I think every day until my splint comes off, I’m going to gripe. Today, I have a bumpy rash between my fingers. After I shower, I’m going to leave off the splint and let my hand dry with some anti-yeast cream to see if that helps. My fingers being forced together all day is likely making it humid there. *whine-whine-whine*

I pushed around a vacuum cleaner with my hip and left hand yesterday. Tried to dust, but it took too long, so I decided I’d live with the dust until I can bribe a grandkid to do it for me. I directed the cleaning of Loki’s fish tank, but my daughter was horrified by the smell of fishy water and the poop. Again, I’ll bribe another kid to help with that, too. *whine-whine-whine*

I wish I’d broken my left hand because I can’t write with my left, so I’m abandoning my planner for the time being. *whine-whine-whine*

Tonight, after I do some real work today (editing), I’ll clear my desktop which has been a gathering place for coffee mugs and mail I can’t open without ripping it to shreds. All my scissors are naturally right-handed. I’ll give the 9-year-old my letter opener and have her go to town opening all my mail and laying it on my newly cleared desktop. *whine-whine-whine*

EVERYTHING IS A FUCKING PROCESS THAT HAS TO BE PLANNED. I’ll shower today and maybe forgo underwear to make my life a little easier. Wish I had a muumuu to throw over my head so I wouldn’t have to deal with pulling up my pants. *whine-whine-whine*

You folks have been wonderfully patient reading through my whine-fest. Here’s your reward:

Download now!

Originally, I was titling this piece “Conquering Change,” but I haven’t conquered anything. Instead, I’m chipping away at needed changes. The biggest chunk I’ve chiseled off is making the decision that I had to change my job.

I’ve been a published author since 2016, but for almost three decades I’ve been a sports journalist. As a reporter, I’ve covered professional events, college events, and even taken some photos at a few NFL games. I spent twenty years covering a real love of mine, the Indianapolis 500. I covered my last race in 2016 to concentrate on being an author.

After six months, I missed being a sports reporter and found a compromise. I decided to cover high school sports for the local weekly newspaper whose coverage area included two high schools in my community. In a way, it was a dream job, because I had the freedom to continue being an author but still have the extra income of being a reporter.

I fell in love with being a reporter for high school sports. I developed wonderful relationships with coaches, athletes and others in the community. I watched some incredible events and athletes who never gave up, but more than anything, I loved seeing how these coaches were more interested in guiding kids to be good people more than winning games.

Then something happened.

I was diagnosed with cancer. I went through treatment and went into remission, but the lingering effects of treatment changed the game for me. I did go back to work, but it was difficult with the exhaustion and chemo brain causing trouble in interviews. It got better, but I was never like I was before treatment. Nine months again, the cancer returned. Now, I’m on a different treatment which is not as draining as chemo.

I still couldn’t keep up. The late nights, weekends, hard bleachers, press boxes with no heat or air took its toll, and I had to make a difficult decision.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

But what else could I do? Reporting was all I knew.

A CPA firm took a chance on me even though I had no experience working in an office or working with software other than Word. I think I nailed the interview when I said I was used to unhappy people yelling at me. Grandmothers at sporting events can be pretty scary.

I’m in my fifth month at this job, and I love it. I don’t work nights or weekends. I work indoors with heat and air conditioning, and my two other coworkers are already like family. I have a cozy chair to sit in, and the owner comes into the office maybe once a week. I’ve been yelled at twice over the phone by people who still haven’t received their tax refund. (The IRS is six or more months behind in processing paper returns). The yelling doesn’t bother me because it’s not something I did, and since I have the health issue I have, most problems seem pretty minor to me.

I guess what I want to say is big change is scary, and something we don’t want to do but are sometimes forced to do. At this point in my life, it was the right decision, and in doing so I have a whole new set of people who care about me and are fun to be around.

My writing has stalled a lot during the last two years, but I haven’t given up completely. I’ve had some short stories in anthologies and have another story in a Valentine anthology from the Indiana Romance Writers group which released February 1^st.

Once I adjust more to my new normal, I hope the writing juices began to flow as opposed to trickle. Until then, I’m going to enjoy this change.

https://www.amazon.com/Lucky-Valentine-Limited-Romance-Anthology-ebook/dp/B0BKJZ93TB
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/…/lucky-valentine…/id6444009196
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/…/lucky-valentine-a-limited…
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1277604

It’s crazy to think we’re already in February. Here in Australia, we have one more month of summer and to be honest, it hasn’t been much of one. We’ve had a lot of mild, overcast days which I’m hoping is a sign of another mild winter to come.

Like our gracious host, I also enjoy reading about National days (regardless of where I live) and have featured a few on my Instagram during January. My fave so far—12^th Jan, Kiss a Ginger Day. My sister is a redhead, and my nephew (not a redhead) got a big kick out of it. They were on holidays at the time, and he was quick to report that he kissed his mum for me.

Today is National Weather person’s day which I like because the FMC in my current work in progress is a weathergirl. Cassidy is a bubbly, happy-go-lucky twenty-two-year-old who has been doing the nightly weather segments for the past year.

We meet Cass in the middle of the action and rather than tell you about it, I’d love to share this little teaser:

As Cassidy Symons entered the lavish foyer of the Whitney Resort and Spa, her daily mantra rang in her head. You’ve got this. You’re a strong and confident woman.

On any other day, she was. But she was about to face her toughest challenge to date, the thought causing her insides to somersault.

She’d practically grown up in this sophisticated and open foyer, with its sweeping polished marble staircase, crisp white columns and mahogany reservations desk. The clusters of white, plush sofas and armchairs where she’d sat waiting for her father to finish work for the day. The plush teal carpet, a perfect contrast against the super shiny white marble tiles. This space had been her home away from home.

She spied her father across the hallway, invested in a conversation with Gordon and Paul Whitney. Over the years, all three men had loomed as large figures to her pre-teen self and now, while she wasn’t exactly tall, she no longer needed to crane her neck for eye contact.

Her father had summoned her here and she knew why. She had her arguments at the ready. There was no way she’d accept the proposal that was about to be put to her.

The three men turned their attention to her and her footsteps slowed as hesitation swelled, engulfing her with one swift bite. She… she couldn’t do it. She’d let them talk her into the absurd arrangement and her happy-go-lucky, spirited persona would be no more. She’d be pulled into a world of duty and propriety. Panic took its hold.

With a desperate breath, her gaze stalled on a guy about her age and height standing in front of the staircase, camera in his hand as he perused the screen.

‘There you are, honey!’ The words tore from her mouth as cute, hazel eyes met hers. Well aware the three men were watching; she pressed her lips against the cute guy’s mouth and kissed him with passion worthy of a role on Home and Away.

#

Zane Browne fell into the kiss with ease. If a woman wanted to kiss him like that, who was he to argue? With closed eyes, his other senses gained control. Her lips were lively, friendly. She tasted like strawberries and smelled like pears, the fruity combination nourishing his insides. Giggles corrupted the moment and he knew they belonged to the three young girls he’d just finished photographing as part of a family portrait package.

When those soft and vigorous lips left his, his eyes opened to the most beautiful, baby blues he was sure he’d ever seen. They were his weakness but right now, hers were wild bordering on frantic. There was definite panic within their gorgeous hue. Was she trying to avoid someone?

‘Please help me,’ came the whispered plea.

‘Okay.’ He let his gaze widen, taking in her tight mouth and brunette coloured hair that stopped just above her shoulders and was full of soft curls. And had her shoulders just dropped with relief at his acceptance? He took in the red sundress with white polka dots as a thought crossed his mind. The woman looked familiar but that lip smacking moment had him unable to put a name to her face.

‘Follow my…’

‘Sweetheart.’

He and Miss Sweet Lips turned in unison and he locked eyes with an older guy in a seriously expensive looking suit.

‘Hello, Dad.’

He’d never kissed a woman in front of her father before, so this was getting interesting. When her fingers touched his bicep, curiosity and the temptation of an adventure had him by the balls.

That excerpt was from The Freelancer, Book 3 of 5 Shades of Brothers Browne series. This fake relationship, contemporary romance will be due for release later this year, but in the meantime, books 1 and 2 in the series are available through Amazon and KU – Buy both for $2.35

About Deb Robinson

Deb’s just a humble little writer who loves what she does. She lives with her lovely husband in their little haven in Melbourne, Australia. She loves all things romance and believes it takes many forms. Her current catalogue consists of hot, contemporary romance under two series: 5 Shades of Brothers Browne and A Sexy Tradie Novella.

She very recently joined TikTok and you can follow her @debrobinsonbooks
Follow Deb Robinson on her official Facebook page
Follow on Twitter @DRobinsonbooks
Follow on Instagram @debrobinsonbooks

In March of 2009, I was lucky enough to have a friend from college staying in Auckland for a couple of years. When she told me she was coming back to the States, I headed south of the Equator to visit before I lost the free place to stay and the local guide (and to see her, of course). Foolishly, I thought twelve days was plenty of time to see both islands of New Zealand with time to spare. I barely saw the north end of the smaller north island, and I didn’t see probably half of what that magical place had to offer. My friend told me there was beauty around every corner. Wow, was she right!

The Coromandel Peninsula has to be one of the most incredible places on earth. Beautiful beaches, dense fern forests, and commanding vistas. I’ve never see so many stars under a moonless, night sky laying on a beach with the soundtrack of waves gently hitting the sand. In the morning, exotic shells lay scattered all over the sand while the sun rose over the Pacific Ocean. I knew I had to write about this special trip.

In Memories of Coromandel, MacKenzie Wright had spent mere weeks in New Zealand on a work trip three years prior, but he’d met a guy and fell hard. Erik Parata had left his mark on MacKenzie, and he hadn’t found anyone to even come close to Erik since he’d left and broke both of their hearts.

MacKenzie’s well-meaning bestie and workmate, Alicia, manipulated a three-month work trip for MacKenzie back to Auckland, and almost immediately, MacKenzie stumbles into Erik one morning at the beach near Hahei. Their relationship steams ahead, and finally, MacKenzie has to make a choice: hurt Erik again and leave or give up the security of the life he’d built from nothing in Seattle.

You can order the seventh book of Rain City Tales, Memories of Coromandel on Amazon or Kobo. Checkout Brent’s website for the other Rain City Tales and for more details on upcoming books.

Excerpt from Memories of Coromandel:

The first morning glimmers of sunlight filtered in through the cabin’s curtained window. MacKenzie blinked and rubbed the granules of sleep out of his eyes. Taking his bearings, he pushed himself out of the single bed and tugged on his board shorts. Beach time.

Rifling around in his bag, he found a tank top and pulled it over his head. He slipped on his sandals, snagged his keys, and shuffled out of the small cabin. After a quick stop at the cinderblock building housing the toilets and showers, he headed to the thin, sandy trail between the grass-covered dunes toward the sound of waves washing against the shore.

A flush of pink over the horizon merging with the dark blue of the clear sky met his gaze when he reached the beach. A few stars still twinkled, but the predawn glow dimmed their light. He kicked off his sandals, feeling his feet sink slightly into the cool sand. He trod carefully around the brightly colored shells dotting the shore and strode into the surf. Small waves of warm ocean water rolled over his ankles, and he breathed in the morning sea air.

Movement caught his peripheral vision, and he turned away from the impending sunrise over the Pacific Ocean to track the motion. A man stood in the surf, balanced on one leg in a yoga pose, hands together in front of his bare chest. His tight, tiny bikini shorts clung to his substantial yet firm ass. Powerful legs held him upright as he stared out toward the approaching dawn. A sleeve of tattoos ran up one deeply tanned arm from elbow to shoulder, but MacKenzie couldn’t tell what the tattoos were at this distance. The design looked Māori.

Light poured over the man, and MacKenzie tore his gaze away to watch the sun bursting over the horizon and ascending into the sky. A gentle breeze blew off the ocean, giving him a rush of goose bumps over his chest and arms. The warm water pulsed with a wave and washed over his knees.

Once the sun had completely lifted above the horizon, a splash from the direction of the impressive figure in the surf drew his attention. The man had abandoned his yoga pose and dived into the water, emerging several yards farther out in the ocean. He bobbed for a moment then swam back toward the shore, mesmerizing MacKenzie with the powerful strokes of his muscled arms.

Reaching the shallow waters, he dove under and resurfaced closer to MacKenzie. The morning sunlight shimmered through the droplets of water cascading off him. MacKenzie raked his gaze over the man, stopping at the impressive pecs, and froze. A tattoo of a crescent moon stood alone on the rounded muscle, matching the necklace hanging around his own neck.

MacKenzie brought his hand up and clutched at the jade resting on his chest. He’d only ever seen one person with that particular tattoo before. The swimmer stopped moving, facing MacKenzie, with his head tilted to the side. Recognition slammed into MacKenzie when he met the eyes of the dripping man, and his heart leaped.

He moved again, wading through the shallows toward MacKenzie, his mouth slightly open and face set in an expression MacKenzie could only describe as awe. With a tremble, MacKenzie willed his legs to move, and he stepped through the submerged sand to meet him halfway.

After a moment, they stood face to face, and MacKenzie had no doubt he’d found the person he’d wished not to find. The man he’d fled Auckland upon his arrival to avoid. The man he’d never quite gotten over, even after three years. The man he’d hurt.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” The unmistakable voice of Erik Parata spoke across the short distance between them and crashed over him as strong as any wave.

“Erik.”

*~*~*

Brent Archer began writing in 2011 at the nudging of his cousins. His first story sold, and he was hooked! Keep up with Brent Archer and his current releases at his website, and follow him on Instagram and on Twitter @brentarcherwrit.

What’s in a name? Well, a lot actually—for most people anyway. A name is what helps identify a person on many levels. It can show placement in a family or generation (e.g., Sr., Jr., III, etc.) or indicate one’s culture or heritage. A name can create a sense of self, individuality, connection, and/or belonging. Names can connect a person to his/her family, religion/creed, nationality, and/or background.

Many writers go through great pains in naming their characters. I know that I do. Not only do I sort through lists of names, but it’s also not unusual for me to change a character’s name multiple times before completing the book. So much effort and emphasis frequently are placed on this undertaking because naming a character is similar to naming a child. After all, the authors create the stories, poems, novels, etc. Thus, these creations are his/her “baby.” Like Frankenstein’s monster, “It lives!” Furthermore, the right name can greatly affect and influence a story. Take, for example, the Harry Potter characters. Many of their names provide insight into their personalities, skills, and/or physical appearance.

On 02/02/23, the fifth novel (Future Goals) in my Locker Room Love sports romance series releases. Although this is a series, each book can be read as a stand-alone. I’m excited and want to celebrate with everyone. For the past month, I’ve been posting daily on my blog about a subject/topic that in some way relates to some aspect of the story. As I was brainstorming fun activities to do, I began to reflect on how long this journey has been and how it began. I thought about the numerous steps required, how I had nurtured “my baby,” and the abundance of details that I have agonized and mulled over for hours, days, and weeks. That’s when an idea struck me. Why not have a “guess the baby’s name” contest similar to the ones played at baby showers? I mean, this is sort of a book shower.

RULES

I’m a person who enjoys solving puzzles and figuring things out. Now, since there are literally thousands of possibilities to guess, I’ll provide some clues to narrow that number. The person who guesses the correct name in the comment section below will win a free paperback of Future Goals to be mailed after the book goes live. I’ll close the contest at midnight CST on Saturday, February 11, 2023. In the event that there are multiple correct answers, I will select the first two correct responses in the comments as winners. To play, answer the following question:

There are two main characters in Future Goals. One is Corrigan, and the other is Sacha. In the book, only one of these characters is addressed by his full legal name (not a nickname). What is the middle name of this character?

CLUES

1. Corrigan isn’t referred to by his full name.
2. The character is born and raised in South Louisiana.
3. The character’s middle name is between three to seven letters in length.
4. The name is “earthy” in nature.
5. No other character in this book or the Locker Room Love series shares this name.
6. The character’s middle name does not begin with a “Q” or “X”.
7. This name can have multiple spellings. (Alternative spellings of this name will be considered a correct response, but priority will be given to answers with the correct spelling if there are multiple correct responses.)
8. A famous fashion designer shares this name.
9. The character’s middle name does not begin with the same letter as the character’s last name.
10. This name did not make the list of the top 100 popular baby names for 2022 on babynames.com.
11. The character’s name can be associated with the character’s profession.
12. The meaning of the name can be associated with a sport.
13. Have fun.

Oh, and one more thing. If you enjoy contests/giveaways, I’m hosting several more this week on my Creole Bayou blog, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Visit me on my other platforms to continue the fun and for more chances to win.

If you like this post, please click the like button and share it. Your feedback allows me to know the content that you want to read. And if you’re not following me on Creole Bayou blog, what are you waiting for? There’s always room at the bayou.

Get ready. It’s almost time to hit the ice again. Future Goals. Coming soon.

When a college hockey player needs the help of an attractive older attorney, he gets more than he bargained for when trying to sort out the troubles in his career. Falling in love was never part of either man’s plan, especially as Corrigan’s and Sacha’s lives should never have collided. Now they’re left questioning if they’re standing in the way of the other’s future goals, or if there’s room for redirection.

Preorder your copy at:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3RjPYb9

Other booksellers: https://bit.ly/3CI8d5W

Missed the first four books in my hockey romance series? No frets.

Out of the Penalty Box (book #1), where it is one minute in the box or a lifetime out, is available at http://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links on where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit http://bit.ly/2i9SqpH.

Defending the Net (book #2) can be ordered at https://amzn.to/2N7fj8q or www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.

Ice Gladiators (book #3) is the third book in my Locker Room Love series. When the gloves come off, the games begin. Available at https://amzn.to/2TGFsyD or www.books2read.com/icegladiators.

Penalty Kill (book #4) retakes the ice. Get a copy at https://amzn.to/3ex0N9p or https://amzn.to/3ex0N9p and let the pucker begin.

For more of my stories, shenanigans, giveaways, and more, check out my blog, Creole Bayou, www.genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com. New posts are made on Wednesdays, and everything is raw and unscathed. Climb on in a pirogue and join me on the bayou.

If you have any questions or suggestions about this post or any others, feel free to comment below or tweet me at @dolynesaidso. You also can follow me on Instagram at genevivechambleeauthor or for search me on Goodreads or Amazon Authors or BookBub or TikTok.

NEWSLETTER! Want to get the latest information and updates about my writing projects, giveaways, contests, and reveals first? Click https://genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com/newsletter/ and signup today.

Until next time, happy reading and much romance. Laissez le bon temps rouler.

Author Bio

Genevive Chamblee resides in the bayou country where sweet tea and SEC football reign supreme. She is known for being witty (or so she thinks), getting lost anywhere beyond her front yard (the back is pushing it as she’s very geographically challenged), falling in love with shelter animals (and she adopts them), asking off-the-beaten-path questions that make one go “hmm”, and preparing home-cooked Creole meals that are as spicy as her writing. Genevive specializes in spinning steamy, romantic tales with humorous flair, diverse characters, and quirky views of love and human behavior. She also is not afraid to delve into darker romances as well.

People always ask me “where do you get your ideas?” For my newest release, Texas Hook-Up? It all started with a meme about a guy who had a cat who shared his name.

I have a dog named Seamus, and a cat named Turtle, so when I have to pick up the prescription food Turtle requires from the vet’s office, the label on the package is for Turtle Braemel. Or Seamus Braemel. So, I understand why someone who isn’t familiar with my pets might get confused. Well, not with Turtle – though they might think I’m talking about an actual turtle not a cat.

That’s when the plot bunnies hit me, and I imagined a guy overhearing his friend’s girlfriend talking about having to get home to Jeff. Except his friend’s name is Brody. And only learning much later that Jeff is not another guy. Jeff is a cat. That’s how I ended up writing Texas Hook-Up, a novella about a grumpy EMT having to apologize to a female tow-truck driver he’s judged wrongly for the last few years.

Bonus! Once I was finished writing Texas Hook-Up, I wasn’t done with those characters. I ended up writing a free Bonus Epilogue called Getting Hitched about how Quinn’s attempts to propose to Mia go askew thanks to the now infamous Jeff. You can find the link to that novella at the back of Texas Hook-Up.

Texas Hook-Up

MIA

I am a woman in a male trucker’s world, which means I’ve developed a thick skin and a potty mouth over the years. When an EMT that I sorta kinda like decides he doesn’t like me, no skin off my nose. I can take Quinn’s snark and dish it right back at him. Until he finally realizes he’s in the wrong about me, and he goes and does something decent, like apologizing. Now what do I do with him?

QUINN

I come from a screwed-up family that I admit affects how I judge people. When I overheard Mia talking about living with someone named Jeff while she was dating my buddy Brody, I jumped to the wrong conclusion and I’ve been giving her grief ever since. I’ve finally realized I screwed up. Big time. So I’m trying to prove how sorry I am but she’s making me jump through hoops. Rightfully so.

Being around Mia, away from her truck, has let me see the soft squishy parts behind the thick armour she’s donned. But going from hating someone to trusting them is a long swing. Now I have to convince her—and myself—I’m worth the effort.

Amazon: https://mybook.to/TexasHook-Up

Excerpt of Texas Hook-Up…

Without saying anything more, Mia gulps down her coffee, and scrambles from the table, stopping at the counter to pay her ticket. I’m wondering if I should go after her when she heads for the door, just as Gonzalez is coming in. He holds open the door and they say something to each other, politely, from their body language. I can’t miss how Gonzalez’s gaze lingers on Mia as she walks down the street. Guess there is still some attraction.

When he finally pulls his gaze back to the diner, he spots me, heads over, and takes Mia’s spot. He eyes the coffee cup with its telltale lipstick stain until Shannon, efficient as always, removes it and fills a fresh cup for him.

“You were talking with Mia?” He keeps his tone even, though his curiosity is evident.

“She’s pissed off at me.” What else is new?

Gonzalez tilts his head, as if he doesn’t believe me or figures I have some hidden agenda.

“I’m not interested in her, if you’re thinking of trying to get back together with her,” I assure him.

“Oh, I’ve tried, but…” He shrugs and gives me an I have no idea, look.

“Why?” The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Why would you want to hook back up with her?”

“There’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but we were doing good.” He shrugs again. “At least, I thought we were. We were even talking about moving in together, and then all of a sudden, she dumps me. No reason, just, she doesn’t think we’re headed in the same direction. She doesn’t think we suit.” His tone betrays his I thought we suited belief. “Basically, she told me to not let the door hit my ass on the way out.”

“Maybe it was something Jeff or Brian said to her. Did you do something to piss them off?”

Some strange expression lights his eyes. Not confusion, something I can’t read, before he drops his gaze to focus on his coffee. “Jeff and Brian? I liked them. I mean, Brian’s a biter, but if you know how to handle him, he’s okay. Jeff’s a real softie. Mia knew I loved them and would never have hurt them.”

Dafuq? Brian’s a biter? Talk about TMI. I’ve always thought of Gonzalez as being pretty straitlaced. Always looking for a girl he could bring home to momma type of guy. It’s always the quiet ones. “I never pictured you being into that scene.”

“What scene?” Danny spreads his hands palms up. There’s that weird expression on his face again. Like he has some private joke.

“Sharing a woman.” Aware of the people in the next booth, no doubt straining to hear, I lower my voice. “Orgies, having sex with multiple partners. Do you do guys, too? I mean, don’t get me wrong, if that’s what you’re in to, fine.” Okay, I’d better shut up before I earn a fist to my jaw. Except I can’t help but ask, “Is that what broke Dickinson and her up, too?”

His jaw drops momentarily, and then he’s whooping with laughter and every head in the joint turns to look at us. “Orgies? Seriously? Is that what you still think? That Jeff and Brian are guys? Peterson, for a smart guy, sometimes you’re as sharp as a marble.”

Eyebrows all around us arch at his very audible mention of orgies, enough that I want to slide under the table. “What are you talking about?”

Still laughing so hard tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes, he shakes his head. “Bro! I thought Brody told you. Jeff and Brian are Mia’s cats.”

About the Author

Leah Braemel is the only woman in a houseful of males that includes her college-sweetheart husband, two sons, a Shih Tzu named Seamus who behaves like a cat and Turtle the cat who thinks he’s a dog. She loves escaping the ever-multiplying dust bunnies by opening up her laptop to write about sexy heroes and the women who challenge them.

Links
Website: https://leahbraemel.com
Instagram  https://www.instagram.com/leahbraemel/
Facebook Author https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLeahBraemel
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/leah-braemel
Books2Read Author page https://books2read.com/ap/n0GB1R/Leah-Braemel
Newsletter Signup  https://tinyurl.com/9uypp4v9

If you didn’t already know, I’m fast at work on my next Montana Bounty Hunter story, Mica. It’s scheduled for release on February 28th.

I’m having fun with the story, I hope you will too. Naturally, we meet our hero in the middle of a takedown of a skip. I love dropping my heroes and heroines in the middle of the action. Action scenes fly by fast, and there are so many things that can go wrong. I hope you enjoy meeting Mica. He hasn’t met his love interest yet, but she will make a big impression. 🙂

Be sure to get to the end of this post. I have a big ole list of contests you still have time to enter!

Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, Montana — Mica

MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS:
DEAD HORSE, MT
Authentic Men… Real Adventures…

Mica Ford wasn’t one to hold grudges. At least not these days. Grudges required fury and bile, and he’d had his fill of pointless anger and heartburn.

However, he was beginning to get a bit perturbed by the crew of bounty hunters working out of an office in Dead Horse, Montana. This was the third time they’d crept into one of his stakeouts. Twice now, he’d had to withdraw from a takedown and let them score his target. There were just too many of them, and again, he hadn’t wanted a dustup, wasn’t looking for a fight. But this time, he’d be damned if he let them scoop a third bounty right from under his nose.

This time, his target was one Norman P. Rudd. The bounty was high enough that Mica could live off the proceeds for a good four months. According to the bail bond company’s description, Norman had failed to appear before the judge to begin his trial for numerous charges stemming from an incident where Norman had gone “postal” on a neighbor whose political campaign posters didn’t share his flavor of affiliation.

Norman hadn’t stopped at simply pulling up the neighbor’s signs and burning them in a bonfire in the middle of the man’s front yard. No, he’d taken a tree branch, set the end on fire, and then torched his neighbor’s house and RV and then set wood he’d stacked beside a propane tank on fire. The explosion from the tank had rattled and broken windows throughout the neighborhood, including Norman’s. Even before the firetrucks and police arrived, the neighbor had pulled in front of his house, jumped out of his pickup, and the two men had entered into a brawl. The neighbor had been horrified by the damage to his home and belongings, but worse, his favorite blue tick hound had been locked inside the house when it was set on fire.

The house and RV? Mica wouldn’t have bothered to do more than shake his head and collect the insurance—belongings didn’t matter much, and you couldn’t take them with you when you left this world, but he could understand someone goin’ loco over the murder of a four-legged best friend. For that alone, Norman was a piece of shit who deserved to spend the rest of his days in jail. However, since he’d lost his mind and fired up his neighbor’s property, Norman had proven himself to be a bit smarter, evading police and bounty hunters while hiding out in the Absaroka Range. Mica couldn’t guess his intentions, but he suspected Norman thought he could hopscotch through mountains and forests to hide out there for a while until he lost some weight and grew a beard—something to disguise his ugly, memorable features. His mistake had been coming in for a night to shower and sleep in a soft bed.

Mica had tracked him to a motel in Belgrade, Montana. The night manager had just confirmed that someone of Norman’s broad build had indeed rented a room at the end of the building. He’d asked for menus from restaurants that offered delivery, then he’d kept quiet, not budging from his room.

Mica had already walked the perimeter of the building and tried peeking into the room, but the curtains were pulled closed and the frosted glaze on the bathroom window behind the building didn’t allow him to make out anything other than the fact there was a light turned on inside the room.

Before he could bust in the door, he had to know that Norman was inside. So, he’d hunkered down in his truck, waiting for his break, hoping Norman ordered food before the last restaurant closed for the night.

He watched through his tinted windows as another SUV and a truck pulled into the lot. He groaned when he saw the female hunter, Marti of naked-body-shop-video fame, enter the motel office. When she’d come out, she’d scanned the parking lot, and her gaze had locked on his vehicle.

So, she knew someone else was on Norman’s trail. Mica snorted. They might have the advantage of more hunters to enter the chase, but he had the better vantage, parked right in front of Norman’s room while they had to park farther down the row.

A small compact sedan entered the lot. It had a lighted sign on top of it, advertising Papa Ralph’s Pizza. So, Norman wasn’t starting his diet anytime soon. The sedan moved slowly down the row of parking spaces, then stopped right behind Mica’s vehicle. A car door slammed, and a lanky teenager ran toward the door, carrying an insulated pizza delivery bag that looked like it held two pizza boxes. Mica partially lowered his driver’s side window so he could listen as he watched the kid knock on the motel room door.

The lights inside doused. The kid stiffened and backed away a step, his head turning side to side like he was unsure of his safety. Read the rest of this entry »