What happens at a fertility clinic stays at a fertility clinic…unless there’s an accidental switch-a-roo…
Successful author Melanie Jane decided after a very public divorce that she would prove to the world, especially her critiques, that she didn’t need a man to make her dreams come true. So, she wrote a best seller and used a fertility clinic to get pregnant. An accidental switch-a-roo left Melanie curious…who was the father of her baby?
Coop Dawson was still grieving the loss of his twin brother when some lady showed up at the family ranch and announced that she was pregnant by Cade, impossible since he’d been gone for over a year. Coop didn’t have the patience for scam artists. He told her exactly how he felt then made her hit the road. Yet, after reading a letter from a fertility clinic, he realized she’d been telling the truth. Now he needed to turn things around fast before he lost the chance at knowing Cade’s child.
Sometimes tragedy can bring a family closer…and bring unexpected gifts.
Coop needed to step up for the first time in his life and do the right thing for everyone. He promised his brother in a late-night prayer that he’d take care of the child—but what Coop didn’t realize he was already falling for Melanie and he couldn’t imagine life without her. Will she learn to trust him? Or will he screw up every chance he’d been given?
Forbidden love with an ex-fiancé’s brother will have townsfolk of Dove Grey talking. But she either went rogue or lost her heart again.
It had been two years since Cade Dawson passed away from leukemia, but his presence remained strong in small town Dove Grey, Texas. Coming home was probably too soon for many folks, but Annika Tinder hoped people could put the rumors and assumptions aside so that she could open her dream spa in her childhood home. She’d grown a lot since she first left—had a thicker skin now, and she’d need it. So what if people thought she had a sex-capade with the sexiest Dawson brother? She was willing to face the fire to get what she wanted.
Cross Dawson had a plan.
He’d steer clear of Annika so that townsfolk wouldn’t target her with their harsh speculations, and he wouldn’t be tempted by those old feelings he thought he’d buried. The task proved harder than he anticipated. He’d lost himself once—twice, three times—with her, but he couldn’t do it again, not when he had to honor his late brother’s memory. That was the respectable thing to do, right? So then why did every path and sign lead back to her?
Will Annika’s desire for an old flame, and new start, keep her in town? Or will she be chased off a second time? The sexy Dawson brothers and their wild romances keep the townsfolk of Dove Grey, Texas talking. From secret babies, forbidden love, to broken hearts…they’ll keep readers talking too.
She smiled. “I can’t decide if the sour face is because I make you nervous or my food gave you indigestion.”
He dug his spoon into dessert but didn’t feel much up to eating anything more. “The food was delicious.”
“Ah, so I’m making you nervous?” She rolled her tongue along the plump center of her bottom lip.
Yeah, that didn’t help matters in the southern region of his belt. “No. Yes. Hell, I don’t know.”
Her eyes widened and again he couldn’t get past how bright her eyes were. She ran her finger through the condensation on her bottle. “It’s me and I get it.” The higher octave in her tone told him she enjoyed teasing him.
“I just have a lot on my mind I suppose,” he admitted. He couldn’t admit that she was nine-tenths of the trouble occupying his mind. He watched her slender fingers pick up a berry and pop it into her mouth, not taking her eyes off him for one second.
“It’s because I made it clear how I feel. I thought men liked when women were aggressive and made it clear what they wanted.”
“Aggressive?”
“You know, earlier. I feel like we’re denying the truth blasting like a neon sign. We’re sexually attracted to each other.”
Good thing he was sitting because she’d have knocked him right off his boots. He needed to tread carefully down the path where this conversation was headed. He didn’t want to lie to her but telling her the truth could land them both smack dab in a world of distress.
Truth was, they were sexually attracted to each other. But it was more than just a need for sex. He liked her company. He found himself searching for her while he worked, which meant he was behind. Cross didn’t like being behind.
It was mostly her fault. She’d done nothing but flirt with him since he’d started work that morning. He wasn’t the smartest when it came to women and their feminine, magical ways, but there was nothing subtle in the way she looked at him like she wanted to suck the sin right out of his bone marrow. Sucking was always a good thing.
It was a big problem while he was having to keep up with renovations though.
“Annika…”
“Yes, Cross?” She batted her lashes. She wasn’t about to make this easy.
“I didn’t come in here expecting…shit.” He blew out a long, agonizing breath.
“You didn’t come in here expecting shit?” She lifted a brow quizzically.
He’d never had a woman turn him inside out so easily. “Annika—”
“Yes, we’ve established that my name is Annika.” Her wicked smile hit him in his gut.
“My communication stinks, so don’t make this harder than it is already.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look—”
“Oh no. Any sentence that starts with ‘look’ never ends well.” She plucked a strawberry from her bowl and bit into it.
“I think you’re enjoying this,” he said with meaning.
“You just seem…well, hot. Do you need a fan?”
“No.”
She stood and sashayed over to him, crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let’s not fight this any longer. I’m all in. How about you?”
God, what was wrong with him? His dick was hard and he was having trouble swallowing. He’d never been this affected by any woman.
“You’re sweating profusely,” she said with a smile.
“I need to say something,” he croaked.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Things are a bit…hard.”
“Oh? Am I too close?”
“I’m burning up.” He tugged at the neckline of his shirt.
“Fine. Say what you have to say and I’ll listen.” She stood and a frown developed over her sweet mouth.
He stood too, mainly because sitting became too unbearable. Cross wanted to say “screw it”, grab her up into his arms, and whisk her upstairs. Unfortunately, why did he feel like he’d be betraying his family? Betraying Cade? Could he trust Annika? What if he gave in to his feelings and she left again?
Cross stopped near the edge of the flower bed, debating his next words. When he finally had his head in order, he turned and snapped his mouth shut. How the hell had she managed to get near him so fast? She was now only a few feet from him.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“A lot.”
“Are you okay?” She pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re sweating even more and you feel a little warm.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look a little swollen.” Concern covered her expression.
Why did his throat feel sore and his lips tingle?
He was beginning to believe that maybe he wasn’t okay.
“Cross, are you having an allergic reaction?”
“I’m not having an allergic reaction.” His stomach ached and his skin itched.
“I know a reaction when I see one.”
“I’m okay. I just want to talk to you about…” Then he felt a tingle in his tongue that quickly spread. He saw her squint and then her eyes rounded in shock.
“Are you feeling prickly and flushed?”
“Yes, but we need to talk. I have something I need to get off my chest.” Ah hell. “Why is it so damn hot?”
Small Town Romance
For those who don’t know me, I’m Rhonda Lee Carver. I’m a bestselling author of contemporary western and romantic suspense, but love to write other genres too. I enjoy stories that keep readers laughing, crying, gripping the edge of their seats, and screaming all in one book…like riding a virtual roller coaster. Whether creating sexy cowboys or tough guys, or sassy, independent heroines, readers are sure to find strong, powerful, memorable characters that are relatable.
By day, I tap into my creative, fictional world but at some point, I transition back into reality where I’m a volleyball-stands cheerleader, homework virtuoso (at least, I think so), amateur nurse to skinned knees, a mediocre chef with some awesome microwave skills, pet-guru (all the strays show up at our house), and a Jackie of all trades for my kids who are the loves of my life. Yoga and chocolate keep me sane. Hallmark movies require cuddling up with tissues because I can be emotional. I add a sprinkle of my own real-life adventures in each story I spin because a little truth never hurt anyone. I wouldn’t give up one thing in my crazy, chaotic, ever-amusing life, except, except I might do magic tricks for the bungalow on the beach I’ve had my eye on (GOALS).
Writing for me is like falling in love and finding a new best friend over and over again. My characters will find a place inside your heart too.
On Inspiration…
I’m asked a lot where I get the ideas for stories. Finding ideas has never been a problem. I have a storage bank inside of my head overflowing with storylines. I do, however, find hurdles when I’m creating unique characters. After writing one hundred books, I seem to gravitate toward clone characters. They have similar physical and behavioral traits. So, I’ve had to work to make each one exceptional and relatable. I like to create characters from real-life people. Those who triumph when they could easily give up. Like the man with a disability who walks each day on the highway. I’ll see him pushing his cart or carrying a bag of groceries. Sometimes in the rain. Other times in the sweltering heat. He refuses any help. Also, the homeless man and his dog who I see frequently wandering the streets of a nearby town. He has a story to tell—a tragic story of drug abuse and a childhood marked with neglect. A friend of a friend had passed away from Leukemia. He didn’t have children because of chemotherapy. His wife says that her one regret was not having a child with him while he was well. I have intermingled their true stories with the fictional lives of my characters in The Brothers of Dove Grey, and another story I’m currently working on. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll check out my books. With love, Rhonda Lee.
It takes a snake? I can already imagine your eyebrows and frowns in disbelief as you respond, “To do what?” Like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a snake to create community. What kind of community you talkin’ ’bout, Willis? The enmity placed between humanity and snakes in Genesis 3:15 is still real. What kind of community could be created by something so villainous as a snake? When I saw one crawling along the wall this week in my backyard I cringed. Yuk and yikes! I breathed a sigh of relief when it slithered away to the front yard. I raked the grounds to make sure there weren’t any others hiding there.
Two days later as I went to get the mail, I noticed a neighbor standing stock-still in front of his garage holding a rake and staring very pointedly at something I couldn’t see on the far side of his car. Sure enough, it was a snake. He didn’t want to kill it because he wasn’t sure what kind it was. “Bull snakes are good snakes,” he said, but if it were a rattler he’d have to kill it. We couldn’t see a rattle on the tail, but then we wondered if it might be a baby without a rattle yet. I stood in solidarity with my neighbor and stared at the slimy intruder. What to do, what to do?
At that moment my husband—traveling to visit family—called to say goodnight. I told him what was happening, and he said, “Call Spence. He knows all about snakes.” Spence is a good friend and fellow church member. I took a picture and messaged it to him. He called right back and said it was a baby king snake. Definitely non-venomous. Spence said you can tell venomous snakes from non-venomous ones by the shape of their pupils. Venomous snakes have slit pupils like cat’s eyes. Non-venomous ones have round pupils like dogs. I don’t think my cat Scully would appreciate the comparison. My neighbor and I peered at the photo and agreed the eyes looked round. Spence said he’d be over in fifteen minutes to take the snake back to the desert.
By now my neighbor’s wife had joined us. She helped trap the snake beneath a bucket. We introduced ourselves—me, Anna, he and she, John and Jeanette. We shared how long we’d lived on the block, where we were from, our experiences, and lack thereof, with snakes and our mutual hatred of the creatures.
Spence arrived, picked the little guy up and told us how it could grow to six or eight feet long. Shudder. He put it in a pillowcase and assured us it would be happier in the desert. John, Jeanette, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Spence drove off, John and Jeanette went back into their snake-free house, and I continued on to pick up the mail. It took a snake to create community between us.
So for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments about an encounter where you got to know a neighbor better.
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.
Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.
Excerpt from One Breath Away…
On the rise overlooking Harvest Home, Banker Judah Little sat, his mouth stretched in horror.
“My God, what’s wrong with her?” He stared transfixed at the cabin, his hands clasped and shaking.
“No doubt reliving the torment of death.” A grudging smile graced Judge Aaron “Hangman” Denton’s face. “No one who cheats the hangman enjoys any kind of peace
After hundreds of pronouncements and hundreds of executions, he’d seen it all. He preferred these civil hangings to the military executions by firing squad he’d ordered during the War of Northern Aggression. Bullets brought death so quickly, he always felt cheated. But a hanging…His smile broadened. There was so much more to enjoy when there was a hanging.
The snap of the neck.
The sway of the body.
The discharge of the bowels.
He tongued the snuff in his cheek and spat the brown liquid into the dirt. The scents of sage and tobacco laced each breath he took.
Mary Hamilton had been his only failure. Crime deserved punishment. What difference did being a woman make? He’d condemned her to hang. Damn interfering crowd. And where in hell had that horseman come from? She’d be dead now but for him and those bleeding-heart busybodies.
Pirates, Puritans, propaganda, and princes—pieces of the puzzle in the whirlwind romance between a beautiful jelly maker and a mysterious castaway.
Up until my thirties, I traveled a great deal, living in many countries with amenities that many would consider below standard. So it wasn’t until I married and settled down in an old farmhouse with an acre of land that I could indulge my fantasy of growing my own food. We planted apple, plum, peach, fig, hazelnut, and cherry trees; gooseberries, strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries; all kinds of vegetables, including an ill-fated attempt to grow artichokes; and finally, lots and lots of herbs. I built a formal herb garden and planted thyme, lovage, rosemary, chives, tarragon, sage, and lemon balm. The one thing I couldn’t get to grow was mint. Yes, the gardeners among you will scoff, but it took me years to get a plot to flourish. When it did, I had to do something or it would take over the entire acre.
So I called upon my sister-in-law, to whom Whirlwind Romance is dedicated. She directed me to an old recipe for mint jelly. Once the mint invasion was under control and I’d mastered the technique, I spent whole summers working up recipes for herb jellies. It was great fun. Despite the fact that I’m not really fond of jelly, they made excellent Christmas gifts.
When I started writing Whirlwind Romance, I thought about what my heroine, Lacey Delahaye, would do for a living. She lives alone in Florida, her one grown son. What could she do? I thought of the innumerable ecosystems in Florida, from pine uplands, to coastal plains, to palm hammocks—all of which are host to many wild fruits, most of which can be made into jelly. Ah hah! She’d be a jelly maker.
For fun, I added the recipes to each chapter. I hope you enjoy them as much as you do Lacey and Armand’s love story.
Whirlwind Romance
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on an island off the Florida coast with a mysterious man. Before he can confess his identity, they are kidnapped and taken to a tiny island in the western Caribbean. In a story laced with adventure and romance, Lacey encounters pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue, not to mention the advances of three men, only one of whom she loves.
One of Lacey’s Recipes: Passionfruit Jelly
Passionfruit is a woody vine with strange, yet beautiful flowers. It grows in humid tropical lowlands. Ripening in the fall, the round fruit about the size of a plum is either golden or dark purple.
Passionfruit Jelly
5 lbs passionfruit for 2 cups juice
2 oz. water
Halve the fruits and scoop out filling. In a blender, quick pulse for a couple of seconds. Strain the juice. Repeat procedure 2-3 times, thinning with water if necessary, until juice is clear.
2 cups juice
1 ¾ cups water
7 ½ cups sugar
6 oz. (2 packets) liquid pectin
Combine juice, water and sugar in a large pot. Bring to a full, rolling boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Add liquid pectin. Remove from the heat, skim off any foam and pour into hot, sterilized jars leaving 1/4 inch space between the jelly and rim of the jar. Upend jars and leave 5 minutes, then turn right side up and tighten lids.
Makes 4 pints.
Excerpt from Whirlwind Romance: Slipping Briskly
The full moon shone through the window, illuminating Lacey’s nodding head. Armand touched her cheek. “I think it’s your bedtime.”
Stung, she shot back, “I’m taking care of you, remember?”
He held up a hand. “Sorry! I’d forgotten.” After a moment, he asked, his tone diffident, “Can you help me up?”
Lacey put an arm around his back and together they limped to Crispin’s room. She took his pants and shirt off and folded them neatly. As she turned to leave, he touched her arm. “Stay a minute?”
How could she admit she had to get out of there quickly or she wouldn’t be able to go at all? His handsome face—the strong chin covered with stubble, the pearly teeth contrasting with his tan skin, not to mention the long, graceful fingers he held out to her—all conspired to lure her closer. Her heart led the way, propelling her to his side. She sat down. “What is it?”
“Lacey…um.”
Her body tensed as desire fought to get out, and she fought just as hard to keep it in. I have to go. I have to…go. “What?”
His words came out in a rush. “Lacey, the other day—the first night—when you rescued me. When we…we…”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Christ.
“I…uh…want you to know I don’t do that on a regular basis.”
His air of shy ambivalence gave her courage. “I see. You don’t have sex on a regular basis?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” He stopped, flustered. “Er, I mean… I don’t sleep with women indiscriminately.”
Should she let him off the hook? Nah. “But you do sleep with a lot of women?”
“No! Lacey, you’re being difficult on purpose. I meant, that I didn’t mean to…you know. It just happened. Forgive me?”
“I—”
Armand interrupted her. “Not that it wasn’t enjoyable.” He seemed distracted, running a finger down her arm. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Too short.” He peered at her. “Lacey, you must know how beautiful you are. You have the most perfect cheekbones I’ve ever seen.”
“Cheekbones?” What the hell is he talking about?
“I’m an amateur photographer. Those cheekbones could belong to a supermodel. Perfectly sculpted. And your nose…” He tapped the tip. “A little pixie nose. It even turns up slightly. Your long, fine hair is the russet-gold of burnished copper pots I once saw piled high in a shop on Martinique. Your eyes…” He closed his. “Your eyes are the blue-green of a freshly mowed cricket field, of the emeralds that grow deep in the mountains, of the lagoon near my home on a blustery day.” He touched her hand. “Then there’s your body—as I remember it—a soft, comfortable, pillowy—”
“Hey!” Lacey shook her head to break the spell. “I think you’ve said enough. Get some sleep.”
She tried to rise, but he slipped his arms around her and drew her close. She wanted to struggle. She tried to struggle. It was no use. The long kiss filled her with a warmth that matched a fire on a cold night, a cup of cocoa, or a hot bath. When he lay back, the warmth turned to blazing passion. The power of it frightened her. I’ve got to go. She ran out of the room before he could stop her.
Librarian, anthropologist, Congressional aide, speechwriter—M. S. Spencer has traveled the globe. She has published fourteen romantic suspense or murder mystery novels, with two more on the way. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
UPDATE: The winners are…Michelle, Arlene Miklovic, and Courtney Kinder!
*~*~*
The Montana Bounty Hunters series located in Bear Lodge is complete. I am four books into the spinoff series, Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT,and I’m working on #5. I loved writing the original series, and I can’t wait to immerse myself in writing many more of these heavy-duty, gritty guys in the near future. Have you seen the cover for Cowboy, which will release in October, if not sooner? Yeah. Some of the guys you love from the original series will continue to pop up here and there in Dead Horse—after all, they all work for Fetch Winter. Someday, he’ll get his happy-ever-after, too!
Cochise
MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS: Authentic Men… Real Adventures…
Former Marine “Wolf” Patterson is working with a team of MBH bounty hunters in the densely forested Kootenai Forest to bring in one Reese Tobin, a man wanted for arson, who escaped from jail just before his trial. When Wolf catches up to him, Tobin draws a gun, telling Wolf he can’t return to lock-up or he’s a dead man. Just as one of his teammates is about to lunge toward Tobin to take him down, a shot rings out, and Reese is dead.
Former Army Military Police Officer, now Deputy, Meg Henry, was the officer who arrested Tobin, and nothing about that night sat right since. After hearing he was killed, she heads to Kootenai, hoping to talk to the men who were with him last, hoping Tobin told them something that might help her figure out the mystery surrounding him. Because handsome bounty hunter, Wolf, was the last to talk to Tobin, Meg offers Wolf a ride back to the sheriff’s department. They barely begin their conversation when they find themselves running for their lives. Meg doesn’t know who to trust, but she instinctively trusts the tall, intensely attractive Wolf. Together, they work to unravel the mystery while staying one step ahead of someone who wants them both dead.
Contest
Are you all caught up reading the Montana Bounty Hunters?
For a chance to win a download of one of the stories you may have missed
(I’ll pick three winners!), tell me this: Where else, other than Montana, would you like a Bounty Hunter book set?
Here are all the Bear Lodge Montana Bounty Hunters!
Once she arrived home, Meg checked her windows and the locks on every door. Not that she was paranoid, but given what she’d been through, she wasn’t going to be careless. Plus, her house was isolated and five minutes from Amity. While most days, she liked the fact she had no neighbors close by, times like this kept her on edge. When she finished her rounds, she showered and changed, keeping her service pistol always within reach.
She’d hoped standing under the hot spray would relax her, but when she’d dressed again, this time in jeans and a soft tee, she felt restless, so she made herself a cup of coffee and carried her laptop into the living room. With it resting on her lap, she thought maybe she should write her mom a short email, just to tell her she was okay and thinking about her. Instead, she paused, her fingers hovering over the keys.
She opened her browser and typed in a search, inputting the address of the warehouse, and then hit enter.
The first item in the list that appeared was a link to an article in the local newspaper about the fire and Reese Tobin’s arrest. She read the article, but there was nothing there she didn’t already know.
She hit the back key and began searching the other items in the list. She came to one that listed the owner of the warehouse, Bear Claw Industries. She clicked on the blue, underlined company name, and that link took her to an ad in the yellow pages. Bear Claw Industries was a shipping company and a sole proprietor company owned by “Red” Barton, a state congressman.
Not sure where this was leading, if anywhere at all, she typed in “Red Barton, Amity MT”. The list included articles, and one by one she immersed herself in the congressman’s history.
Red Barton was a member of the Methodist church, had a pretty wife, had run for mayor and lost, but won when he ran unopposed for the state congress. He was a supporter of states’ rights and the second amendment. And he’d gotten some flack in the editorial section of the newspaper over the fact he’d spoken at a gathering for a local militia, where he’d given a speech about gun rights and the limited sovereignty of the government. Another link led her to a description of the rest of the agenda for that meeting and a list of those who’d attended. When she read the names, a sick feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach. Reese Tobin and Bennie Jacobs had both been there. They had both been members of the Free Montana Militia.
There was the connection. She quickly scanned the other names, and thankfully, found no deputies among them, but she didn’t know the rest of the men. She sent the agenda with the list of names to her printer, and then remembered her coffee, which had cooled.
She set aside her laptop and bent toward the coffee table to pick up her cup when the silence was disturbed by glass shattering and the dull thud of something hitting the wall behind her.
Meg threw herself to the floor, reached onto the coffee table for her service Glock, and crawled toward the kitchen. There she slid upward to the junction box and turned off the electricity.
Darkness fell around her, and she suddenly realized she’d left her cellphone on her dresser in her bedroom. She was on her own.
In the distance, she heard the deep, rattling hum of a motorcycle engine, but she was more concerned about any sounds she could detect nearer, like the rattling of a doorknob or the shattering of more glass should an intruder try to get inside.
Well, she wasn’t sitting there waiting for trouble. No matter how hard it was to keep her breaths even.
With her weapon held in front of her, she moved out of the kitchen and back toward the living room. She had to be sure that what she’d heard had been a gunshot. Crouching low, she moved toward the window across from the sofa and nudged aside the sheer panel. In the moonlight, she could see the tear in the fabric and noted the round, splintered circle in the glass.
She had to make the call. Alert the sheriff. Then warn Wolf that someone wasn’t leaving them alone. As she moved toward the hallway, a whoosh sounded, like the slide of a window moving upward. But she’d locked them all, hadn’t she? Swallowing hard, she moved toward the sound. It had come from her bedroom.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she felt that rush she always had in combat, when everything around her slowed down and her mind focused on the mission, the goal—the intruder in her house. She set her back to the hallway wall and moved slowly sideways, listening for footsteps, the creak of a floorboard. But there was only silence.
Beside the door, she drew a slow, quiet breath, drew her courage around her like a cloak, and moved inside, again, keeping her back to the wall. She crouched beside the dresser and glanced toward the window. The curtain billowed inward on a gust of wind.
The shadows inside the room were hard to distinguish, but then she saw a movement. One large dark shape moving from beside the window. She held still, not breathing, until the large frame passed her. Then she rose, coming up behind the man who stood in the doorframe, his head cocked.
She pressed the muzzle of her weapon against his ribs.
“Meg.”
At his whisper, she drew a sharper breath. “Wolf?” She held her weapon away and leaned against his back as she struggled not to shiver. “What are you doing here?” she whispered harshly.
“Let’s not talk about it now. Two men, I think the same ones who disabled your car, are right outside your house.”
The winners are…Mandy Honea and Debra Guyette!
*~*~*
I love paranormal romances. I always have. I’ve had visions of a story in my head for what I wanted to write for years but hesitated. Was it unique enough? Were there too many shifter books out there? Would people want to read it?
Last year, Delilah did a call for bad boys for one of her anthologies and, having never written that short before, I considered it. A prequel to my paranormal suddenly popped into my head and I dove in, writing furiously. The story poured out of me and then I continued into Alpha’s Moon, with the full series.
Shifters have always been a favorite paranormal read of mine. Not vampires, but wolves, dragons, lions, any creature that shifts. I was Team Jacob all the way. When I watch movies and television shows, like The Originals, I root for the shifters. Even in the Sookie Stackhouse series, I was all about Sam and not Bill.
So it made sense for me to focus on shifters in this story. But what kind? Wolves? Dragons? Cats? So many choices, so little time.
I love wolves. In dreams, wolves mean strength, freedom, and the ability to fiercely protect that which is dear to us. Wolves are powerful and invite us to claim our own power, to run free and live our most authentic life, without fear, without shackles, without shame.
That doesn’t mean wolves are the only shifters or paranormal creatures… but you’ll have to read the rest of the series to find out more. <wink wink>
What is your favorite paranormal creature to read about and why?
Answer for a chance to win a download of Alpha’s Moon!
(TWO WINNERS!)
Alpha’s Moon
The mating heat ignites between a dominant alpha-heir and a forbidden wolf-witch hybrid when they’re forced to find his kidnapped sister and stop a war.
Now is not the time for Kane to have found his mate. But the Goddess is never wrong. If he gives in to his desires for Sheridan, her lineage could cost him everything. Yet as his body aches for her, and thoughts of her curves cloud his mind, he finds himself willing to risk it all to claim her.
Forced, out of friendship and loyalty, Sheridan joins the hunt and gets more than she bargained for. A dangerous attraction to a darkly handsome wolf. While she seeks to distance herself from pack politics, Sheridan can’t deny that the first place she has ever felt she belongs is at Kane’s side. Not everyone agrees, and some will stop at nothing to destroy their love, their family, their future.
She cleared her mind, focused on the question and her vision of Kayleigh. Then she sent her will down the pendulum and deepened her breathing, ignoring the ache in her ribs. Finally, she felt the tug in the chain, pulling her toward the Massachusetts and New York border, at which point, it stopped, as if hitting a wall.
She sighed, letting her spine relax. She had a direction. A sound made her jerk and turn. Kane was leaning against the wall, just inside the door, his arms crossed in front of him, wearing jeans that fit him comfortably and a black leather jacket over a tight T-shirt. She tried to ignore the way he filled out the shirt and jeans, and the way his dark eyes heated as they roamed over her, but he didn’t move from the wall, just watched her with the steady intensity of the predator that he was. Her body heated as if his gaze was a laser as it traced her body, and a steady throbbing built deep inside reminding her of how long it had been since she’d been laid. His scent trailed through the room, through the layers of incense she’d lit, and she melted inside.
Damn it. She should have sensed him invading her house. Her wards should’ve warned her. How could he have slipped past them without her knowing? She uncrossed her legs, an involuntary whimper escaping her lips as blood rushed to the limbs and the stiff muscles protested the movement. Quickly, he shoved off the wall and gripped her arm, helping her to her feet, not touching her anywhere else, his hand burning her like a brand. He then shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her wordlessly.
“Not that I mind the way you’re dressed, but I thought you might be more comfortable this way.” His voice was a deep rumble, and she swore she could feel her pussy clenching then softening. Damn, he sounded sexy.
She narrowed her gaze and dropped his jacket, striding casually from the room to her bedroom where she forced herself to slowly dress, not letting on how it bothered her that he was seeing her naked. It didn’t bother him at all, since shifters had a much more open view of nudity, not able to shift with their clothes. But she had never liked being that vulnerable, not that she’d let him know that.
He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her with hooded eyes. Once she was appropriately armed with her jeans and black T-shirt, she turned to face him.
“Do you often break into women’s houses? Is that how you get your rocks off? Or is this some sort of bizarre courting ritual?”
He levered himself off the doorjamb and prowled over to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I find it funny that you ask about my courting of other females. I’ve never courted anyone, and I won’t be going to any other female’s house.” He leaned closer to her neck and inhaled. Then he stepped back. “And when I’m courting you, you’ll know it.”
She swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. “I won’t hold my breath.”
He gave her a wolfish grin then frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt this badly. You’re bruised all over the place. Didn’t Shayla heal you?”
The near-feral growl in his voice made her want to soothe him instantly, not a normal response for her at all, and she resisted the urge. Instead, she fisted her hands at her side and adopted a deliberatively casual pose, folding her arms over her chest and cocking out her hip. “She did what she could. I’m fine. You never answered my question. Why are you here?”
He scowled at her but dropped the subject. “I wanted to talk with you about Kayleigh and what you knew about her disappearance, to see if you had remembered anything else. And maybe share what I heard from some of the witnesses.”
Her pulse quickened at the prospect of hearing additional information. Maybe that would shake loose what was bothering her, help her with her own investigation.
He smirked, perhaps sensing her interest. “But first, tell me what you were doing. Was that a Finding spell?”
Son of a bitch. He was too smart by half, and he had seen her in the middle of the ritual. She couldn’t avoid the talk any further. At that moment, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and not much at that.
“I brought food,” he said, “since Healing burns calories, and I didn’t know what you might have to eat. We can talk while we eat.”
He took her arm and started to lead her, but she resisted. One, because she knew where her own damned kitchen was and didn’t need anyone directing her. And two, when a shifter fed another, it usually meant something, especially when it was a dominant male, and Kane was Uber dominant, especially considering he was the next Alpha of his Pack. Taking food from him was a big deal, and she had to tread very carefully in the next few minutes.
Correctly interpreting her hesitation, he dropped her arm. “For goddess sake, Sheridan. You have to eat. Unbend your goddamn pride and take the offering. I’m not asking you to mate with me.”
She narrowed her gaze, sniffed once and smelled the food that she hadn’t before, and her stomach reminded her how long it had been since her last meal.
She strode past him, but not before he added, “Yet.”
About the Author
Sabrina Silvers began her writing career dreaming of elves, orcs, and hobbits in the fantasy section of her local library, looking in wardrobes for Narnia and Aslan, and hunting for gnomes in the forest. To her dismay, she never found any of them except between the pages of her books.
So, she had to go out and create them for herself, leading to her lifelong love of reading and writing and dreaming about adventures, fantasy creatures and love in fantasy lands! She divides her time between writing sexy contemporary romances under a different pen name, reading, knitting and being owned by a very spoiled cocker spaniel who does not share her love of fantasy creatures.
On June 22nd, CHASE releases! It’s book #4 in the Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT series—an offshoot of my Montana Bounty Hunters series. I’m still writing the story! Gah! I hate running it up to the wire, but I’ll get there. In the meantime, have you pre-ordered your copy? Read an excerpt below to get a hint of the fun I have in store for you!
Chase Kudrow flipped down his visor to shut out the bright morning sun beaming through his windshield. He was parked on Main Street in Dead Horse, congratulating himself on his good sense in accepting the job with Montana Bounty Hunters’ Dead Horse office because he was here, hunting a skip, and not living out of his truck in bumfuck Colorado…or Wyoming…or Idaho. Sure, Cage Morgan, his new boss, had said they’d be looking for the richest bounties in a multi-state area when he’d offered him the job, but as luck would have it, today’s hunt was right in their own backyard.
Chase would never admit it to any of his new bounty hunter brothers, but he’d been ready to settle down and stop living out of a suitcase. He needed to put down roots and prove he could provide a stable home—to himself and to the caseworker handling his niece’s situation. No way in hell was he letting his blood relative, his little sister’s orphaned daughter, be raised by strangers.
The job offer had come at just the right moment. Although he’d feigned resistance to joining the hunters as part of their newly formed satellite agency, inside, he’d been jubilant. He’d hemmed and hawed for days, and he’d done his homework, reaching out to hunter friends in the Kalispell office to make sure this gig was legit, and that he could trust the people he’d be working with. The more he’d learned, the more certain he was that his accepting the job was meant to be.
Yes, there was a lot left to iron out. He had yet to find a house. Work had been pretty busy, but he’d be asking Cage for some time off to find a home and fill it with furniture and the things an eight-year-old might need or want, and for him to meet with local school officials to talk about what he’d need to get Mikayla enrolled. Then the hard work would begin to get Miss Tight-ass Bradshaw at Child and Family Services in Billings to sign off.
The last time she’d seen him, she’d shaken her head. “How do you think you can care for a little girl? You live like a gypsy, Mr. Kudrow. All your past mailing addresses have been forwarding services because you’re never in one place longer than a month. How are you going to be a father to Mikayla?”
He’d shifted in his chair, knowing his petition looked bad, but this was Audra’s girl. He hadn’t been there for her mother, hadn’t even had any idea how much trouble she’d been in. His mama, had she been alive, would have been so disappointed in him for his neglect while he’d been out living his life.
No more. He’d lived like a nomad since his days in the military. He’d liked seeing the world, but when he’d gotten fed up with the rigor and the rules he’d had to abide by in the Army, he’d left and found the one job ideally suited to his wandering ways. Even now, working from a home base in Dead Horse, bounty hunting allowed him to roam just far enough to keep from feeling that itch to pull up stakes and move, and it gave him the occasional adrenaline rush he craved. The targets were varied, and hunting them down never got boring. Except when he was on stakeouts, like this one.
Today’s target was Billy Calloway, one of the Calloway brothers who ran a junkyard east of town, who’d been busted with a shit-ton of stolen catalytic converters. He’d refused to give the DA the names of his suppliers so he was facing multiple charges for receiving stolen goods. Since he was a three-time offender, the judge had set his bail at $100,000—high for the crime, but Judge Hodges was setting an example for the other Calloways.
Then the dumbass skipped his court date…
Chase picked up the manila folder Fredericka “Fig” Newton, their office manager and tech guru, had prepared for all the hunters combing their hometown for this skip. Billy was a scrawny fucker, with greasy brown hair, a scruffy beard, and one eye that permanently looked down his nose. He’d be easy to spot.
The passenger door beside him opened, and Dylan “Preacher” Priestley, his new partner, climbed into the seat beside him holding a small pink box in his hand.
“Took your damn time,” Chase groused, not really concerned, but he and Preacher enjoyed that kind of relationship, always griping at each other but quick to jump into action when the situation called for it. Three weeks in, and Chase wondered how he’d ever gone it alone as a bounty hunter. Having a partner made things like boring-ass stakeouts kind of fun.
“They’re straight out of the oven,” Preacher said, opening the box to reveal two big donuts. Preacher’s hand hovered over them.
“Don’t even think about takin’ the one with the sprinkles,” Chase said, giving him a glare.
Preacher shrugged. “Sprinkles taste like chalky sugar anyway.” He plucked the pink glazed donut from the box and left the cream-colored one with sprinkles for Chase.
Chase plucked his from the box, took a bite, and groaned. “Don’t know how you aren’t fat.”
Preacher waggled his eyebrows. “She makes me work for them.”
“TMI, man,” Chase said, holding up a hand.
Preacher grinned. “Sorry it took so long. I had to taste wedding cakes when I was in there.”
Chase wrinkled his nose. “Way to kill my appetite, man. Weddings!” He gave a mock shudder.
Preacher chuckled. “Laura and Rhonda have this huge notebook. It takes up an entire table when they open it. It has polaroids of cakes and things to decorate the tables with, flower arrangements—”
Chase narrowed his eyes and looked out the windshield. “Rhonda’s in there?”
“Yeah, why?” Preacher shot him a sly sideways glance.
“Just wonderin’. Haven’t seen much of her lately. Her sister’s behind the counter at the Dem Bones Package Store every time I stop to buy beer.”
Preacher arched an eyebrow. “You crushing on Rhonda?”
Chase gave him a deadpan look. “I don’t crush on women. Just sayin’. She seems pretty busy with all that wedding shit.”
“She’s been a huge help to Laura. Says she loved planning her wedding more than she loved her ex-husband. Said it should have told her something.”
“Didn’t know she’s been married…”
“Yeah, for five years, until her husband up and left town with a massage therapist.”
“Must have been rubbing more than his back.”
Preacher shrugged. “Laura doesn’t talk much about him. Guess he left her the store and a pile of debt. She’s been digging herself out of that mess for years.”
Chase finished off his donut and followed it with a gargle of coffee straight from his thermos. When he screwed the lid back on, he glanced down the street. His attention was snagged by two men stepping out of Dead Center Guns & Pawn, both holding handguns and wearing camouflage masks pulled over their chins and noses. They were running toward a beat-up pickup parked alongside the curb.
“Think we got trouble,” he said to Preacher, tapping his ignition button and glancing up and down the street before punching the gas pedal and pulling out of his parking space.
“Damn.” Preacher hit the button on his radio. “Hey, Fig!”
“Yeah, Preacher. What’s up?”
“I think we’ve got a robbery in progress on Main Street. Saw two armed individuals coming out of the pawn shop. Call 9-1-1.”
“Roger, out.”
The tailpipe of the beat-up pickup belched smoke, and then the truck jumped the curb and careened down the street.
In my upcoming release for the anthology, Stay With Me, I revisited my first published work that was under my own name (I’d been ghostwriting before this). “A Stranger’s Kiss” first appeared in Delilah’s Boys Behaving Badly, Stranded anthology. It gave me a massive boost in confidence and helped me launch my author career. A quick, heartfelt THANK YOU to Delilah for that opportunity!
Has anybody experienced the magic of a fresh off-the-line HOT Krispy Kreme donut? When I was a paramedic in Atlanta, we routinely dropped in for one in the wee hours of the morning. Nothing helped get you through the night like a sticky, sweet, melt-in-your-mouth donut from the original Krispy Kreme store in downtown Atlanta. Side note- I just found out that this store was not the original store. The company actually started in the 1930s in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. I also discovered that the building burned a few months ago.
When I first moved to Atlanta, I’d just turned 20 and had the world by the tail. I was also a country girl in the big city and walked around with my eyes bugging out and my mouth hanging open. I desperately wanted to experience all the city had to offer. I had big dreams and a head stuffed full of romantic nonsense—thanks to my obsessive reading of all things romance. Since I wasn’t 21, I couldn’t go clubbing with the crew from work, and after months in the city, I still hadn’t managed to have a night on the town. I was a little discouraged, but finally, a firefighter I met through work asked me out.
A tall, hunky guy with blue eyes and biceps that strained the limits of his uniform shirt, I had a serious crush on him. Due to my limited access to the adult world, we spent our evening at a taqueria that had an outdoor dance floor, and all my girlish fantasies of dancing into the night came true. Afterward, we ended swinging by Krispy Kreme and, over a dozen donuts, talked for hours. It didn’t end up going anywhere, but for a country girl with limited experience with men and the city, it was more than enough to make me feel like I had finally arrived.
That simple, sweet memory came to mind as I reinvigorated “A Stranger’s Kiss”. The story was initially an erotic short story. I wanted to use it for a romantic anthology, so I went back and focused on building the romance between the characters that includes bonding over hot donuts! I’m thrilled with how it turned out!
Here’s a tidbit from “A Stranger’s Kiss”. This story will be part of a charity anthology benefitting a good friend and Indie publisher, Sosha Ann, with BBB Publishing. Her mother is battling breast cancer, and we’re trying to support her as she takes care of her mom. The anthology, Stay With Me, is up for preorder and releases June 10th!
Stay With Me
Steaming hot to sugary sweet and everything in between. Join these amazing authors as they delve into worlds of romance. This anthology will be filled with short stories, prequels, and maybe a few surprises along the way. Please beware there maybe cliffhangers and some stories may come with a trigger warning
“The hot sign is on!” Jordan suddenly came alive next to me.
Ahead of us, the Krispy Kreme Donut sign glowed with HOT NOW illuminated in red neon. Stuart laughed and made a quick turn into the parking lot. Jordan hopped out of the car before it even came to a stop and was at my door in a blink. He opened it and held his hand out for mine.
“Come on. There’s nothing better for a late-night snack than a Krispy Kreme hot off the line.” He grinned at me like an excited little boy.
The scent of hot fried dough filled the air. My mouth watered. I grabbed his hand and laughed as he practically ran to window to order. A few minutes later, after Jordan took Stuart a cup of coffee and a box of donuts, we sat on a concrete picnic table beneath the city lights with a dozen hot glazed donuts and two chocolate milks.
As we clogged our arteries and skyrocketed our glucose levels, we talked. Small discoveries, like our common love for chocolate and classic literature, revealed themselves quickly. By the time I was licking my sticky fingers clean, we moved past small talk, revealing bits about ourselves.
“So, if you’re not Batman, heir to the Wayne family fortune, what do you do?” I asked, sipping my chocolate milk, thinking I should have stopped at five donuts instead of splitting the dozen evenly. My mind buzzed with a pleasant sugar high as my tired body asked what it had ever done to deserve such abuse.
Jordan popped the last bit of his final donut in his mouth and chewed before answering my question. “I own several tech companies.” He shrugged and gathered up our trash.
I grinned, liking how he hadn’t taken the opportunity to launch into a dissertation on Jordan Campbell the man, the myth, the millionaire. I hated it when someone’s favorite subject was themselves.
“I thought you were going to say you were a YouTube sensation and donut critic.”
Jordan laughed and again offered his hand. “Are you up for a bit of a walk?”
I hesitated. Going for a walk in an un unknown city after dark with a stranger sounded like a great way to end up on the morning news, but even as I thought it, I put my hand in his. I couldn’t find the tiniest spark of fear for this man.
Jordan pulled my hand through the crook of his arm as we walked down the well-lit sidewalk. Stuart drove behind us, creeping along with his flashers on like a hovering dowager aunt chaperone. The stillness of the city felt odd. I assumed all big cities constantly buzzed with activity.
“Where is everybody?” I asked as we strolled along. I liked how he put himself between me and the street and matched his stride to mine.
“Atlanta’s a weird city. Every day, hundreds of thousands of people flood in from the suburbs and desert it eight hours later. They’ve done a lot of revitalization to help draw people live in the city, but it still feels like a ghost town after dark. What’s Kansas City like after dark?”
“I honestly don’t know. I avoid it at all costs. I live like a hermit in the middle of nowhere about an hour north of the city.”
Jordan stopped and faced me. “A writer. A recluse.” He tucked my hair behind my ear and studied me in the under the streetlight. “You’ve got too much to offer to hide away.”
I averted my gaze and looked up into the twinkling lights of the city. How did he know just what to say to disarm me? It was like he could see straight into me and flip whatever switch he wanted.
“Not everyone thinks so. Besides, you don’t even know me,” I said quietly, thinking of Dilan and what he said when he left me.
Kinsey, you just don’t do it for me anymore.
That short sentence shredded my heart and cut the moorings to my center. Over the last year, I tried to reconnect to my drive, my mojo. My editor forced me to go to this conference to get me out of the house in hopes it would jar me out of my funk. A few hours ago, I would have said it hadn’t worked, but now, I wasn’t so sure.
Jordan studied me for a moment before he continued our stroll. We walked the next block in silence until he stopped at the entrance of a high rise building that jutted up into the dark sky.
“This is where I live.” Jordan paused and looked over my shoulder into the night. Indecision played out on his face.
I jumped in. “I don’t know how to thank you. Seriously. Not just for saving me from sleeping in the airport, but everything.” He had no idea how much he had done for me in the last couple of hours.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
*~*~*
With her author career in flames, all Kinsey wants to do is go home and nurse her wounds. When sparks fly between her and a hunky millionaire, will Kinsey grab a chance at rejuvenating her writing or will fear and self-doubt hold her back?
A.C. Dawn is an active and enthusiastic author and reader of short stories, novellas, and novels. She enjoys bringing her characters to life and strives to stir the imagination of her readers. She believes the best writing touches the reader in ways they hadn’t expected and will never forget!
So, that’s the official bio…
Really, I’m a lover of chocolate, a strong jawline with a 5 o’clock shadow, and romances that make your heart pound and your middle get all squishy. I love quiet country living on my north Georgia farm with my family and fur babies of all shapes and sizes. I think the scariest things in life are how fast my daughter is growing and an empty coffee pot. I can’t stand slow drivers in the fast lane and wimpy handshakes.
I have endless stories rumbling around among the rocks in my head. I can’t wait to share them with you!
In my upcoming release for the anthology, Stay With Me, I revisited my first published work that was under my own name (I’d been ghostwriting before this). “A Stranger’s Kiss” first appeared in Delilah’s 
A.C. Dawn is an active and enthusiastic author and reader of short stories, novellas, and novels. She enjoys bringing her characters to life and strives to stir the imagination of her readers. She believes the best writing touches the reader in ways they hadn’t expected and will never forget!
