| Copyright © 2008, Jane
Toombs Reviews For NORTH OF NONESUCH SERIES by Jane Toombs 4 stars! "With an anthology, there's always the risk that one or more of the stories won't be up to par with the rest in the book. Rest assured, this is not the case with this tome. Toombs delivers three previously published stories (visit RomanticTimes.com for the reviews) and two never-before-seen tales. Each one is better than the last, with a little bit of everything, including shapeshifters and vampires. Plan to settle in for a nice, long read; you won't put this one down until the final page." ~Cindy Himler for Romantic Times BOOKreviews “The North of Nonesuch Anthology gives you six action-packed stories of love, acceptance, betrayal and mystery. The heroes are sexy alpha-males, and the heroines are strong, independent women. The paranormal elements involved are intriguing and keep you turning the pages. Each story is rich and entertaining. Jane Toombs packs an emotional punch to her writing that I find highly refreshing.” Reviewed by Brianna, Bitten By Books Sample Chapter For NORTH OF
NONESUCH SERIES by Jane Toombs
Andrea Johansen pulled her Jeep into the Nonesuch County Historical Museum parking lot and turned off the engine, but didn’t get out. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming three weeks early. Not the museum director, nor even Erik Thorgeld, whose place she was taking. For some reason Erik, her professor when she’d been an archeology student at the University of Minnesota, had chosen her above any other. Jeopardize his trust wasn’t something she would do easily, yet she had no choice, really. If there was any chance Native American remains might be found in a new archeological find, wherever it was, the local area tribe always sent at least one observer to oversee the dig. Often his arrival meant the end of the dig—like at her last site in New Mexico. This time all she’d actually been authorized to do at those intriguing mounds along the Nonesuch River was take electronic and other measurements, plus use a probe if possible. She was taking no chances on being thwarted from doing even that. Not up here in Chippewa country—Anishinabe, to be correct—with two reservations complete with casinos, within fifty miles. That meant excellent tribal funding, so often the observer was not only Native American, but a lawyer. She intended to get in and get out before he showed up. Andrea reached for the door handle, then held, Erik’s words echoing in her head. “Those mounds are the chance of a lifetime for me, and what happens? I get a triple bypass instead.” He’d brushed aside her reminder that he could go there himself by the time her recordings from the site had been evaluated. “Not the same. Although I do appreciate you filling in for me on such short notice. You were my first choice, Andrea. Not only the best student I ever taught, but you’ve got Norse blood, like me. These mounds could be the confirmation I’ve been waiting for ever since that Viking rivet punch was found in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.” After sliding from the jeep, Andrea squared her shoulders and headed for the museum. Yes, it was possible the mounds contained Viking bones, but just as possible any bones might be the remains of the mysterious and ancient people who’d mined copper up here in the long-ago past. She hoped to find something to indicate Erik was right. Otherwise the Native America observer might halt any later attempt at excavation, even though what they called the “Old Ones” were, by their own admission, not ancestors of the Anishinabe. She’d spoken to the Museum Director, Hank Peterson, on the phone. Another Norski, though probably a Swede, since he spelled it son not sen. Worth using? Andrea nodded to herself, relaxing slightly. “You’re the archeologist Dr. Thorgeld is sending us,” Hank Peterson said when she introduced herself. “But you—aren’t you here a bit early?” “Yes. Dr. Thorgeld is naturally impatient for me to get started.” Which was true, even if she twisted the fact for her own purposes. “After seeing your Viking rivet punch, he has hopes of finding more artifacts from that period.” “That would be exciting. How’s he doing?” “Very well. He hopes to be recovered enough to get here himself after the initial findings are assessed.” “I can understand his eagerness, but the problem is we have nothing ready for you, not even a boat to take you up river. I think I told you on the phone that, because of the swamps, there’s no way to get to the mounds by road or even by ATV.” “Since Ojibway is right here on the Nonesuch River, surely there are boat rentals available.” “Well, yes, but you’ll need gear. We haven’t—” “I have my own. I’m accustomed to camping on sites and know exactly what I need.” He frowned. “Today is warm enough, but May is a chancy month up here in the U.P. More like April anywhere else. You’re likely to get rained on. And it can get pretty cold. Besides, it’s an isolated wilderness area.” Andrea smiled at him. “Thanks for worrying about me, but after living in Minneapolis for half my life, I’m pretty well prepared for unsettled May weather. And archeologists are used to isolated areas.” He protested a bit longer before finally realizing there was nothing more he could say or do to change her mind. In the end, he called the boat rental place for her and gave her a copy of a map with directions up the river to the mounds. At the river, Andrea piled her gear into the small motorboat, leaving the Jeep in the boat rental parking lot. At the river’s mouth, where it drained into Lake Superior, the Nonesuch was wider than she’d expected, but as she chugged up-stream the river narrowed. Recent snow melt made for a danger of fallen trees and large branches hidden beneath the high water, so she kept her speed throttled. The afternoon sun warmed her back and glinted on water reddish-brown from the forested clay banks to either side. A pleasant mid-May day. By the time she reached the site, clouds masked the lowering sun. Since the mounds weren’t easy to distinguish from normal land rises in this hilly country, she might have missed them if not for the map. Pulling into the west bank, where she was happy to see a rough landing beach, she cut the motor, climbed out and tied the mooring rope to a tree before unloading her gear. Though she longed to climb at least one of the three rises that only her trained eye told her were mounds, experience made her pick a tent site first. She chose one against a large boulder, out of sight from the river. After setting it up, she stashed almost everything inside, including her high school team baseball bat, something she always carried with her when she camped. The pack of food she brought had to be strung up on a high branch to keep bears away, so she chose a good sized maple with red pre-leaf buds. Evening shadows mantled the ground by the time everything was in place. She eyed the mounds and shook her head. Best to save the climb until morning when she’d be able to see better. Looking around the small clearing that was her campsite, she tried not to feel the mostly evergreen woods were creeping closer. How different this dark forest seemed from the open spaces of New Mexico and Arizona where she’d done most of her archeological work. Despite herself, uneasiness pricked her nerve endings as twilight dimmed her vision and an eerie mist settled over the river. Though she knew better, the sensation grew that something unseen watched her. Not animals—though they might be warily observing. A person? She shook her head. What then? After a time, Andrea tensed. Had something moved inside that river mist, or was she imagining it? Taking a deep breath, she ducked inside the tent and came out with her baseball bat, her gaze intent on the misty river. A canoe glided soundlessly into clear view, pulled up to the bank. A dark figure stepped out. A man. After he hauled the canoe all the way ashore, he turned to face her. She saw he wore his long hair in a single braid down his back. Her fingers loosened on the bat handle. The Native American observer. Damn. Did Peterson call him? |