Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Blog Tour: BURYING WATER by K.A. Tucker - Exclusive Excerpt + Giveaway!


I have this intense love for K.A. Tucker that goes beyond words on a page, so I'm super-duper-suuuupeeer excited to bring you guys an excerpt from her latest novel BURYING WATER.

 BURYING WATER is a New Adult Romantic Suspense novel, published by Simon & Schuster and it will blow. You. Away! Check out the excerpt, teasers, and giveaway then stop before you scroll any further and BUY THIS BOOK. 

  Burying Water

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  About BURYING WATER:
The top-selling, beloved indie author of Ten Tiny Breaths returns with a new romance about a young woman who loses her memory—and the man who knows that the only way to protect her is to stay away.

Left for dead in the fields of rural Oregon, a young woman defies all odds and survives—but she awakens with no idea who she is, or what happened to her. Refusing to answer to “Jane Doe” for another day, the woman renames herself “Water” for the tiny, hidden marking on her body—the only clue to her past. Taken in by old Ginny Fitzgerald, a crotchety but kind lady living on a nearby horse farm, Water slowly begins building a new life. But as she attempts to piece together the fleeting slivers of her memory, more questions emerge: Who is the next-door neighbor, quietly toiling under the hood of his Barracuda? Why won’t Ginny let him step foot on her property? And why does Water feel she recognizes him?

Twenty-four-year-old Jesse Welles doesn’t know how long it will be before Water gets her memory back. For her sake, Jesse hopes the answer is never. He knows that she’ll stay so much safer—and happier—that way. And that’s why, as hard as it is, he needs to keep his distance. Because getting too close could flood her with realities better left buried.

The trouble is, water always seems to find its way to the surface.


Exclusive Excerpt:

Chapter 2
Jane Doe
Now

I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know where here is.
I hurt.
Who is this woman hovering over me?
“Please page Dr. Alwood immediately,” she calls to someone unseen. Turning back to look at me, it takes her a long moment before she manages a white-toothed smile. Even in my groggy state, there’s no missing the pity in it. Her chest lifts with a deep breath and then she shifts her attention to the clear-fluid bags hanging on a rack next to me. “Glad to finally see your eyes open,” she murmurs. “They’re a really pretty russet color.” The hem of her lilac uniform grazes the cast around my hand.
My cast.
I take inventory of the room—the pale beige walls, the stiff chairs, the pastel-blue curtain. The machines. It finally clicks.
I’m in a hospital.
“How—” I stall over the question as that first word scratches against my throat.
“You were intubated to help you breathe. That hoarseness will go away soon, I promise.”
I needed help breathing?
“You’re on heavy doses of morphine, so you may feel a little disoriented right now. That’s normal. Here.” A cool hand slips under my neck as she fluffs up my pillow.
“Where am I?” I croak out, just now noticing that bandages are dividing my face in two at the nose.
“You’re at St. Charles in Bend, Oregon, with the very best doctors that we have. It looks like you’re going to pull through.” Again, another smile. Another sympathetic stare. She’s a pretty, young woman, her long, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes a mesmerizing leafy green.
Not mesmerizing enough to divert me from her words. Pull through what exactly?
She prattles on about the hospital, the town, the unusually brisk winter weather. I struggle to follow along, too busy grappling with my memory, trying to answer the litany of questions swirling inside my mind. Nothing comes, though. I’m drawing a complete blank.
Like she said, it must be the morphine.
A creak pulls my gaze to the far corner of the room, where a tall, lanky woman in a white coat covering a pink floral shirt has just entered. With quick, long strides she rounds my bed, drawing the curtain behind her as she approaches. “Hello.”
I’m guessing this is the doctor who the nurse had paged. I watch as she fishes out a clip from her pocket and pins back a loose strand of apricot-colored hair. Snapping on a pair of surgical gloves, she then pulls a small flashlight from her pocket. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure yet.” My voice is rough but at least audible. “Are you my doctor? Doctor . . .” I read the name on the badge affixed to her coat. “Alwood?”
Green eyes rimmed with dark circles search mine for a long moment. “Yes, I operated on you. My name is Dr. Meredith Alwood.”


   
Author PhotoAbout K.A. Tucker: Born in small-town Ontario, K.A. Tucker published her first book at the age of six with the help of her elementary school librarian and a box of crayons. She is a voracious reader, and currently resides in a quaint town outside of Toronto with her husband, two beautiful girls, and an exhausting brood of four-legged creatures.        

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