Publication Date: July 28, 2012
Love, obsession, and betrayal, the most powerful human emotions, are spun together in this gothic novel. Tandie Harrison is a police medium who has just suffered a divorce after losing both her psychic visions and her daughter in a car accident. When she leaves New York City to start a new life near her hometown, she moves into the alluring plantation house, Chelby Rose, and falls for its charismatic caretaker, Eric Fontalvo. Their burgeoning affair ignites a centuries old curse, ensnaring them in a web of danger, deceit, and intrigue. Soon Tandie learns that in placid Bolivia, the worlds of the living and the dead are dangerously connected.
Hacienda Moon is a seductive tale of one woman’s journey to confront the demons of her past and find the courage to face her future. It is a mesmerizing novel that explores the deepest depths of human nature, and the characters will hold and haunt you long after you have read the final chapter.
Eric Fontalvo began Tandie’s renovations the following Monday. He arrived with an armory of tools and gadgets, setting to work with a tape measure as quietly as he did the first time he came by. Tandie’s curiosity was killing her. She wanted to know more about why this handsome stranger appeared in her novel and her dreams.
After spending Saturday night with Saul, a man who seemed to be handling quite a few issues himself, she craved something normal. One thing Frieda was right about: there wasn’t a shortage of eye candy in her life at the moment.
Dressed in ripped jean shorts, an old tee-shirt, and a blue bandana that would scream gang-girl if she were ever spotted in public, Tandie walked outside. The outfit wasn’t too New Yorker, and it had just enough grit to compliment any job a contractor might need for her to do. On the first day she arrived at Chelby Rose, she’d promised herself that she would put her own personal touches on any renovations.
“Um, Ms. Harrison, what are you doing?” Eric’s face bore an amused smirk underneath his smile. He also had a slight accent covered up by his well-spoken English.
At first, the accent in his voice sounded somewhat southern. But after listening to the next few sentences, Tandie thought it sounded more Puerto Rican or South Columbian.
“Isn’t that obvious? I’m going to paint. Do you have issues with that?” Tandie asked, slightly annoyed by his smirk.
“Course not. It’s your place. I just thought you’d—want to be writing.” He flipped a strand of hair away from his face. Tandie wondered if he was going to move the one beside it too.
“That’s exactly why I need to be out here. I need inspiration.” Tandie pranced over to the two five-gallon paint buckets Eric had lined up along the front porch. She pulled out her paintbrushes and counted them. One of the six that came in the pack was gone. “Crap. One is missing.”
He cleared his throat before speaking. “Far be it from me to keep a lady from her mission, Ms. Harrison. But, you’re going to paint with those?”
“What’s wrong with my paintbrushes?” Tandie asked, glancing down at her hands. She took her time picking them out at the hardware store.
“Not a thing if you’re doing a paint-by-number job, that is.” A grin was creeping across his face. “Those are touch-up paint brushes. As in, you paint little tiny sections with them. Not the best thing for covering 200-square-feet of siding.” Tandie frowned and glanced at her brushes. They were super small compared to the ones he had laid out on the ground. They glanced back at each other. He burst out laughing, and so did Tandie.
“Well why didn’t you say something before now?”
“Sorry, Ms. Harrison,” he said and tried to straighten out his face.
“And please, lay off all the Ms. Harrisons. I mean, that sounds so grandmotherly,” Tandie said. He gave her a tight smile and then turned his head toward his toolbox.
“All right, Tandie it is. At least let me help you with those.” He grabbed the buckets much to Tandie’s relief and set them down on the porch. “Painting can be trickier than it looks. The house has to be sanded first.”
Tandie was determined to not let him see her squirm in her moment of renovation stupidity. Translation, she was completely dependent on this contractor. Plus, there was something about this guy that made her feel like it was all right to be somewhat needy. “I appreciate your offer, but I suspect painting doesn’t come anywhere close to writer’s block.”
He set down two more of the heavy buckets after moving them out of the sun, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and glanced at Tandie with his intense chameleon-eyed gaze. Yeah sure, it was no secret that she had strange two-toned eyes, but Eric’s did amazing things. The pupils changed colors depending on the way and type of light that hit them.
“Somehow, I believe you can handle some pretty fierce writing issues.” His voice came out low and raspy and the tee shirt he wore stuck to his abs, all six glorious packs of them. Perfect wasn’t a word that came anywhere close to describing Eric Fontalvo.
“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mr. Contractor.”
“Ooh, I get it. You can use old-fashioned greetings on me, but not the other way around,” he said with a smile spreading across his heart-shaped mouth.
Tandie shrugged. “It doesn’t count for work titles, only when you use someone’s last name.”
Eric smirked and made a small laugh. “How convenient.” He bent down, picked up his tool belt, and then stood up, leaving a small amount of space between their faces. He was ruggedly handsome in a subtle way minus the cockiness that made Saul Chelby so popular with females. But even with Saul’s confidence and rich boy looks, this guy held his ground with ease.
“What’s so convenient?” Tandie asked.
“That I’m stuck with an assistant who makes words and rules up for a living.” Moving around Tandie, he said, “I’m heading inside to take a look at those pipes. I’m sorry that you got all dressed up in those shorts for no reason.” He strolled toward the house, leaving Tandie outside.
“Okay. Maybe I gave you too much praise, a little too early,” she whispered to herself and headed toward the house.
About The Author:
KaSonndra Leigh was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. She now lives in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, North Carolina. She likes to write about people doing fantastical things in magical worlds. Her two sons have made her promise to write a boy book next.
She holds the MFA in creative writing, and loves to play CLUE, Monopoly (the Indiana Jones version), and Pandora’s Box (good writer’s block therapy). She lives in an L-shaped house with a garden dedicated to her grandmother. It has a secret library complete with fairies, Venetian plastered walls, and a desk made out of clear blue glass.