Third Eye’s a Charm

Release date: 3 March 2014
Third Eye's a CharmLies. Deceit. Denial. A ghost. Must be Wednesday morning.

RoseAngel Dobson—psychic quasi-extraordinaire—uses her telepathic powers to help people and pets at her humane society job. She’ll be the first to admit, though, she’s a masked superhero in this regard, keeping her true colors hidden behind a ringing phone. Helping people—alive or dead—is what she does, and by golly she does it well. So when a darkly mysterious caller with the sexiest voice on the planet calls—accompanied by a ghostly vision of a boy in need—RoseAngel knows she has to find out who this child is, and how to help save him. It has absolutely nothing to do with trying to learn more about the caller who makes her heart do the jitterbug. Nope. Nothing at all.

Travis Mattison is hiding his true identity, going under the alias Trevor Matthews, although the spunky redhead who bumps into him at the grocery store seems to know his real name. He is too close to finishing a three-year ordeal, suffering through a series of events that would put a lesser man in R-wing, and if Ms. Dobson knows who he really is, nothing in his worBUY NOWld will be safe.

Including his life.

As the attraction between them grows, so does the risk. RoseAngel’s life gets upended, while Travis’s is endangered. All RoseAngel has to do to save their future is pinpoint Travis’s location on a map.

Too bad she was probably eating ice cream the day they handed out that ability.

by Dorothy Callahan

Sensuality Level: Sensual

Author Bio:
Dorothy Callahan has always loved both writing and animals, and has finally found a way to blend the two; she accomplishes this by having a lap cat try to type while she does the same. Find Dorothy at, on Facebook at Dorothy Callahan Author, and on Twitter at @Callahanauthor.


An excerpt from Third Eye’s a Charm:

I’m going to divulge my biggest secret: I’m psychic. Really psychic. Now, I’m not saying I’m going to start my own TV show, or work for the police department, because really, I don’t want that kind of attention. Once a psychic’s face gets out there, she’s a bigger attraction than Channing Tatum.

No, I’m much happier channeling my talents to other outlets. And I’m not afraid to admit, my abilities really don’t work that way, anyway. I can see with my “third eye.” I can sometimes hear voices in my head– usually if a deceased person is really trying to get through– and if I have a strong connection, like physically talking to someone, I can actually see through the other person’s eyes, making me a bona fide telepath. It’s wicked cool, for sure, but it totally destroys that whole “phenomenal cosmic power” one needs to become gratuitously rich.

And, trust me, I’ve tried that whole Mega Millions thing. Epic fail.

I reach for the phone at my work station, my hand hovering, waiting and ready. It rings once, then I pick up on the second ring. “Pet Pearls Behavioral Helpline, this is RoseAngel. How can I help your pet today?”

“Hi, Roxanne, this is Bev Stein again. Now my cat keeps getting up on top of my bookshelf and knocking off all my knickknacks. She’s driving me crazy!”

Yup. This is what I do. I can visualize her home, because she’s got the image foremost in her mind. I feel these aren’t just knickknacks to her; they are souvenirs of places she went with her husband before he died of cancer last year. This would be the owner most likely to relinquish her pet, but only because with every broken trinket, Bev will feel like she’s losing a memory of the last thirty-seven years of her married life.

Last time she called, her cat was “rolling around like a floozy.” I explained the importance of spaying her, and the behavior stopped. We have a rapport, now, she and I, and I’m hopeful she’ll listen to me again.

I hone in on her cat, a mischievous brown tiger female of eleven months. I spend about fifteen minutes with Bev, telling her to pack away the valuables—just for now—put some empty boxes up there to block access, add some motion-activated spray deterrents, and above all, to play with her. Even without a sixth sense I can tell she’s a senior citizen, so I inform her that five to ten minutes of high-quality interaction daily should stop the attention-seeking behavior.

Grateful gushing carries over the line, and I give her my name again—RoseAngel, not Roxanne—and tell her I’ll follow up with her in a week.

This might seem like a menial job to some, but right now keeping pets in their homes is my primary goal. It’s better for the pet, it teaches the owner to work through snags in their relationships, and most importantly, it keeps our intake numbers down.