$5 Amazon GC Giveaway & Guest Post ♥ What Lainey Sees by: Laura Tobias!

What Lainey Sees - Banner


TITLE – What Lainey Sees
AUTHOR – Laura Tobias
GENRE – cross genre: time travel, romantic suspense, Native American romance
LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 110 K
PUBLISHER – Laura Tobias
COVER ARTIST – Angie-O Creations

PLEASE NOTE: What Lainey Sees is in Kindle Select. And it will be part of a Kindle Countdown August 26, 27, 28 during this three day promo run. – What this means is the book will be on sale at Amazon during this three day blast! It’ll be on sale on AMAZON.COM/.UK ONLY. Sale price: .99 cents all day August 26 and until 6 pm PST August 27. Then up to $1.99 for the remainder of August 27 and all of August 28th. It goes back to its regular price of $3.29 at 8 am PST August 29th.

What Lainey Sees - Cover BOOK SYNOPSIS

Centuries ago, the passion they shared as Native American lovers ended in tragedy. Together again and unaware of their past, can they claim the love that’s rightfully theirs?

Seattle newspaper reporter Lainey Hughes is desperate to find her mother who has disappeared into a doomsday cult sequestered somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. She teams up with Gage Stuart, a jaded cop whose young son is also being held there. As they race up the coast in a kayak searching for their loved ones, Lainey’s visions show her the past . . . the present . . . and the future.

Lives are on the line. Love is within reach. And trust is hard to come by.

What Lainey Sees may help two wounded souls embrace their future . . . but only if they’ll learn from past mistakes.






Guest Post

I am super excited to have not only a fellow author, but a fellow Pacific Northwesterner here today to share in her 3-Day book blast of What Lainey Sees!  So, Laura, I was very intrigued by the synopsis of your book and have to ask: What kind of research did you have to do for your book? Did you enjoy it?

Thanks for having me on your blog and what a terrific question!

I do a lot of research for every book I write and I love it. It’s a joy to explore and lose myself in a topic. The challenge is knowing when to stop. What Lainey Sees required a considerable amount of research and some of it was research I didn’t even realize I was doing at the time.

For instance, I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of past lives. I grew up with grandparents who were deeply interested in metaphysics and psychic phenomenon so it wasn’t unusual for me to read about those subjects from a relatively young age, and to talk about them with family members too. To this day, I read books on metaphysics and spirituality for fun and relaxation. My husband thinks it’s crazy. He’s not into what he calls ‘woo woo stuff.’ I used that dynamic in the story between Lainey – who is psychic – and her love interest, Gage who sides with my husband!

What Lainey Sees isn’t a classic time travel but more of a dual story line where the main characters find themselves living in two distinctly different time periods, and both of those time periods impact and influence the other. In the present day, Seattle newspaper reporter Lainey Hughes is desperate to find her mother who has disappeared into a doomsday cult sequestered somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. She teams up with Gage Stuart, a jaded cop whose young son is also being held there. As they race up the coast in a kayak searching for their loved ones, their past life intrudes. Lainey has visions of being a powerful Indian shaman woman called Bright Eyes and she knows, with certainty, that Gage was her lover in that life – a powerful Nootka warrior named Satsokis. Given that their past life was tempestuous and ultimately tragic, trust is very hard to come by. And while they do have another chance at love, it won’t be easy for them.

I spent years reporting for the CBC and writing freelance for a number of newspapers and those experiences helped me understand and shape Lainey’s character. I also spent years covering the crime beat and many nights riding along with police officers as they worked. That helped me understand Gage’s makeup, and it also provided insight into challenges Lainey and Gage would face when they were on the run from the police trying to rescue their family members.

The Pacific Northwest setting and the decision to give them past lives as Native Americans came to me one summer when our family camped near Long Beach, British Columbia. We visited museums in the area where I was exposed to a variety of Native American artifacts. We saw bears and other wildlife (there were cougar warnings at the time and a cougar plays prominently in What Lainey Sees.) We took a kayak trip and came within touching distance of a massive humpback whale. It was a profound experience that I wanted to include in the story so Lainey and Gage come just as close to a humpback as they head up the coast in their kayak.

As I wrote, I continued to immerse myself in Native American culture of the Pacific Northwest. I travelled to Washington State where I visited the Makah Museum and spent time at Makah Days in Neah Bay. I read a number of books including the actual diary of John R. Jewitt who was captured and held captive by the Nootkas for over two years in the early 1800s. His detailed notes, including names and customs and beliefs, formed the basis for the story of Bright Eyes and Satsokis.

Even when What Lainey Sees was finished and handed off to the editor, I still found myself reading and researching. I suspect some of that material will end up in subsequent books. Likely books with some kind of past life element.

Laura Tobias


She interrupted him. “Hold me, Gage. Just hold me. We could have died back there. My God, what would have happened to my mother?”

There were times to think and times not to think. Like now. Gage shut his eyes and held her. For a minute, he pretended Keven was safe. They were safe. That everything was normal. He inhaled Lainey’s scent, the feel of her breasts beneath her jacket. His hand traced the curve of her hip, the swell of her tight, round ass. Sweet Carolina, she felt good.



She dropped her arms, took his head between her hands and brought his face forward until his lips were within grazing distance of her own. “I . . . want . . . you.” Each word was a puff of heat sliding out from her lips into his.

His body responded in the most elemental way. He wanted her. Bad. He wanted to make this respite from danger last just a little bit longer. But that was his dick talking, and the last time he’d listened, he’d gotten his rocks burned, not off. He inched back and put some space between them. “You’re in shock, Lainey. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She feathered her lips over his. “I’m saying I want you.”

The backs of his knees quivered.

She brushed her lips over his a second time. “You. Gage Stuart.”

“Now who’s teasing?” he asked thickly.

“I’m not teasing, I’m begging.” This lip brush had a little tongue action.

He trembled. He’d told her she would beg for him.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” She licked his lower lip. “Me to beg?”

His mouth was on fire. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do, Gage. This time, I do. Make love to me.” Her eyes were a rich, dark chocolate, heavy-lidded with passion. “I need to forget everything for a little while. Celebrate being alive.” Her arms went under his shirt. “No strings. No ulterior motives. Just two people taking comfort from each other.” Her jacket sleeve was slippery cold against his skin, but her fingers were hot as they grazed his belly, his nipples. He shivered.

He was standing in a cold cave with a warm woman crawling all over him. Wanting him. His need was great, his body was primed, the woman was ready and willing. So why couldn’t he pretend it was just about sex?

Because this was different. The why of it didn’t matter. It just was. He needed Lainey Hughes like he needed his next breath.

Maybe even more.

Author PhotoAUTHOR BIO

By the time she hit Grade Four, Laura Tobias knew she was going to be a writer. So did the teachers. It was the persistent daydreaming and invisible friends that tipped them off. The question was: how could she daydream for the rest of her life and get paid for it? The answer: Trade the crayons for a computer and write those stories down. Oh, and grow up first. She’s managed the first two. She’s still working on the growing up part.

Laura Tobias lives with her family, including two Shetland sheepdogs, in the Pacific Northwest. When she’s not reading or writing she’s either playing in the garden or spying on people at the grocery store. Laura is an award winning author of 19 books for teens and children written as Laura Langston.








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Chapter XII: The Long Way Home


The concept of time could have crumbled off the edges of the heavens and into the abysmal seas of Tartarus, and we never would have known.  Given that it didn’t exist here, it is not entirely untrue to say that we may have walked for half a millennium.  Only now, each step bled both of our memories onto the canvas of the In Between, while my brother told me all about the lives he’d lived.

Completely enthralled, I listened to his many tales.  Of how he’d been an English soldier in the Seventh Coalition at Waterloo.  How he’d once squandered an entire life away as a back alley hustler hooked on heroine in Bangkok.  He’d been a jewelry maker in ancient Mesopotamia, and a model in the 1960’s who’d lost a long battle with booze, drugs, depression and eating disorders, committing suicide at the young age of twenty-two.  The strangest was hearing about him starting another life while I’d still been living my previous one.

“It was just a regular life,” He shrugged, when I pushed him for details.  “I grew up, went to college, met the love of my life, got married, had kids, did the suburbs thing.  We retired on time, traveled a bit, watched our grandchildren grow, it was a good life.  Not one that would make the history books or the headlines.  Just a really good, ordinary life.”

“That sounds far better than making history or the six o’clock news,” I smile.

“Or Interpol’s most wanted?”

“Right!” I laugh with him.

“It all comes back to experiences,” He reminds me.  “When you decide to be born again, to further enrich your complete understanding of all things, you’re not going to want to relive the same experiences you’ve already had.  Why would you?”

“Even if it was a really great life?” I ask.  “A life of dreams come true, those rare ones we hear about sometimes?”

“Even those,” My brother nods.  “You’ll see.  You’ll remember, once you make that choice, what it’s like to go through all of the options in order to see how each one will affect your spiritual growth.”

“Do you think I will choose to be born again?” I ask, not even sure of it, myself yet.

Sighing, he pauses.  Tries to catch the faint glimpses of our combined memories before they can fade from the canvas.  “Yes, I know you will.  I think there are still answers you seek that you can only get from living.  And, the fact that you’re questioning it is an indication.”

“What do you mean?” I inquire.  “You’re saying there will come a time when I won’t question?  Me?  You know who you’re talking to, right?”

Laughing, he bumps his arm into mine, triggering our pleasant stroll to start up again.

“They say it feels like home,” He replies at length.  “Those who stay.  Those who don’t question.  That you arrive to the In Between, greeted by all of your accumulated knowledge and those souls you’ve spent lifetimes forging bonds with, and there is absolutely no doubt in your mind.  You know it.  You’re finally home and there is nowhere in existence you’d rather be.”

Chapter II: More Than One


Somewhere along the journey of reliving myself, of re-birthing and killing myself, the multitude of my lives began to take on more shape and definition.  Spotlighting their range of hues for my perusal, as they saw fit.

Here, I am a young monk.  The epitome of the Renaissance devout in dung-colored robes, a crown of pin-straight hair.  I can smell the heat of melting wax dripping down stems of candelabras mounted to the walls.  Can hear the soft scraping of my companion’s sandals, while we hold to leisurely pace down the dim, stone corridor.  Large, square stones, like the castles of western Europe that can never quite keep the damp out.  He is two decades my senior, at the very least, and I know he’s my mentor.  His tales of devotion enthrall me to my very core, for I am young; filled with passion and the strive for a kind of humbleness I’m still too optimistic to tame.  I haven’t felt the fear of never achieving it, yet.  I’m still in the throws of the fever.  But the demon of doubt is ever patient.  He waits in the gaping chunks of crumbling mortar to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  A plague of unanswerable questions, the contradictions that will inevitably smother the life of passion from my soul.

It explains much about my last life, earmarking it as the one just before it.  I can sense the stranglehold of it.  The bleed-over of deeply rooted things and the affects they would have on who I became as a woman.  A pagan.  A sexual deviant.  I can still feel the power of my defiant convictions against God in my core.  As if he’d wronged me on a far more personal level than my most recent life experiences could justify or ever hope to define.

Yet the climatic encapsulation of these revelations cannot touch me here, or if they have, it’s too faint to notice.  One past life melds into another and I float on.  My thoughts like random strokes of infinitesimal epiphanies.

Life kills.  Isn’t that a clarifying thought?  Put it in black and white, sweep away the gray.  Statistically, it is the number one cause of death in all living things.

At one point, I was abruptly and distractedly aware of the fact that I was unafraid.  That with this secreting grasping of all things endlessly oozing into my spectral brain, I’d somehow skipped the initial moments of disorientation and shock.  I felt no helplessness, no loss of those left behind.  Perhaps, it was because my death had been a natural occurrence and not a sudden end.  Not a violent end.  I knew this truth with the same unquestioning acceptance that I’d come to know all other things.  The way you died held sway over the way you entered the afterlife.

Not the whole of it, of course.  Eventually, we all come to the same place, but the introduction… that’s individual.  I was still there, in this beginning after my last end.  For how long?

“There is no time or space here,” An outside voice stated calmly.

I knew that already, though, so did not seek out the owner of the voice.  It seemed a part of me had been aware of their presence all along, just as I was aware of everything else that was and was not there at all.  This place shifted, remained continuous, held no particles of reason to make any substantial patterns.  Yet it had purpose.  Purpose was the only thing that mattered now and I could feel my curiosity increasing, as the rest of my lives played on and on, a broken reel.