If you’re looking for a romance that adds just the right amount of history (including some actual historical facts) and  a love for the ages, look no further. Time Swept will sweep you away.—⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Amazon Reader

Time Swept: A Three Sisters Island Mysteries Magical Moment, is author Casi McLean’s latest fun romp through the paradoxes and romance of time travel. When Danica Lane had enough of the perverted Hollywood underbelly, she sought refuge in her late grandparents’ abandoned lake house near Lake Lanier in northern Georgia. Isolated and safe, it was the perfect refuge for the beautiful young woman.

However, 140 years earlier, not long after the Civil War ended, Nathan Hayes was returning to his plantation after selling some pigs at the market when he was accosted by the local detective and was accused of the murder of a young woman found on the edge of his property. Despite Nathan’s adamant assertions he wasn’t even in the vicinity of the plantation at the time of the murder, the detective was convinced he had his man and insisted Nathan would hang for the vile crime. Overpowering the detective and running, Nathan seeks shelter in an old stone storage shed that nobody knows about. It is here the timelines of Danica and Nathan intersect and romance forged across the years.—⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Reviewed by Grant Leishman

WHAT LIES BENEATH THE COVER OF TIME SWEPT? HERE’S A SNEAK PEEK.

 

Time Swept

Prologue

April 21, 1883

“I said…look at her, Mr. Hayes.”

Chubby hands clenched Nathan’s shoulders and shoved him forward. The terror still lingering in her vacant blue eyes etched into his mind, and he knew the vision would haunt him for years to come. Nauseated at the gruesome scene, he averted his gaze toward the peachy-pink sky reflecting across the river as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. “For the love of God, I don’t know her.”

Detective Baker harrumphed. “I assure you, son, this murder had nothing to do with the love of God. If I don’t get some answers, I promise you’ll hang.” He tugged on the rope, tightening the knot around Nathan’s wrists, and pushed him toward the woman’s corpse. “The preacher found this little lady on the riverbank close to your property. The stains on your sleeve and your vest”—he jabbed a finger into Nathan’s chest—“tell a different story. And how do you explain the blood in your barn?”

Hands tied behind him, Nathan yanked away from the portly detective’s grasp. “That poor woman was butchered. If I had anything to do with her death, don’t you think I’d be drenched in blood, too? Not simply a smudge on my sleeve and vest?” His thoughts spun. He had no idea how this woman met her fate and ended up on the riverbank near his homestead. How could he make Baker believe him? “If someone was pursuing her, perhaps she ran and hid in my barn.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was in Dahlonega.”

“And the blood trail near your hayloft? Can you explain that?”

“Pigs.”

“What did you call me?” Baker grimaced.

“Not you. This”—he lowered his gaze and peered at his chest—“is pig blood mixed with a bit of my own.” He sneered.

“Right. And your pigs just happened to bleed in your barn, too?” Baker huffed.

A flush of anger seethed up his neck. “You know farms around here never recovered from the war. I finally resorted to raising pigs, and live pigs are not easy to transport to the market.” He didn’t mention the rows of grapes on the other side of the hill. For the last three years, he’d bottled and sold his wine to several hotels. With any luck, the business would grow enough to replace the pig slop he’d dealt with to survive.

“My understanding is pig farmers slaughter and sell the meat in November, not April.” Baker rested his fists on his waist.

“Yes, but what if the farmer needs money in April? I hauled some hogs to sell in the Dahlonega market several days ago, and when I herded them from the pen, a young pig cut his hide on the barbed wire fence. I took him into the barn to clean and tend to his injury, and the damn animal bit my wrist.” Nathan paused but saw no sign Baker believed a word Nathan uttered. “Festering wounds on a pig at market don’t bring in as much cash.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I couldn’t have killed that girl. I just returned an hour ago.”

 “Uh huh.” Baker raised an eyebrow. “So you say. But you got no proof, Mr. Hayes. And circumstantial evidence proves otherwise. Looks like you, son, will be our guest in the city jail.”

Nathan cringed. Stop calling me son. Panic set in as he realized he’d need solid proof of his innocence. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Wait, look in my pocket.” He hitched his chin toward the right side of his pants. “I have money from the pig sale.”

 Baker let out a bellowing laugh. “Was that what you were after when you killed this young woman? Money makes an excellent motive. You best spend your energy finding a good solicitor—like that young Atlanta whippersnapper, Woodrow Wilson.” He chuckled.

Nathan scowled. “I told you. I sold some pigs.” He worried about the corruption seeping into the city’s law and order and refused to become Baker’s scapegoat for this murder. The only way to prove his innocence was to track down the real killer—which would never happen if Baker took him to jail.

“Let’s see what you got there.” Baker reached into Nathan’s pocket and withdrew a roll of cash, then he flashed a glance at the dead woman. “She’s dressed right nicely, don’t you think? Looks like her daddy is well-to-do. I think I should keep this money—for evidence.” He stuffed the wad into his pocket. “When Cooper returns with the wagon, we’ll take this poor girl back to the mortuary in Gainesville and try to find out who she is.” He squinted, then kneeled. “Hmm. What do we have here? She’s clutching something in her hand.”

Heat burned into Nathan’s cheeks, and his panic hit a crescendo. He lifted a boot and kicked Baker in the back as hard as he could, sailing the detective headfirst across the dead body.

Sprawling over the corpse, Baker pushed upward, spitting expletives. “Why you little—”

Wrists still tied behind his back, Nathan spun and sprinted toward the woods as hard and fast as his legs could carry him. He knew the forest near his property better than anyone. The river would wash away his scent, making him difficult to track. He’d disappear deep inside the dense woodlands. If he could just make it to the old stone cellar, no one would find him there, and that would give him precious time to discover who murdered that poor woman—and find proof to clear his name.

Chapter 1

 Present Day

Twilight dusted the evening sky as Danica Lane slowed the car and turned onto the long dirt road that led to her grandparents’ cabin. Cuyler would never find her here. He had no idea where she grew up—or her real name, for that matter. A new phone and a rented car under her true identity would make tracking her virtually impossible. She’d pondered the precaution after watching the movie, Sleeping with The Enemy, but she never dreamed her backup plans would save her life.

She gazed into the rearview mirror and let out a sigh of relief. Seeing the highway disappear into the distance, she felt the tension drain from her neck and shoulders. She hadn’t visited the lake house in years. The distance between Los Angeles International Airport and Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport made a quick weekend trip difficult, but adding another two-hour drive to North Georgia meant carving too much time out of Dani’s schedule to make the trip practical.

Not that she wouldn’t have loved to see her grandmother again. Grana and Papa raised her, but Dani’s Hollywood aspirations had her laser-focused. And, as her biggest fans, they encouraged her dedication. The thought of losing them never crossed her mind. Once she made a name for herself, she’d promised to visit them for a celebration.

The day Police Chief Sosebee called to inform her of the car accident, Dani’s heart broke. Guilt consumed her for brushing aside the importance of the only family she remembered. But, after the funeral, she returned to Los Angeles and forced the painful incident into the dusty corners of her mind, determined to live each moment exclusive of the past or future. Unfortunately, the reality of that choice proved far less successful than the concept.

Dani shook her head and dismissed the reminder. She slowed the car to a crawl. Leaning forward, she mused at fireflies glittering within the forest glen. The vision brought back pleasant childhood memories of catching lightning bugs. Delighted by a Mason jar of gleaming insects, she’d run straight to Grana and Papa to show off her catch before letting them fly home.

A gaze upward beyond the thick forest had her mesmerized by countless stars twinkling across the darkening sky. As a little girl, she never noticed the beauty and tranquility secluded in this hidden cove. Now, she needed the peace and quiet the cabin would provide. Time to unravel and process the last few weeks and determine what she truly wanted in life. The only thing she knew for sure was becoming an actor in the plastic Hollywood world no longer held her dreams.

Fleeing LA, with her emotions on overdrive, she hadn’t planned to drive cross-country. Escaping her situation was all that mattered. When she saw the opportunity to run, she took off and never looked back. She just kept driving. By the time she reached Phoenix, she’d ruminated over how deviously Cuyler sucked her in, and she berated herself for falling for his BS. By Dallas, Dani’s instincts had kicked in and pointed her toward the one place she’d always felt safe—home. Two thousand thirty miles and three days later, she arrived in Forsyth County and breathed a sigh of relief.

When the road narrowed, she knew the lake house was close. She slowed and opened the driver-side window. Twigs and leaves crackled beneath the tires, and she sniffed the aroma of the jasmine and lavender floating on the cool night air. How many times had she breathed in that wonderful scent?

The road crested, revealing the narrow drive that blossomed into the tip of the peninsula. Papa had built the beautiful lake house in the nineteen sixties as a wedding gift for Grana, and it was the only home Danica had ever known.

As she approached the dwelling, a chill crept down her back. The moonlight cast a silver-white aura around the structure, and she saw how the once beautifully manicured property had run down in her absence. Shrubs invaded the front porch and all but hid the entrance. Ivy vines and jasmine grew wildly over flower beds and clung to the porch railing and stone façade. With no one tending to the grounds over the past five years, she expected some overgrowth, but not to this extent. The house looked sad—and would devastate Papa and Grana. A surge of anxiety swirled into Dani’s stomach. I’m so sorry.

She sucked in a breath and dismissed the assumptions bubbling through her thoughts. A little cosmetic surgery would perk up the property in no time. She could handle that.

Parking the car in front of the garage, she peered at the lake. Moonbeams reflecting off the soft current glistened across the surface. She turned off the engine, grabbed her phone, and stepped outside. After inhaling a lungful of the cool, clean autumn air, she stretched to relieve her stiff, weary body. Her gaze drifted to the dock, gently rocking back and forth. She strolled toward the lake, scanning the shore from Two Mile Creek Park to Three Sisters Island and then toward Dawsonville and the North Georgia Mountains. Even at night, the vista took her breath away. The view was a far cry from the hustle bustle of LA.

Dani pressed the flashlight feature on her phone, turned, then wandered around the property, careful to avoid any pitfalls hidden in the overgrowth. She hadn’t thought to turn on the utilities. That would have required foresight, or at least a phone call somewhere along the way. Power and water would have been nice, but she’d worry about that tomorrow—along with a laundry list of other issues. Right now, all she needed was a comfortable bed and a good night’s sleep.

Gaze lifting, she marched up the steps to the deck and kicked away a snowdrift of leaves burying the bottom half of the French doors, then she reached for the lamp on the right side and pressed the bottom screw to pop open the hidden key box. When a key slid upward, she smiled, remembering how impressed she’d been when Papa showed her his invention after Dani misplaced her first key. “Some things never change.” She pushed open the door. “Thankfully.”

With her peripheral vision, she saw a glimmer through the left window and jerked her head toward the light. A small flicker…perhaps a tea light…just beyond the kitchen. Heart pounding, she slipped inside and crept toward the candlelight. Had a squatter commandeered the house in her absence? If so, he or she might be dangerous. Her thoughts spun. No way could Cuyler have found her. He didn’t have the resources—or the intelligence—to track a ghost identity. Aside from a striking appearance and charm, his only attribute was his conniving manipulation.

She slipped off her shoes and padded forward, remembering to sidestep the creaking floorboards in the hallway. As she tiptoed closer to the glimmer, a cold sweat slithered down her arms. Peeking into the candlelit room, she saw a man sitting at a small desk.

He scribbled something on a yellowed sheet of paper, then placed his pen next to the note.

Dani leaned forward but couldn’t see his face. Back pressed against the wall, she edged closer. Who is this guy? More importantly, what is he doing in my house? Inch by inch, she crept toward him, and with each step, confusion muddled her thoughts. She peeked around the corner and took a quick stride to maintain her balance. The floor creaked—in a spot she didn’t expect. Dani scanned the room for something to defend herself, but her vision blurred. No longer did she see the living room of her home. Instead, she was in a blurry cellar with a single lit candle on an antique desk.

The man stood and spun. “Who’s there?” Dressed in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, baggy cuffed pants that cinched at the waist, and stockinged feet, he squared his stance. “Show yourself.” He stared straight ahead, then snatched a letter opener from the desk. White knuckled, he gripped the instrument tightly in his hand.

A sudden wave of vertigo spun her into a nauseated stupor. “Why…are you in…my house?” Head swimming, she rubbed her eyes, then glared as the shadowy room faded into a translucent haze, mingling with the great room she recognized. Her confusion deepened. What was happening? Exhaustion? Had the last week’s ordeal taken a toll? Gaze still fixed on the strange illusion, she felt an odd, almost magnetic fascination. The man mesmerized her. His brown, wavy hair, sapphire-blue eyes, and soft features held her spellbound—until the stream of dizziness swirled her into oblivion.

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