating profiles? In fairness, my password might be easy to guess. Milkshake1234 isn’t exactly a high-security option. And Everly was the one with the idea to do the baby mama Help Wanted ad for Wyatt last year when he was looking for a surrogate. I just helped her jazz it up a bit. I shake my head and refocus. “But why would she sabotage my dating profiles?” “Maybe she wants you to find a nice girl to bring to the wedding, not some rando from Tinder? I mean . . . we all have to hang with whoever you and Luke bring to this villa we’re staying at in Mexico. Not to mention Stevie will be there, your mother, and your eight-year-old nephew, Ethan. A random Tinder hookup doesn’t sound super family-friendly.” “Trust me, whoever I find won’t be there for the family vibes.” I waggle my brows suggestively. Trista rolls her eyes and rubs Stevie’s bottom. “Can you not speak that way in front of my daughter, please?” “My daughter doesn’t mind one bit.” I match Trista’s protective stance with my own fur baby. I move closer to lean in and whisper into my sleeping niece’s ear. “It’s best you learn young, lil Stevemeister, that your uncle Calder is a stallion.” Trista groans and makes her way up toward their house. “Calder, I don’t know who messed with your profiles, but if you have to go to Tinder to find someone to bring to our wedding, maybe you don’t really need to bring anyone at all.” My eyes narrow on my retreating future sister-in-law. She might have a point about Tinder not being the right place for me to find a date for a destination wedding. But she’s wrong about me not bringing a date. Luke already has his plus-one lined up, and our oldest brother Max down in Boulder has been wifed up for years. Wyatt will be busy being a groom. If I don’t bring a plus-one, that means I’ll be my mother’s date, and as much as I love my dear mother . . . I can’t stomach the idea of dancing with her or my niece all night long. I need to find someone to bring with me on this damn trip. I turn and gaze at the tiny mountain town that rests at the bottom of our long and winding gravel lane. Perhaps Tinder is casting too wide a net. Maybe it’s time to look a bit closer to home. Jamestown ain’t much to look at. It’s a little hamlet of Boulder—an isolated and somewhat dilapidated sanctuary for weirdos who want to stay weird. It’s full of loners. Trailblazers. People who don’t want to be found and don’t mind a bit of inconvenience—be that limited grocery supplies, weather that snows us in for a week, or cell service that goes in and out. Jamestown is our sanctuary. And it’s the place Wyatt, Luke, and I have called home for over a decade now. Unfortunately, the population doesn’t even hit three hundred souls, so the pickings are slim. My brothers and I learned that quickly when we first moved out here. Things ended real messy back then, and the three of us made a pact to not test the waters in Jamestown ever again . . . but surely enough time has passed now. I mean hell, Wyatt’s on his way to getting married anyways. Maybe it’s time to shop local again. Excerpted from SEVEN YEAR ITCH by Amy Daws. Copyright © 2025 by Amy Daws. Published by Canary Street Press, an imprint of HarperCollins.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

"Deliciously funny and spicy." -Elsie Silver, New York

Times bestselling author

Alone and Looking to Bone! Loudmouthed Mountain Man Seeks

Fiery Woman to Grow Old With.

I might look like a tall, tattooed, bearded neanderthal...but like

an onion, I have layers. Swipe right if you like a proud cat daddy who

catches feelings after direct eye contact.

All I wanted was a casual plus-one to my brother's destination wedding,

but those idiots on my family tree hacked my dating profile and sabotaged

my quest for the perfect weekend fling. Now I'm stuck on a tropical vacation

with only my hand to keep me company.

Until I’m forced to share a room with the bane of my existence: my sister

in-law’s best friend.

Dakota has hated me for the past seven years. I wasn’t losing much sleep

over her screaming rants because she was some other guy’s problem. Or

she was, until she got divorced.

Being stuck in paradise with a woman who loathes your very existence

doesn't sound hot, but after an unexpected moment in our shared palapa

she starts screaming at me in a different way.

What happens in paradise stays in paradise. That is, until Dakota shows

up on my mountain with a proposition: be her wingman to help her

regain her pre-divorce confidence.

Suddenly, Dakota’s not just the person I love to fight with. She’s

the woman I want everything with.

Perfect for fans of:

Enemies to Lovers
Small Town Romance / Vacation Romances
Quirky Animals
Meddling family
Meghan Quinn and Tessa Bailey

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

National bestselling author Amy Daws writes spicy love

stories that take place in America, as well as across the pond. When

Amy is not writing, she’s likely making charcuterie boards from her home in

South Dakota, where she lives with her daughter and husband.

SOCIAL LINKS:

Author website: https://amydawsauthor.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amydawsauthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/amydawsauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/amydawsauthor/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/amydawsauthor/

BEACH READS AND DEADLY DEEDS

Welcome to my showcase for Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds which is been hosted by HarperCollins and Harlequin

Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

Allison Brennan

On Sale Date: June 17, 2025

9780778387251

Hardcover

$30.00 USD

400 pages

BUY LINKS:

Bookshop.org:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/beach-reads-and-deadly-deeds-original-allison-brennan/21769923?ean=9780778387251&next=t&affiliate=397

B&N:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beach-reads-and-deadly-deeds-allison-brennan/1146225171;jsessionid=9E89D90BC49BFE6FAEA3FE557B8DEAC3.prodny_store02-atgap06?ean=9780778387251

Books A Million:

https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9780778387251

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.ca/s?k=9780778387251&tag=hcg-02-20

PROLOGUE

“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.”

—George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

DIANA HARDEN HAD A plan, and the plan was good.

This little hiccup in her plan was merely an annoyance, not a roadblock. Sending her on a wild goose chase to St. John was childish and petty.

Ethan Valentine would pay dearly for wasting her time.

It was near dark when the water taxi returned her to St. Claire. The driver was barely more than a kid, but Diana paid him well. She’d had enough of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit, so she had the kid take her straight to Valentine’s private dock in a sheltered cove on the southwest side of the island.

“Remember,” she said, putting her fingers to her lips in the universal be quiet sign. She didn’t want Ethan to know she’d figured out his ridiculous game.

The driver nodded and grinned, and she waved him off.

Ground lights lined the wood stairs from the dock to Ethan’s house built on top of the cliff. The height dizzied her as she trudged up. The cool ocean breeze chilled her through the sheer scarf that she’d wrapped around her shoulders.

Ethan would pay first, and then she would tell him where she’d hidden the files. When she went out of her way to help someone, to give them information that would put them on top of the world, and they treated her like dog shit on their shoe? No way would she tolerate such disrespect.

The man had to be half-crazy to live like a hermit in the middle of the Caribbean. All because he’d lost in a business deal? Coming here to lick his wounds and feel sorry for himself? He should be thrilled that she had proof he’d been cheated. Instead, he’d shunned her.

If someone had told Diana ten years ago that she’d fallen head over heels for a gold-digging con artist, she would have been grateful. Sad, angry, sure—who wouldn’t be? But she would never have lost everything over it. Ethan Valentine should have been thanking her for the information that she had been willing to give to him practically for free yesterday.

Now the jerk would pay top dollar.

Diana stopped to catch her breath when she reached the top of the stairs. The view was breathtaking—the sun sinking into the ocean to her right, and the distant lights of St. John to her left. Almost as if on cue with the falling sun, several soft white LED lights flickered on, showcasing the house and garden, but darkening the jungle beyond.

Though the house was lit, she couldn’t see through the privacy screens. She adjusted the oversized bag on her shoulder, then approached the frosted glass door and rang the bell twice. The chime sounded like a bird call. When no one immediately came, she rang again. And again. Nothing. She tried the door; locked.

Frustrated and angry after her crappy wasted day on St. John, she walked around the deck. The downstairs was almost completely enclosed by glass doors. She was looking for a way inside when a voice, heavy with an accent that sounded not quite Mexican, said, “Are you looking for something?”

Diana stumbled and knocked over a chair. “Who are you?” she demanded.

Squinting, she barely made out an old man reclining on a chaise lounge on the far corner of the deck. He had brown skin and a white beard so long and thick she could barely see his face. She’d seen him at the resort, an annoying busybody. What was he doing at Ethan’s house? How long had he been watching her?

“¿Quién crees que soy? ¿No has sentido curiosidad?”

She didn’t understand Spanish.

“No one is home,” the old man said, in English this time. “Do you need help finding your way back to the resort?”

“This is Ethan Valentine’s house,” Diana said. “He said he would be here.”

“He did? Odd.”

Who was this strange man?

“When will Ethan be back? It’s important.”

“Volverá cuando vuelva. Perhaps you’d like to wait?” the man said. “It might be a day or two before he’ll come by. Or a week. A month?” He lifted his hands in the air and shrugged.

Where the hell was Ethan? At the resort? Oh, that would be just her luck.

Irritated, she said, “I’ll find him myself.”

“Very well.” The man leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.

With an infuriated sigh, Diana traipsed along the gravel road that led to the main lodge, wishing she’d asked the kid with the water taxi to wait.

She didn’t relish the two-mile hike to the resort, especially going over this mountain. Her flip-flops crunched on the gravel. She had wasted far too much time because of Ethan Valentine. He wanted to play games? Oh, she would play. And Diana was much better at it than he was. Her price had gone up tenfold.

The narrow road was poorly lit with sporadic ground lights. She didn’t have a flashlight and her cell phone was dead, so she stayed in the middle of the path, knowing that there were sheer drops all over the place. Diana had never considered herself squeamish or afraid of the dark, but she couldn’t even see the stars because of the thick canopy of bushy leaves hanging over the road.

Rodents ran from the trees right in front of her, then scurried down the cliff. She forced herself to breathe evenly. There were no dangerous animals on the island. The rustling leaves? Probably gophers or rabbits. She started talking out loud to herself, feeling silly, but hearing her own voice calmed her fears.

She stumbled and caught herself with a vine that was hanging from one of the trees, cursing Ethan. He thought a hundred thousand was too much? How about a million, Ethan? Pay up or she’d out him. Tell everyone what he had really been doing since disappearing from the United States. She’d start with the Wall Street Journal and Variety. Then maybe Forbes or The Economist. Hell, the New York Times might be interested in the scoop. See how Ethan liked the publicity. His ridiculous behavior certainly wouldn’t help Valentine Enterprises.

She stepped into a clearing on the top of the mountain. Packed, flat earth free of rocks and bushes and lined in bright lights. Ethan’s helipad, though there was no chopper here now. That jerk. That asshole. Chalk this up to one of the many lies he’d told.

Maybe she wouldn’t sell him the documents at all. Maybe she’d sell them back to the man she’d stolen them from, and Ethan could continue to wallow in misery.

Angry but wholly determined to make these miserable men pay for the havoc they had wreaked in her life and the lives of those she cared about, she strode across the helipad.

The trees swayed in a sudden gust of wind, and a chill ran up her spine. She rubbed her arms and cursed.

Then the lights went out.

She froze in the sudden black. The jungle closed around her, and the trees groaned as if they knew something she didn’t. Rustling to the left, then to the right. “Who’s there?” she called out. “Show yourself, you prick!”

She heard the flapping of wings first. Then dozens of bats flew right at her. She screamed and dropped to the ground, her arms over her head, as the flurry of flying rodents rushed by. She could feel the air shift and change around her as they dipped so low she thought for a moment that she was prey.

Then the flapping faded into the distance, and Diana found herself huddled on the ground, filthy and sore.

“For shit’s sake, Diana!” she said out loud. “Get up.”

Determined not to let creatures of the night terrify her again, she stood, and her eyes readjusted to the dark. The lights flickered on, then went off again, but on the far side of the clearing, she spotted a wooden sign. She made her way there and came upon a forked path with two arrows. The path to the left was marked The Falls, and the path to the right went to St. Claire.

Finally! She hurried to the right, down the path toward the resort. All she could think about was stripping off her disgusting clothes and inspecting the cuts and bruises she felt all over her body.

Ten minutes later, faint music filtered up through the trees, and she thought about all her potential paydays—the conniving con artist with the super-rich, clueless boyfriend? Diana had had her pegged a mile away. Don’t try to con a con, she thought with a smile. Or maybe she’d focus on the security guy with the gambling habit? The cheater? The thief?

So many to choose from . . . and then she got an idea, as if a light bulb went bright above her head. She slowed and reached into her bag to glance through her notes, then realized she’d left the book in her room this morning. No worries. It wasn’t like she’d forget the most brilliant idea she’d had all week. After all, she was the heroine of this story—as strong and beautiful and smart as the treasure hunter in the novel she was reading. She laughed out loud. That’s what she was, a treasure hunter! Only she hunted secrets, not gold.

Secrets that turned into gold. She loved the imagery.

She picked up her pace, eager to get back to her cottage. Her feet hurt, her head pounded, and all she wanted was a large glass of wine and a long soak in the hot tub with her book.

The path wound around as she descended. Diana avoided the main lodge because she didn’t want to see anyone, especially when she looked like something the cat dragged in. Security lighting brightened the private patio of her cottage. She searched for her card key and as her hand grasped it at the bottom of her bag, she heard a voice behind her.

“Diana.”

She jumped, whirled around. Fear bubbled up in her chest until she saw who it was. Annoyed and tired, she said, “What do you want?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m beat.”

She turned her back on her uninvited guest and started to insert her card key, but before she could open the door, she was grabbed from behind.

“Wha—” She tried to speak, but her words were cut off. Her scarf tightened around her neck. She couldn’t talk. Then she couldn’t breathe.

Her vision blurred. Grabbing at the scarf, she scratched her neck. Her knees grew weak. Her vision faded.

Scream!

No sound escaped her throat. She heard nothing except for her own pounding heart, fear wrapping itself around her like a vise.

Then, darkness.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

For fans of BAD SUMMER PEOPLE, FINLAY DONOVAN IS KILLING IT, and THE WHITE LOTUS, this sun-dappled mystery from New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan features a risk-averse bibliophile who gets in over her head when strange notes in a book draw her into a real-life investigation.

Mia Crawford is responsible to a fault. She has to be. Between her high-demand job and taking care of her grandmother and her cats, she has little time for anything else. What time she does have, she pours into reading. Mysteries, romances, thrillers…books filled with women who are far more impulsive than she would ever dream of being. Now, forced into taking a long-overdue vacation, she finds herself on a luxurious private island where she just might have a chance to reinvent herself—for a little while, anyway. She can explore the island. Flirt shamelessly with a cute bartender. Have a vacation fling. Live like a heroine in one of her favorite novels.

Or she can curl up with a good book on the beach. Turns out reinventing yourself is easier planned than done. But when gossipy notes written in the margins of an old book turn out to be clues to the disappearance of another guest, Mia finds herself diving head-first into a dangerous adventure. With everyone at the resort hiding secrets of their own, she’ll have to solve this real-life mystery before she becomes the next target.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

ALLISON BRENNAN is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author of over forty novels. She lives in Arizona with her husband, five kids and assorted pets.

SOCIAL LINKS:

Author website: https://allisonbrennan.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AllisonBrennan

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Allison_Brennan

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/abwrites/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52527.Allison_Brennan

Reading Corner 2023

Monday, June 2, 2025