Sheriff Quinn Colson and his former deputy Lillie Virgil find themselves on opposite sides of a case for the first time after a woman is found dead and three delinquent teens go on the run. Before he was an Army Ranger who came home to become Tibbehah County Sheriff and take down a corrupt system, Quinn Colson was a kid who got into trouble--a lot of it. So when juvenile delinquent TJ Byrd insists that she doesn’t know who killed her mother—an unreliable addict who has disappeared—Quinn’s inclined to believe her. But no one else does--not the town, not the sheriff in a neighboring county, not her mother’s older boyfriend, and certainly not Quinn’s friend and former deputy, U.S. Marshal Lillie Virgil. The Byrd family has always been trouble, and sixteen-year-old TJ is known for petty theft, fighting, and general hellraising. She’s also no fool, and when she senses she’s about to take the fall for her mother’s murder, TJ, her boyfriend, her best friend, and her nine-year-old brother go on the run. As Lillie Virgil tracks the kids across a trail of burglaries, stolen cars and even a kidnapping, intent on bringing TJ to justice, Quinn sets out to find the truth back in Tibbehah. Someone has gone to a lot of violent trouble to make TJ and her friends the logical target of the investigation. It’s easy, and who cares about a bunch of lawless kids? As the bloody evidence against TJ piles up, Quinn knows someone truly evil is at work here--and that puts TJ and her friends in more danger than they can imagine.

All Heathens is a declaration of ownership—of bodies, of histories, of time. Revisiting Magellan’s voyage around the world, these poems explore the speaker’s Filipino American identity by grappling with her relationship to her family and notions of diaspora, circumnavigation, and discovery. Whether rewriting the origin story of Eve (“I always imagined that the serpent had the legs of a seductive woman in black nylons”), or ruminating on what-should-have-been-said “when the man at the party said he wanted to own a Filipino,” Chan paints wry, witty renderings of anecdotal and folkloric histories, while both preserving and unveiling a self-identity that dares any other to try and claim it.

I tell of a time, a place, and a way of life long gone. For many years I have had the urge to describe that treasure trove, lest it vanish forever. So, partly in response to the basic human instinct to share feelings and experiences, and partly for the sheer joy and excitement of it all, I report on my early life. It was quite a romp. So begins Mildred Kalish’s story of growing up on her grandparents’ Iowa farm during the depths of the Great Depression. With her father banished from the household for mysterious transgressions, five-year-old Mildred and her family could easily have been overwhelmed by the challenge of simply trying to survive. This, however, is not a tale of suffering. Kalish counts herself among the lucky of that era. She had caring grandparents who possessed—and valiantly tried to impose—all the pioneer virtues of their forebears, teachers who inspired and befriended her, and a barnyard full of animals ready to be tamed and loved. She and her siblings and their cousins from the farm across the way played as hard as they worked, running barefoot through the fields, as free and wild as they dared. Filled with recipes and how-tos for everything from catching and skinning a rabbit to preparing homemade skin and hair beautifiers, apple cream pie, and the world’s best head cheese (start by scrubbing the head of the pig until it is pink and clean), Little Heathens portrays a world of hardship and hard work tempered by simple rewards. There was the unsurpassed flavor of tender new dandelion greens harvested as soon as the snow melted; the taste of crystal clear marble-sized balls of honey robbed from a bumblebee nest; the sweet smell from the body of a lamb sleeping on sun-warmed grass; and the magical quality of oat shocking under the light of a full harvest moon. Little Heathens offers a loving but realistic portrait of a “hearty-handshake Methodist” family that gave its members a remarkable legacy of kinship, kindness, and remembered pleasures. Recounted in a luminous narrative filled with tenderness and humor, Kalish’s memoir of her childhood shows how the right stuff can make even the bleakest of times seem like “quite a romp.”

He's almost a priest, and I guess even holy men can fall...Lily Damewood is trying (and failing) to claw her way out of her dark memories. Her weekly visit to Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris is supposed to be a way to help her move forward, even though she's far from the praying type. She catches the eye of Salem Tempest, a seminary student at Notre Dame.When an unlikely friendship forms between them-followed by a white hot attraction they desperately try to ignore-a revelation shakes them both to their core. Lily and Salem soon find themselves connected in powerful and unexpected ways. Turns out, Lily isn't the only heathen, and Salem is just the right person to stoke the fire within her, despite his sacred vow of celibacy...HEATHENS is book 1 of the HEATHENS series. Book 2, MONSTERS, will release in May, 2021.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Fallon, who was taken far away from home shortly after she was born. A home that held more than strange traditions and bizarre superstitions.Twenty-four years later, she returned to Weeping Hollow, a haunting town she'd only heard about in stories during restless nights under a marble moon, to meet her last living relative.They called her a freakshow--a ghost. They said I couldn't go near her. Still, there was this aching pull to Fallon Grimaldi that I couldn't escape. A nostalgic pull as if we'd been here before. Once upon a time, there lived a mysterious man named Julian with a curse as old as centuries wrapped around his soul. He was one of the four Hollow Heathens, the very dark creatures who caused the town's people to live in fear. And the Blackwell name was stained with darkness and death. They called him a monster. Cold and hollow. They said I shouldn't go near him. Still, there was this aching pull to Julian Blackwell that I couldn't escape. A nostalgic pull as if we'd been here before.