Burying Water by @kathleenatucker {release day + review + giveaway} @InkSlingerPR

It’s finally here! We are so excited to bring you the Release Day Launch for K.A. Tucker’s BURYING WATER!
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Check out the review, teasers, excerpt, and giveaway then run–don’t walk–to your nearest retailer!

BuryingWater_coverWhen I heard this book takes place in Oregon I knew I wanted to read it. It wasn’t until I cracked open the book that I realized it dealt with a girl who has amnesia. I’m not a fan of books that deal with amnesia but this book is the exception. It’s true, what they say about writing and storytelling skills making all the difference in a story -> if it will excel or fail. Not once during this story did I regret reading it. I was compelled to keep flipping pages.One thing I appreciated about “Burying Water” is the way the story unfolded. It wasn’t a story about the reader discovering the mystery on how Water ended up with amnesia but instead a story of how she unravels the mystery behind what happened to her. As a reader we know ‘who’ and we have an idea of ‘why’ she has amnesia and our part in the story was to watch Jesse andWater fall in love twice. Once in the past and the other in the current time frame.

The story is told with Jesse narrating the past events and Water narrating the present events. One chapter we are in the past and the next we are in the present. The past and present povs transition smoothly.

Water is left for dead in a rural area in the high desert of Oregon. She’s been raped, beaten and disfigured. When she comes to in the hospital no one has claimed her. Abandoned and alone Water has to start a new life. One where she must trust the kindness of strangers. As a survivor she quickly learns to thrive in her new environment.


Burying Water is a darker tale about the power of love. For those movie buffs -> think of a darker, deeper love story of “50 First Dates” (circa 2004). I love that movie because it was funny and showed how far a guy in love would go for the girl he loved. Same basic concept but done in a darker love story where the guy is willing to risk it all for the one who has captured his heart. *happy sigh* I love stories like that where the hero is totally devoted to his girl. When you need a more complex love story read this one.

On a side note, if you come to Oregon to visit make sure to visit Sisters and Bend. While in Sisters earlier this summer we decided to take a family picture with the mountains in the background when a wildfire broke out (wildfires are common in Oregon). Plumes of brown smoke started filling the sky. The next thing we heard was the sirens from the firetrucks tearing down the streets. A total of 6,908 acre were on fire and the sky was a bright orange. Below is a cool wedding picture taken with the wildfire in the background. It made national news so you may have already seen it.


Release date: 10/7/2014
Pre-order | order: http://amzn.to/1rTFdNt

Burying Water by K.A. Tucker
To find when the next one is being released click here.

**Complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.**

Goodreads review including the status updates -> http://bit.ly/1rVW2r8

BURYING WATER is a New Adult Romantic Suspense novel, published by Simon & Schuster and it will blow. You. Away!


AMAZON ** Barnes & Noble ** iBooks ** Kobo ** IndieBound


Prologue | Jesse | Now

This can’t be real . . . This can’t be real . . . This can’t be real . . . Burying water Teaser 2

The words cycle round and round in my mind like the wheels on my speeding ’Cuda as its ass-end slips and slides over the gravel and ice. This car is hard to handle on the best of days, built front-heavy and overloaded with horsepower. I’m going to put myself into one of these damn trees if I don’t slow down.

I jam my foot against the gas pedal.

I can’t slow down now.

Not until I know that Boone was wrong about what he claims to have overheard. His Russian is mediocre at best. I’ll giveanything for him to be wrong about this.

My gut clenches as my car skids around another turn,the cone shape of Black Butte looming like a monstrous shadow ahead of me in the pre-dawn light. The snowy tire tracks framed by my headlights might not even be the right ones, but they’re wide like Viktor’s Hummer and they’re sure as hell the only ones down this old, deserted logging road. No one comes out here in January.

The line of trees marking the dead end comes up on me before I expect it. I slam on my brakes, sending my car sliding sideways toward the old totem pole. It’s still sliding when I cut the rumbling engine, throw open the door, and jump out, fumbling with my flashlight. It takes three hard presses with my shaking hands to get the light to hold.

I begin searching the ground. The mess of tread marks tells me that someone pulled a U-turn. The footprints tell me that more than one person got out. And when I see the half-finished cigarette butt with that weird alphabet on the filter, I know Boone wasn’t wrong.

“Alex!” My echo answers once . . . twice . . . before the vast wilderness swallows up my desperate cry. With frantic passes of my flashlight, my knuckles white against its body, I search the area until I spot the sets of footprints that lead off the old, narrow road and into the trees.

Frigid fingers curl around my heart.

Darting back to my car, I snatch the old red-and-blue plaid wool blanket that she loves so much from the backseat. Ice-cold snow packs into the sides of my sneakers as I chase the trail past the line of trees and into the barren field ahead, my blood rushing through my ears the only sound I process.

The only sign of life.

Raw fear numbs my senses, the Pacific Northwest winter numbs my body, but I push forward because if . . .

The beam of light passes over a still form lying facedown in the snow. I’d recognize that pink coat and platinum-blond hair of hers anywhere; the sparkly blue dress that she hates so much looks like a heap of sapphires against a white canvas.

My heart freezes.

“Alex.” It’s barely a whisper. I’m unable to produce more, my lungs giving up on me. I run, stumbling through the foot of snow until I’m on my knees and crawling forward to close the distance. A distance of no more than ten feet and yet one that seems like miles.

There’s no mistaking the spray of crimson freckling the snow around her head. Or that most of her long hair is now dark and matted. Or that her silver stockings are torn and stained red, and a pool of blood has formed where her dress barely covers her thighs. Plenty of footprints mark the ground around her. He must have been here for a while.

I know that there are rules to follow, steps to make sure that I don’t cause her further harm. But I ignore them because the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me I can’t possibly hurt her more than he already has. I nestle her head with one hand while I slide the other under her shoulder. I roll her over.

Cold shock knocks the wind out of me.

I’ve never seen anybody look like this.

I scoop her limp body into my arms, cradling the once beautiful face that I’ve seen in every light—rage to ecstasy and the full gamut in between—yet is now unrecognizable. Placing two blood-coated fingers over her throat, I wait. Nothing.

A light pinch against her lifeless wrist.Nothing.

Maybe a pulse does exist but it’s hidden, masked by my own racing one.

Then again, by the look of her, likely not.

One . . . two . . . three . . . plump, serene snowflakes begin floating down from the unseen sky above. Soon, they will converge and cover the tracks, the blood. The evidence.Mother Nature’s own blanket to hide the unsightly blemish in her yard.

“I’m so sorry.” I don’t try to restrain the hot tears as they roll down my cheeks to land on her mangled lips—lips I had stolen plenty of kisses from, back when I was too stupid to realize how dangerous that really was. This is my fault. She had warned me. If I had just listened, had stayed away from her, had not told her how I felt . . .

. . . had not fallen wildly in love with her.

I lean down to steal a kiss even now, the coppery taste of her blood mixing with my salty tears. “I’m so damn sorry. I should never have even looked your way,” I manage to get out around my sobs, tucking the blanket she loved to curl up in over her.

An almost inaudible gasp slips out. A slight breeze against my mouth more than anything else.

My lungs freeze, my eyes glued to her, afraid to hope. “Alex?” Is it possible?

A moment later, a second gasp—a wet, rattling sound—escapes.

She’s not dead.

Not yet, anyway.



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KA tucker Author PhotoAbout K.A. Tucker: Born in small-town Ontario, K.A. 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.

CONNECT with K.A.: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Author Goodreads | YouTube | Novel Goodreads | Pinterest | Instagram


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