Authors: Rebecca Brandewyne
reviewers have to say about
Brandewyne creates stellar characters for her MIRA debut!”
Brandewyne has become a legend for her unique gift of creating
unforgettable characters and imaginative narrative. Her tales are as
intoxicating as rare wine...”
in a great while for an author, a book comes along that she knows
instinctively is somehow different from her usual work, special in a
way that she can’t define, can only sense. For me, my new
one of those rare books, for a number of reasons. It’s the kind
of novel—a big, mainstream, contemporary romance—that
I've wanted to write for several years but never had the opportunity
until now. It is an intricately interwoven story that, through its
heroine, Sarah Kincaid, touches on a number of issues that affect all
of us women in our everyday roles as lovers, wives, mothers and
daughters. And last but not least, its hero, Renzo Cassavettes, is
the one man who, out of all the heroes I’ve ever created, I
would most want to know in real life. Renzo and Sarah share the kind
of love that every woman dreams of but is incredibly lucky ever to
find. It is a once-in-a-lifetime bond that endures forever and that
for Renzo and Sarah is symbolized by a butterfly that touches them
both, each in a special way. But like all things, there is a price to
be paid for their love, and the high cost is borne not just by them
alone, but also by the entire town in which
A town whose secrets, sins and scandals threaten to tear the two of
them apart—and, in doing so, draw them together irrevocably.
For theirs is a love as deep and undeniable as it is passionate and
is an epic story about the idealistic, the realistic and the
romantic, about the powerful, the ambitious, and the corrupt, all of
them swept up by catastrophic events that are like a destructive dust
devil blowing into their small, rural town, changing it for always.
But most of all, it is a story about the triumph of the human spirit
in the face of human failures.
am so thrilled and delighted that MIRA gave me the chance to share
this novel with you. I hope you enjoy reading it as much
did writing it.
you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and
destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the
publisher has received any payment for this ‘‘stripped
1-55166-063-6 DUST DEVIL
rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter
invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any
information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the
written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill
Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of
the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing she same
name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual
known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
and the star colophon are trademarks of MIRA Books.
she said all the right things— and at a time when I most needed
to hear them.
much affection and appreciation.
the Roads Run
is sweet music here that softer falls
petals from blown flowers on the earth,
sunbeams on still waters between walls
jagged old rock that once rang with mirth;
that gentlier on the spirit lies
summer breeze o’er tall grass sighs;
that brings passion’s fire ’neath the blissful skies.
are cool mosses deep,
honeysuckle vines that creep,
on the banks the long-leaved willows weep,
in the shadowed woods bluebottles flit and leap.
are we weighed upon with heaviness
utterly consumed with dull distress.
there no rest from constant weariness?
dreams that come on butterfly wings of night
wake eternal yearning for those
days of light
gone, like birds that soar in autumn flight?
wild seed pain grows
brings all our sorrows;
surcease lies in slumber’s holy balm,
comfort in the inner spirit’s prose,
refuge in the calm!”
only emptiness haunt all our tomorrows?
for from the ever-winding road,
wind brings a dust devil of forebode
tear the past’s dark veil aside
sweep aloft all that would hide.
exposed to the sun’s harsh blaze,
sins must out, whether ill or fair;
reckoning doth abide,
ever in the future’s wake.
comes the judgment, demanding full repair.
again, music low doth spake
its allotted length of days;
blossoms ripen in their ways,
and fade, wine-sweet, and fireflies spark
lovers in the silent dark.