Tag: Carol Malone

Summer Hearts Blog Tour – Day 4 – Carol Malone (that’s me!)

Today we are going to focus on the fourth book in the compilation. 
Check it out!


Summer Holiday:

In the summer of 1905, Lizzy Gordon’s father dismisses her desire to be a doctor, demanding she become a teacher—a profession which does not allow women to marry. Determined to be free to choose her destiny, Lizzy defies her father and falls for her grandma’s handsome neighbor—literally.

Teacher Brent Pierce is dedicated to expanding young minds, but circumstances are forcing him to take over the family farm. Sweet complications arise when feisty Lizzy Golden drops into his arms.

Before the summer is over Lizzy and Brent will be forced to make tough decisions. Can they find the courage to each fight for their independence, pursue their dreams, and still be together?

Now about the fabulous lady behind this book!
Carol Malone Bio:


Author, Carol Malone

Award-winning author Carol Malone has successfully combined her three passions – romance, sports, and writing in her two highly-rated books, Fight Card Romance: Ladies Night, and Ladies Night Christmas sequel. She was the first woman to write a romance for the all-male dominated genre. Carol invites her readers to scramble into a front row seat for a thrill-ride of suspense, sports, and romance. If not hammering out new tales, Carol’s loves reading, sports, and hanging with her author husband on the coast of California.

You can find Carol at:  




“I’ve met … Brent,” Lizzy said.

Rosy sighed. “Isn’t he splendiferous ?”

“Oooooh, la. That man is finer than bread pudding with hand-cranked ice cream,” Hilda said.



“She wants to be a doctor and I can’t let her give up on her dream cause I might have feelings for her,” Brent said. “I have nothing to give her.”

“You can give her your heart, brother,” Aiden said. “Maybe that’s all she wants.”



He looked at her then, really looked, like he was examining something under a magnifying glass. He shook his head when he spoke. “You’d be willing to do that for me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know plenty about you, Brent Pierce. You’re just like me,” she said and blushed. He smiled down at her, touched her cheek with his finger. Her tummy warmed with pleasure. “Y-you want the freedom to live your dream and you want your folk’s acceptance, well at least show respect. You can always help during the summer months like you’re doing now.”

“How did you get to be so wise, young one?”

She fisted her hands on her hips, glared at him. “I’m not much younger than you and besides, women the same age as me are already getting married and having babies.”

There was a glint in his eyes that heated her skin. “And you’d like to get married and have babies.”

“Ah … someday.” She dropped her hands away from his arms, gulped, then took a step back, but he reached for her and hauled her against him. His eyes dropped to her lips. She nearly swooned, dropping lifeless to the hay-covered barn floor. “You ever been kissed proper, Miss Golden?”


He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

She stamped her foot. “I’ve been kissed plenty, Mr. Pierce.” She hated to lie.

“Have you now.”

“Lots of times.” Never. But she wouldn’t let him know that.

“Then you won’t mind one more.”

She couldn’t catch her breath, just licked her lips and stared at his.

“Do you know you’re about the prettiest little filly I’ve ever seen in this valley?”

Her heart was beating so loud she was sure he could hear the bang, bang, bang. She could only shake her head and pray she wouldn’t faint and land at his feet.

Lizzy let her eyes drift closed. She felt his warm breath on her face. Should she pucker up? Why was he taking so long? Wasn’t she kissable enough? Should she open her eyes and see what he was doing?

He shifted, brought her closer. Then she felt his warm, soft lips against her forehead. Her hands trembled as her insides heated like a stove on a cold winter’s morning. If this is what happened when he kissed her forehead, what would happen when he kissed her lips? She’d be a forest fire.


Main character casting:

Carol found this picture that looks exactly like her main characters. What do you think? Do you know of any actors that look similar to this happy couple?

Brent Pierce & Lizzy Golden On their Summer Holiday

Summer Hearts – Book Buy Links:


Visit each and every blog on our tour EVERY DAY and enter to win our fabulous beach-summer-themed prizes and Amazon gift cards!

Don’t forget to enter your name into our GIVEAWAY!!! 

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Book Tour Schedule:
(You can check out posts that have been made during this tour here:
forget! Each author in this tour will be featured once during the tour,
and on her special day there will be all kinds of fun facts to check
out about her and her book!
June 6th: 
Featuring Dreaming in California by Debbie Lee
June 7th: 
Featuring A Summer of Stars by Lisa Watson
June 8th: Featuring
Drowning Sandy by Sarah Daley
June 9th: Featuring Summer Holiday by Carol Malone
June 10th: Featuring Shark Boss by Kathy Bosman
June 11th: Featuring The Best Place to Meet a Man by Robyn Echols
June 12th: Featuring the entire compilation

Summer Hearts, a sweet summer read for your holiday on the beach! Enjoy!


Why did I become a writer?

Sometimes I just want to sit with my head in my hands and moan. “Where is my writing career headed since I don’t have the spark or energy to keep going?” That’s when the other part of me, the more sensible, compassionate, understanding part grips the negative part of me by the back of the collar and, shaking gently, says, “You didn’t choose to write as a career path. It hand-picked you!”

I raised my head and stopped my murmuring. “What the–?” I asked my other half. “But how? I don’t remember writing coming by my house and kicking in the door. I was just taking an intro English writing course at the local community college with no plans to write anything but a boring blog nobody read but me. I wrote non-sense articles, minding my peas and cucumbers. It was like my journal. No stress. No success.”

But the part of me who knows better, I’ll call her Hope, shook her half of my head. “You silly goose. You’ve always had the makings of a writer; you just didn’t want to believe you could.”

Believe. Believe I could. That’s powerful stuff.

I’d been so busy cruising through life on mediocre speed; I’d missed the call from my muse – Hope. So I cuffed my hand to my ear and listened. I had to really concentrate. No distractions.

At first I heard only the annoying springtime bird, some call it a Northern Mockingbird, that delights in belting out his obnoxious serenade at midnight, around the time I’m trying to drift into dreamland. Then my neighbor’s pool equipment made some sucking, gurgling noises and I knew he’d let the level of his pool water get too low. I heard an airplane just taking off or returning to the local airport and wondered if they loved flying up through the clouds above the green, growing farm area we live in. I strained, leaned closer, cupped my ear tighter. But I couldn’t hear my muse.

No. Wait! I heard something. It was like the singing down in Whoville. It started in “low then started to grow.” It was Hope’s voice – the voice of an angel – soft and sweet.Hope “You’ve always been a writer,” she sang. “Believe in your voice and your wisdom. Trust the thoughts you were blessed with. Listen to the melody of your characters who are begging for the chance to change the world with their stories of struggle and triumph. You can change the world one reader at a time.”

My gut started to stutter, and not from eating way too many slices of pizza. This was the real-deal, the earth-shattering kind of change the kind, the starts building in the souls of your feet and doesn’t stop until it pops the top of your head off with ideas. “Wow!” I shouted. “I can feel it!”

Hope took my half of our face between both of our hands and looked me in our eyes. “Just like Dorothy Gale who learned that wanting something wasn’t enough. You have to make things happen. You have to plan, make lists, suffer through set-backs, wade through critique comments, overcome self-doubt, and throw off bad advice from people who don’t have your best interests at heart.” She smiled at me with our dark gray-blue eyes and our generous mouth. “Trust you. Trust your writing. Is it perfect? Absolutely not. Will it get better? You can cash that check at the ATM.” She grinned with the more balanced side of our mouth. “You don’t call me Hope for no reason. You’ll always have Hope.”

I thought about that for a long time. I did have my angel of muse – my Hope, but I’d forgotten to listen to her sweet counsel.

Are you like me?

Do you sometimes fret and endure frustrations when you consider your career, be it writing or digging ditches? Something burns within you – something the world needs. We just have to believe.

Tell me what you want, what you desire most in your life.

Share with me your passion, because sharing makes our passions grow as we help one another.

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