Confessions of a Podcast Goddess Archives

For Veterans Day: A Soldier’s Italian Christmas by Jina Bacarr

November 11, 2013 by A Slice of Orange in category Archives tagged as Amazon, Christmas, Christmas eve, Confessions of a Podcast Goddess, Italian, Italy, Kindle, novella, romance, soldier, sweet romance, Veterans Day

UPDATE: A Soldierâ€™s Italian Christmas is now for sale on Amazon.

On this Veterans Day, we honor those who have served in all wars. For that, we say thank you. As we approach the Christmas Holidays, I’ve often wondered what it was like during World War II for the boys so far from home. In A Soldierâ€™s Italian Christmas, the first of the O’Casey Brothers in Arms series, we meet Captain Mack O’Casey, the oldest of four brothers from Brooklyn who join the fight.

It’s December 1943, one of the coldest winters on record, and the Allied advance to Rome is bogged down on a long stretch of road leading from Naples to the Eternal City.

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A Soldierâ€™s Italian Christmas

Oâ€™Casey Brothers in Arms 1

Captain Mack O’Casey and his sergeant have been separated from their unit after intense fighting in Central Italy. They find their way to a small village hit by shelling. Everyone has gone, or so they think…

Excerpt from Chapter One:

Italy

December 1943

Mack edged closer to the door, taking his time, knowing a barrage of bullets could be waiting for them on the other side, cracking their skulls open with sharpshooter precision. Or deadly explosive traps that could blow their legs off.

He nodded to his sergeant to cover him. His heart pounded in his ears. It never got easy staring the enemy in the eye, but it didnâ€™t do any damn good to stand out here waiting to be picked off like wild turkeys. He kicked the door open and did a clean sweep of the courtyard when a cold chill stopped him.

He froze. Someone had a gun aimed at his back. His instinct never failed.

â€œDonâ€™t move,â€ said a low, sultry voice in Italian. â€œI know how to use this.â€

For chrissakes, a female.

â€œWe mean you no harm,â€ Mack said in English, hoping to gain her confidence. She couldnâ€™t see him in the dark. â€œWeâ€™re Americans, not Germans.â€

â€œAmerican?â€ Her voice changed. â€œOh, thank God,â€ she said in English.

Mack turned around slowly and saw a young woman holding a gun on him. She bent down and turned up the wick on the lantern on the ground next to her and light flooded the small courtyard. He didnâ€™t breathe until he was certain she wouldnâ€™t shoot him. Dark, beautiful eyes sucked the fatigue right out of him. Flashing with a wildness that surprised him, she never flinched. Looking him over with intense scrutiny, she waved the lantern up and down his body. Over his boots, his uniform, the silver bars on his shoulders, and then his face. Her eyes locked with his, her lips parted. Full lips that rendered her face with an exotic aura held him transfixed. The girl was a beauty. Creamy complexion with a straight nose tipped at a perfect angle, expressive dark brows crossed in thought. She clenched her jaw, but her gaze never wavered. An absolute show of power on her part. It was clear she was relieved to see him, but she didnâ€™t fully trust him.

â€œI thought this village was deserted,â€ he said, taking a moment to return her scrutiny. Dressed in a manâ€™s dark pants and heavy jacket, he noticed mud clinging to her boots and the knees of her pants with a torn cuff. A navy blue beret fit snugly over her head, hiding her hair. Curly wisps of silky brown hair escaped onto her cheeks making him wish he could smooth them back with his fingers. Kiss her cheek. â€œMy sergeant and I have been walking for miles since the Nazis big guns cut us off from the main road.â€

Satisfied he was telling the truth, she said, â€œWeâ€™ve been holed up here praying the Allies would come.â€

As she spoke, half a dozen little boys came from out of nowhere and crowded around her. Mack smiled. Round, cherub faces, black unruly hair. They reminded him of his brothers back home in Brooklynwhen they were kids. The oldest boy couldnâ€™t have been more than ten, the youngest about three. What surprised him was how clean their hands and faces were. Most children heâ€™d seen in Naples since landing near Salerno were dirty and barefoot.

A familiar itch up crawled his backside. First, the shining cross in the sky. Now a beautiful woman with a brood of scrappy angels. What holy place had he stumbled into?

â€œAre you alone?â€ he asked, wondering where her husband was. Most likely fighting in the North. Ever since the devastating Allied losses in Bari, most partisans had fled into the hills. By the looks of the destruction, the village had been under attack for weeks.

â€œNo, Sister Benedetto and I stayed behind to care for the children when the town was evacuated.â€

â€œYouâ€™re in danger. The Germans have fortified this whole area with armed defense. Barbed wire and mines.â€

â€œWe are never truly alone, Captain. We have God to protect us.â€

â€œAnd now the U.S.Fifth Army, Signorina.â€

She lowered her chin, but her eyes looked directly at him. â€œI am called Sister Angelina.â€

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A Soldierâ€™s Italian Christmas (Oâ€™Casey Brothers in Arms 1) is the story of a soldier and a nun who discover forbidden love in war torn Italy during the winter of 1943.

It is a sweet romance 35,000+ word novella and is now available as an e-book on Amazon…

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If your Christmas reading is on the spicier side (as in erotic), check out A Naughty Christmas Carol about a modern day Scrooge named Nick Radnor. A New York Wall Street hottie who has it all…except the woman he loves.

Can three sexy female ghosts save his soul on this naughty Christmas Eve?

Find out in A Naughty Christmas Carol.

Happy Veterans Day!
Jina

www.jinabacarr.com
www.facebook.com/JinaBacarr.author
https://twitter.com/JinaBacarr
http://www.pinterest.com/jbacarr/

Cover Design for A Soldier’s Italian Christmas and A Naughty Christmas Carol by Ramona Lockwood

www.coversbyramona.blogspot.com

http://www.romancenovelcovers.com/

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I’ll never forget the time I had the chance to see the cabin where Lincoln was born. I was nine years old.

It had a dirt floor. Cool, I thought, his mom can’t yell at him for tracking dirt into the house.

It wasn’t the “real” cabin,of course, but a symbolic reconstruction in Central Kentucky to honor our sixteenth President.

I grew up in different parts of the US…but my favorite time was in Lexington, Kentucky.

We lived in what I called the “Civil War” house. It was a big ole home out in the boonies with a barn and plenty of Kentucky bluegrass. According to the locals, the antebellum house was built before the Civil War.

Over the years, the house had different owners, but it never lost its splendor in my eyes. Sure, it was run-down and the plumbing more often than not didn’t work. God knows, it was cold in the winter, but my dad–a historical buff–rented it for as long as my poor mom could take it. It wasn’t easy for her with no dishwasher or washer and an old, wood burning stove with a husband and two kids to take care of. No neighbors for what seemed like miles.

I’d race around the house with fireplaces taller than I was for hours, pretending I was hosting tea with fancy ladies or meeting that special gentleman in what I called my “secret” room. Wearing my mother’s long dresses, I dreamed of being a true Southern belle (years later I got my own authentic hoop skirt from the costume department when I was doing theater).

So it’s no wonder I followed my heart and wrote my own Civil War novel — “The Bride Wore Gray.” It’s a time travel romance where my modern day heroine, Liberty Jordan, meets up with her ancestor–who looks exactly like her! The only problem is, Pauletta Sue, is a Southern spy…

I’m working on formatting my story, making a cover, etc. so I can self-pub it. Which brings up a question: with the popularity of Steven Spielberg’s “Lincoln,” will the Civil War make a come-back in romance novels?

What do you think?

—-

Here’s a sample from the Prologue from “The Bride Wore Gray:”

On a lonely road in the Tennessee woods

1862

Even before she saw the swath of blue moving through the trees, Pauletta Sue could smell them.

Yankees.

The raw male odor of Federal soldiers made her nauseous, but she pushed her horse harder.

They won’t catch me.

â€œFaster, Savannah Lady, faster!â€

Crack! came the sound of her whip hitting the mare’s flanks. Her scarlet-gloved hand trembled as she repeated her command, louder now. The animal sensed her urgency, snorted, then raced ahead down the dark, country road, its hooves making dull, thudding sounds on the hard dirt as horse and rider went deeper into the woods.

The young woman riding sidesaddle winced. What had come over her? She had never struck the beautiful bay mare before, preferring to ride her with only the tight bit and an easy hand, but she had to get through the Yankee pickets. Nothing must stop her from carrying out her mission.

Nothing.

Her gray silk skirts, frayed at the hem, whipped at her ankles. Her long, hooded cloak made of fine black wool, threadbare in places, billowed behind her like heavy smoke, shielding her face from the demons in blue hidden all around her. Ready to strike her down if she dared to stop.

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

The danger of her mission chilled her. She dared not think about what lay ahead of her. She feared dying before she found the revenge she sought, for only then could she release the madness and torment of her broken heart.

The man she loved was dead.

Shot as a Confederate spy.

No, no!

All around her, the sounds of the forestâ€”the squeal of a trapped pig, the hard rumble of wagon wheels somewhere in the distance, a faraway cannon firing, the loud orders of Federal officers up ahead of herâ€”were muffled by the loud beating of her heart in her ears.

I will not allow you to die in vain, my love. I promise.

————–
Best,
Jina

Jina Bacarr
www.jinabacarr.com

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