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Author Katie Mettner

Butterfly Kisses

Today's book spotlight is on She Only Speaks to Butterflies by Sandy Appleyard. She Only Speaks to Butterflies is a new release currently available for preorder until May 20, 2015. The genre is sweet Christian romantic suspense. I asked Sandy what inspired her to write this book and she said, "What inspired me to write this story was a Halloween party, a fireman, and a fearful child. I chose the setting because Arkansas is a state that is no stranger to fires, and I have always wanted to write about living in a small town." Read on for an excerpt! 

Book Blurb:

Seven year old Denise and her mother Sherry live in a small town in Arkansas that is suddenly ravaged by fire. Widowed and raising a special needs child alone, Sherry’s priorities exclude romantic relationships, until a new kinship compels Sherry to put her life back into perspective.

The local fire department hires a man with a painful past, who shares a unique bond with Denise. A common interest between them creates trust and opens doors otherwise believed to be closed forever.

Anything is possible, especially when love and faith are present. She Only Speaks to Butterflies is a heartwarming story that helps us see that sometimes modern science isn’t as powerful as the human heart.



A breeze drifted into her room from the open window. Sherry pulled the blankets up tighter to her chin as she slept. Her hand swept absently through the empty spot beside her. The crease in the mattress still held Chris’s shape but hadn’t been warmed by his body in months. Often, her dreams included him, but lately they turned cold and dismal.
Tonight’s dream was no exception. The lilies that lined her garden were quickly wilting. Grass that was once green lay yellowing and crispy on her lawn. As she floated into her home the dreamy haze surrounded her, clouding her view of Baker’s Farm beyond her house.
As she proceeded through the kitchen, Sherry could feel the hair on her forearms suddenly stand up. The chill felt down her spine was juxtaposed by the inherent heat enveloping her. Looking downward she gasped; smoke was billowing around the room. It followed as she made her way to the upper floor. The smell scorched her lungs as she strived to get to the room at the end of the hallway, where her daughter lay.
To her relief, Denise was sleeping soundly, undisturbed by the flames licking up the sides of her bed. Following her instincts, Sherry reached to scoop her daughter up and run, but something stopped her. Under the cloud of gray smoke at her feet was a man’s hand. It pulled at her ankle, preventing her from reaching out.
Suddenly, Denise’s eyes fluttered open. As she witnessed the flames and smoke engulfing her room, she cried out. But her cries fell on deaf ears; it was as if all the wind had been taken from her. No sound would come. Sherry tried to break free from the hand, grasping her seemingly from the depths of hell, but her attempts were futile.
Sherry watched as her seven-year-old continued mutely screaming for help, when suddenly the screams were replaced by the shrieking beeps of an alarm. Bolting upright, she pounded her fist on the alarm clock and wiped her face. It was beaded with sweat and her sheets were soaked. “Jesus Christ.” She swore, pulling her feet down onto the cold wood-planked floor.
Swallowing, Sherry managed to catch her breath. The house was quiet. All that could be heard was the chirping of morning doves as they prattled amongst the trees, waiting for sunrise. Staring at her shaking hands, Sherry observed the tan line where her wedding ring once rested. Looking at her jewellery box, she walked over and sat at her dressing table, glancing into the antique mirror.
The face that was once adorned with smiles looked back at her, shadowed with grief and anxiety in the form of wrinkles and shadows. Her body, that had once been touched tenderly, would never again feel love or new life. Feet that would never dance with a partner again, lay flat against the hard floor. She took the wedding band from the box and placed it on her finger; giving herself permission to pretend for another day.
Hearing a voice, Sherry rose and padded over to Denise’s room. She heard the voice again and walked faster. Could this be it? Has the day finally come? Sherry asked herself, trying to calm the fluttering in her belly. Her heart sank as she opened the door and saw her daughter, lying fast asleep, with her talking Elmo doll wedged against her body, chattering inadvertently.
Sherry chided herself for believing. Today wouldn’t be the day. And probably tomorrow wouldn’t be, either. But one day she knew it would happen. One day it wouldn’t just be in her dreams.


Canadian born, Sandy made her first appearance in 1975. With a Newfoundland heritage on her father's side and English ancestors on her mother's side, Sandy grew up craving to learn more about her background. 

In 1989 she finally visited St.John's Newfoundland and instantly fell in love. Still yearning to see the UK, Sandy took up a special interest in the British royal family, particularly the late Princess Diana, and as such is proud of the large collection of biographies lining her bookcase.

Sadly, her father passed away in 1992, bringing certain heartache but also lighting a candle in a budding author's heart. After her marriage in 2004 and the birth of her first child in 2006, Sandy found herself getting in touch with her creative side and penned her first memoir, about her father, which was published in 2010.

After the fulfilling experience of her first book, she knew there was no turning back. The author of 7 titles and counting, Sandy is living out her dream of writing, and hopes to one day see the world, but until then she'll write about it.

If you would like to learn more please visit

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