An avid reader since childhood, Sutton was captured early by the written word. As a teenager she filled notebook upon notebook with angsty poetry, and spent many hours making up stories on long walks home from school.      Life intruded before she could seek publication, and she willingly gave herself over to college, employment, marriage, motherhood, and all of the wonderful time consuming things we call life.      Only as she’s gained experience and learned as we all do, to juggle schedules, activities and responsibilities, has she found the time to pursue her passion for writing.      A native Coloradan, Sutton now calls the bluegrass state of Kentucky home. One she happily shares with the love of her life and two cats.      Sutton loves to hear from readers. Please feel free to contact her and let her know if you enjoyed her stories! To learn more about Sutton, check out her website at: http://www.suttonfox.com

Congratulations to Sutton for being a finalist in the 2012 EPIC eBook Awards!

New Title(s) from Sutton Fox

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	Young, beautiful, and certain of her future, Holly Clark fully expected to have a wonderful time attending her mother’s annual Christmas Eve bash. The one thing she didn’t expect—was her own untimely death. Gallery owner and world renowned artist, Greg Marshall is desperate to relive his past. Until he receives a startling visit from a woman he believed to be the love of his life. Her sudden appearance has the power to change everything. Love doesn’t mean what it used to. Can the past really affect the future, or can the future transform the past?
	Excerpt Word Count: 5,100 Pages to Print: 21 File Format: PDF                  Price: $2.99
Reviews    From Reviews by Aubrie
	Glory Dawson needs to catch a break. Thanks to the economic downturn, she’s lost her job, her home, and her child. Just when things can’t seem to get worse, they get weird. A crazy grandmother, muggers, heirlooms, and armor. Armor? Just what a girl needs to save the day. Christian Knight has spent his life trying to make sense of his family’s patriarchal lore. In the process, he’s built a dynasty. It’s given him everything. And nothing. Despite his sibling’s best efforts, he still spends every Christmas, and most of his life, alone. In the search for true love, do two kindred souls look to the future, or the past?
	Excerpt Word Count: 8600 Pages to Print: 29 File Format: PDF Price: $3.99

 

EXCERPTS

Christmas Holly

Manners be damned. One more time would be way too many. Her temper came online just about the time her shoes became visible. Again.      “How much longer do I have to do this?” Holly Clark really wanted to slap the woman standing behind the desk.      “As long as it takes.” Zahara, the administrative assistant responded with a stellar you-are-a-pain-in-the-ass look.      “I’ve been doing it for twelve years!” Impatient, she worked to tamp down the irritation which seemed to swamp her every Christmas Eve. Patience must be part of her penitence; she just had to do her best to ignore it. Along with being named Holly. Around the holidays, the jokes ran non-stop. Imbeciles. Like she hadn’t heard them all already?      “I’m sorry, Holly,” the woman put emphasis on her name, like it wasn’t real or something. “Until you’ve saved ten souls, you can’t go on. Those are the rules.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about. You’ve saved nine already. You only have one more to go.”      “I’d like to talk to your supervisor.” Maybe intimidation would work. She narrowed her eyes, propped her fists on her hips, and gave the woman her strongest I’ll-kick-your-ass glare. “Now.”      The bitch actually had the nerve to roll her eyes.      “Puuuhlleeeeze.” Unfolding her arms, the surly assistant leaned forward, eyes intense. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.” She picked up the clipboard resting on the desk in front of her, along with a copy of Ghosting at Holidays. The official handbook of the only mostly dead. “Look, it’s not my fault you drove off that bridge into the water and drowned.” She held up one hand to forestall any interruption. “I know. You dropped your cell phone while trying to read texted directions to a Christmas party. And yes, that explains the snowberries and golden chains in your hair, the barely there red dress, and those four-inch heeled gladiator sandals which still look hot after all these years. We have the same conversation every Christmas Eve. The boss says you still haven’t quite learned what you need to know. By the time you save your tenth soul, you should understand and be able to move on.”      “As the Ghost of Christmas Future, I can only show them their choices. I can’t choose for them,” she argued. “The last three weren’t even interested in changing their ways. They didn’t even care what became of them as long as they had plenty of money!”      Stubborn could be her middle name. Just ask Mom. Frustration made her groan. Thoughts of her mother made her sad. They’d always had so much fun shopping and wrapping presents, preparing for her mother’s annual fête. A former model, happily married to high profile attorney, her mother held the soiree at a different club every year.      And she hated being reminded of how she’d died. She should have just asked for directions to the party before she left, not been so certain she knew everything. It would have kept her from fumbling around with her phone, and she wouldn’t be here now. She’d be with her mother, and—the past was past. Going over and over it wouldn’t change things. In her world, that was fact.      “That’s true. It’s a different world today.” Admin extraordinaire shrugged her shoulders. “So, it will take as long as it takes.” With a disdainful sniff, Zahara disappeared. “Good luck. And Merry Christmas, Holly.” Her voice echoed eerily through the room.      “Merry frickin’ Christmas to you, too!” she grumbled. People appearing and disappearing in a puff of smoke still unnerved her after all these years. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. What was wrong with ordinary doors?      With a puff of smoke, Tinsel Wilson appeared before her. “Hey, Holly.” He gave her the once over. “How’s my favorite brunette? Still lookin’ good after all these years.”      He reached for her and thankfully, without substance she felt nothing save a brush of cool air. Although she did move away when his hands reached to cup her breasts. The Ghost of Christmas Present creeped her out. He had to be almost double her age, even though he’d only passed on two years ago. Well, the age she’d died at, anyway. No one had to know she was fast approaching forty. She didn’t look a day over twenty-seven. The age she’d been when she’d drowned. Thankfully, there were some benefits to this gig.      “You’re up, pretty girl. I got him nice and worked up for ya.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.      “It’s a man this time?” she queried. Great. Once they got a good look at her, it took at least three visions to get them to focus on anything but sex. “Thanks, Tinsel.” With a snap of her fingers and a puff of smoke, she vanished.                     Back to Christmas Holly

Christmas Knight

Yes, Gloriana, that is a tow truck. She broke into a run as soon as she realized it was her car on the hook. Long strides had her dashing the rest of the way around the corner. “Wait! Wait, that’s my car!” She screamed and waved her arms, doing what she could to get the driver’s attention. “Stop! Stop, please, stop!” Her feet slapped the pavement hard when she leapt off the curb and onto the asphalt roadway. Oblivious to the automobile traffic and any danger to herself, she ran, following the truck halfway down the block. To no avail. Without a traffic light in sight, she didn’t stand a chance. The truck pulled farther and farther away. Huffing and puffing, her shoulders heaving, she inhaled great gulps of frigid winter air. Hands on her hips, Glory Dawson stood in the middle of the street staring in disbelief as her old beat-up Camry faded off into the distance. The blare of a horn from behind her got her moving. “All right! I’m going,” she groused, turning her glare on a shiny silver Mercedes coupe. “Why aren’t you texting someone, for heaven’s sake? Or updating your social media feed? Of course not.” She clenched her fists and all but stomped across the road. “I have to be standing in front of the one person who actually wants to drive.” Holidays just sucked. No two ways about it. She jerked her old coat closed and zipped the zipper up to her chin. Out of the right-hand pocket she pulled a brightly striped knit stocking cap and from the other, matching gloves. She’d gotten them on sale for a dollar at the thrift store last month. They didn’t keep the cold totally at bay, but they helped. Putting her head down into the wind, gloved hands in her pockets, she headed north. Without her car, it would be a much longer trip back to the shelter. Three blocks over and one down, she hurried to make it to the metro stop. Fishing the last of her change out of her jeans pocket, she stepped up behind a small group of teenage girls, each laughing, and carrying shiny shopping bags. The carrier came to a halt near the stop and flipped open its doors. The teens jostled a young woman with a baby in a cuddly carrier as everyone tried to squeeze through to get out of the cold. A couple of businessmen in Burberry knock offs came on behind her, barely looking away from their smartphones long enough to manage the steps. Every seat was taken. Long gone were the days when gentlemen would give up a seat for a lady. That only happened in old movies or romance novels. Thanks to a variety of factors, it was every man, or woman for themselves. Bending her knees a bit to balance as the vehicle lurched forward, she reached one gloved hand up to clasp the leather hand hold. Ignoring the other passengers, she stared out the windows as they passed rows of office buildings, retail shops, and restaurants. Each downtown storefront window worked to outdo its neighbor; brightly lit displays glowed with Christmas trees and ornaments of every kind. Draped in shining white or colored lights, they beckoned weary shoppers. People crowded the sidewalks, hurrying to find the mystical last minute gift that would change a ho-hum holiday into an affair to remember. Once, she’d been a part of that joyous bustling throng. Only two Christmases ago, in fact. But those days were gone. For now. Some days, it seemed for eternity. Her former job as a professional home designer fit her better than the gloves she now wore. Holidays were the toughest. They seemed tailor-made to remind her of all she’d lost. She’d been mostly happy, designing homes for an upscale architectural firm during the day and working her way through college courses in the evening. A single parent, she’d studied after Amy went to bed, struggling to get her degree and become a full-fledged architect. Staying busy helped keep the loneliness at bay. The only thing missing had been a partner to share her life with. Maybe that would have cushioned the blow of losing her job. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter now anyway. Three stops later, she hopped off the metro. The tower clock that kept watch over the downtown area read four thirty-five. A brisk pace carried her four doors down to an upscale consignment shop. Bells jingled as she entered. “Hey, Janie,” she greeted the middle-aged woman behind the counter. “Any luck this week?” Glory held one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers as she asked. If she’d sold the last of her items, she’d be able to get Amy a gift for Christmas. And maybe have enough to get her car out of hock. Although she tried to extinguish it, a single ray of hope flared. A cosmic wish to make everything right again. “A bit.” The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. With practiced ease she unlocked a cabinet behind the counter. From a drawer she retrieved a white business envelope. “Don’t get your hopes up too much.” With a bump and click, she closed and relocked the file. “We didn’t sell everything. Only the velvet pumps and the cashmere sweater.” Janie handed the slim envelope to her. “Cash, just like you requested. Your things are good quality. I’d like to keep the remaining few items for after holiday sales, if that’s all right with you. We might be able to move them by then.” “Sure.” She grasped the payment and fought back the disappointment. At least she’d gotten something. A quick rip had the cash in her hands. She counted the bills. After splitting the take with the store, she’d made ninety-eight dollars. The shoes and sweater had been her most treasured articles of clothing. Gifts. A part of her had hoped they wouldn’t sell. “That’s fine. You can keep them. Thanks, Janie.” With a deep breath she willed the tears not to come. “By the way, can you change a couple of these bills? I need the quarters.” The woman counted out the coins and they exchanged currency. She couldn’t bring herself to wish the woman a happy holiday. “I’ll check in after New Year’s, okay?” Turning on her heel, she pocketed the cash along with the torn envelope, and headed for the exit. “That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Merry Christmas, Glory.” Yeah, right. Merry for some people, maybe. She kept walking. At the door she nodded, saying, “You too, Janie.” Without looking back, she made it to the metro stop just in time to catch a ride across town. This time, after dropping her change in the slot, she found a seat.

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