New Release Settling the Score By C. Koehler

Title: Settling the Score

Series: CalPac Crew, Book Four

Author: C. Koehler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/28/2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 103900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, romance, family-drama, gay, bisexual, medical student, property developer, corporate intrigue, instant family

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Description

Stuart Cochrane and Philip Sundstrom are very busy men. Stuart, freshly graduated from California Pacific, works as much as he can to save money for medical school. Philip, now in charge of the family home-construction company, works long hours to save the company from his father’s blunders and back-stabbing cronies. A chance encounter brings them together and the attraction is fierce and instant. While neither has time for a relationship, they can’t keep away from each other.

When the National Team recruits Stuart to cox, only Philip understands that Stuart’s sick of rowing and wants nothing more than to start medical school. When Philip’s board of directors plots to remove him from his own company, Stuart helps him scheme and strategize. Despite their emotional and sexual chemistry, Stuart’s hang-ups about money and rich people doom their fledgling relationship. But after a personal tragedy, Stuart must overcome his prejudices and accept Philip’s help. Can Philip set aside his broken heart to help Stuart in his hour of greatest need and, dare he hope, a family?

Excerpt

Settling the Score
C. Koehler © 2020
All Rights Reserved

The waiter held Philip’s eye a moment too long. Philip knew what that meant and flushed from the starched collar of his shirt all the way up to the gelled magnificence of his golden bangs. Left to its own devices, his hair flopped down to cover his eyes, and right then, Philip kind of wished it could. Instead, he’d styled his hair like he always did, parting it on the left and then the bulk of the bangs were up up and away! in a truly stupendous flight of fancy that was probably on the wrong side of metrosexual for a corporate CEO. When he was by himself, he played the game, but c’mon, dude. He was here with his girlfriend. What kind of trash did he think Philip was? It meant he had to cut the waiter. The cut direct wasn’t his style, but Philip felt like he didn’t have a choice. Angie was his priority.

“The waiter’s certainly attentive this evening,” Angie commented.

Philip cocked one eyebrow. “Sweetheart, did you get a good look at yourself? You’re stunning.”

“You think so?” she said, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Philip. It’s always nice to be noticed.”

“I always notice you,” he said, smiling back. He raised his wine glass in a salute. “Notice and appreciate.”

Angie touched her glass to his in an almost-silent toast. “Charmer. Half the time I feel upstaged by you. Is that a new suit? You look amazing.” Then she glanced at the waiter. “I get the feeling I’m not the only one who thinks your tailor is a god among men.”

“Boy, you buy one new sport suit—”

“A week,” Angie interrupted, her eyes merry. She was enjoying herself.

“—one new suit, and people accuse you of being a dandy.” Philip sighed theatrically. “Memo to self: return the ascot and waistcoat ASAP,” he said in a stage whisper.

They shared a quiet laugh. Philip reached across the table to caress her cheek, and Angie leaned into his touch. Her beauty struck him once again, and that evening, she’d gone all out, every bit his match in an ivory satin gown with the back down to here and her auburn hair done with seed pearls as it cascaded down her back. She even wore a simple cameo around her neck, an antique Wedgwood piece he’d given her for Valentine’s Day the year before. Then he noticed she’d mounted it on a mauve ribbon that clashed horribly with her auburn hair. What on earth had she been thinking? He’d given it to her on a cream ribbon for a reason—

Dinner arrived and Philip dropped his hand.

He tried to ignore the argument going in his mind about the colors, but it was hard. He’d always had an overdeveloped sense of aesthetics, and at times growing up with Brad and Randall had been nothing but torment. Builders’ houses were always one of two types: ramshackle and about to fall over, or palatial monuments to every architectural innovation and new concept to show up in the design rags. The Sundstrom home was one of the latter type, if poorly decorated, and no sooner had he shoved Randall off stage and into the hands of the police than he called in the cavalry to remove the worst of his father’s excesses and atrocities. Gone were the putti pissing into fountains and faux-antique tapestries and superfluous televisions, and there were no more—Philip jerked his thoughts back to the here and now. He sat across the table from a beautiful woman at a posh restaurant. His aesthetic hang-ups could wait.

Philip genuinely enjoyed Angie’s company. They might not live together—yet—but they certainly spent a lot of time in each other’s company, mostly at her condo. She found his house “creepy, like a funeral home,” even with Randall out of there and every room but his mother’s old sitting room and her library redone. Not that he blamed her—it was large and foreboding, and maybe it was time to sell it. When he’d called to invite her out to dinner earlier in the week, she’d been overjoyed, even more so than usual. It made him wonder if he weren’t missing something, but a thorough search of his day planner by both himself and Suresh revealed nothing.

After gnawing his guts out for a while, he’d finally given up, and when it came time to pick her up, he gave in and let himself enjoy the evening. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes, I think so,” Angie said. Was that a tightening around her eyes?

Philip signaled the waiter, who promptly brought him the check. When Philip put a black Amex card down, the man’s eyes widened. It would have been comical, but Philip found it hard to believe no one at this restaurant had ever seen American Express’s Centurion Card before.

“Here you are, Mr. Sundstrom,” the waiter said when he returned, placing the receipt before Philip and then departing. Philip signed it, including a generous tip.

Philip held Angie’s chair for her and then waited patiently while she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. As they walked out of the restaurant, Philip smiled at their waiter. “Thank you. We had a lovely evening.”

But it was only as they waited for his car to be brought around that he noticed the waiter had written a number—presumably his—on the back of the credit card slip, but lightly and in pencil so it didn’t show from the front. Classy. Philip crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.

“They’re staring at you out here too,” Angie whispered.

Philip blushed. “I think you mean they’re looking at you.”

“Some of them, maybe.” She laughed. “A few, the straight ones.”

But they weren’t all straight, he could tell that right off the bat. Sorry, boys. He played, but never when he was in a committed relationship.

“Remind me not to come back here. This is very embarrassing.”

She hooked her arm on his. “I think it’s hilarious, and you blush very prettily.”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes.

It made him uncomfortable, that regard, even if he understood it. Thanks to the last year at SunHo, he knew how to project an air of authority, and a lot of people found that attractive. It wasn’t quite a matter of “do the opposite of Randall.” After all, his father had run SunHo with an air of power, but in Philip’s estimation, that power was based on fear. Employees in SunHo’s corporate offices had feared for their jobs, at least when Randall stomped and blustered. But authority? That was something different. Philip knew when he spoke, he would be listened to. He might be young for a CEO, but by and large, he was respected. He wasn’t sure Randall could’ve said that, or even appreciated the difference.

In his early thirties, Philip was young, fit, and, based on the evidence at dinner, handsome; he was very well situated financially, and the waiter and valets could tell that from the credit card and his car. He loved his Merc, a sleek sports car, the six-figure kind with the spoiler to prevent it from taking flight. At least he assumed that’s why they stared. Or maybe he had spinach stuck between his teeth, he thought ruefully, the perils of being a vegetarian there to keep him humble.

They drove back to Angie’s condo in silence, insulated from the sounds of the city by the Merc, but what, Philip wondered, isolated them from each other? He bore responsibility for that, the lion’s share, at least. He felt bad for neglecting Angie in favor of SunHo. It wasn’t that he preferred SunHo per se, but it seemed so much more immediate to him. More…real, he realized guiltily, but that’s not how he wanted his life to be. Angie always understood—or acted as if she did. She got that he’d taken over the family business, even if she didn’t know the particulars of how that had come about. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t need to either.

But simply because Philip had chosen this life, it didn’t stand to reason that Angie was happy with it. He knew she’d prefer to be living the high life, preferably in San Francisco. Angie cared for him, so no gold digger, she, but he didn’t fool himself on that score either. She enjoyed the life his money afforded them. Buying Brad out a few years ago might’ve set him back, but SunHo grew and expanded, despite the recession and building slowdown. Philip was loaded, and Angie knew it.

He glanced over at Angie as he drove, her face turned away from him, inscrutable in the passing lights. He knew what he wanted from the next step in life, but was it what Angie wanted?

Unable to decipher his uncharacteristically enigmatic girlfriend, Philip retreated into his thoughts, pretending he was in the cockpit of a spaceship instead of a luxury car, because damn, the onboard computer was almost that complicated. He liked Mercedes for the same reason he liked Macs. They both embodied high performance and elegant design and didn’t bother him with a lot of irritating details. Sure, BMW made amazing cars, but they always seemed to want his input on some matter or other, and he got enough of that at work. As for PCs, Philip was sure there was an elegant and highly functional one somewhere, he’d just never heard of it. But really, they’d gone from a charming dinner together full of conversation and laughter to him retreating into his imagination. Again. He’d been doing that more and more lately.

If he were to be honest with himself, it couldn’t be a good sign, but they looked good together, and she was someone to hold on cold, dark nights. Angie was someone to cling to when he’d spent too much time reading the Existentialists and felt too alone in an uncaring universe. But was that really a reason to stay in a relationship with someone? On the whole, Philip reasoned, there were worse ones, but it would only be fair if she felt the same way, and he knew for a fact she had no patience for what she called his “navel-gazing.” This raised the question of why on Earth he was with someone who so easily dismissed his interests and the things he valued. On the other hand, he didn’t remember his parents sharing that many interests. So many puzzles.

The keypad at the entrance to the parking lot under Angie’s condo tower saved Philip from further omphaloskepsis. After he parked in her designated guest space and opened the door for her, Angie again laughed and flirted in the elevator.

“Dinner was great, but tomorrow night I want to go clubbing in the city,” she said, moving in close, breathing in his ear, hand roaming south of his belt.

“What’re you doing?” Philip gasped at the sudden assault.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?”

He looked down at her, amazed at her audacity. “Groping me. What if someone comes in?”

“Then I stop.”

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Meet the Author

Christopher Koehler always wanted to write, but it wasn’t until his grad school years that he realized writing was how he wanted to spend his life. Long something of a hothouse flower, he’s been lucky to be surrounded by people who encouraged that, especially his long-suffering husband of twenty-nine years and counting.

He loves many genres of fiction and nonfiction, but he’s especially fond of romances, because it’s in them that human emotions and relations, at least most of the ones fit to be discussed publicly, are laid bare.

While writing is his passion and his life, when he’s not doing that, he’s a househusband, at-home dad, and oarsman with a slightly disturbing interest in manners and the other ways people behave badly.

Christopher is approaching the tenth anniversary of publication and has been fortunate to be recognized for his writing, including by the American Library Association, which named Poz a 2016 Recommended Title, and an Honorable Mention for “Transformation,” in Innovation, Volume 6 of Queer Sci Fi’s Flash Fiction Anthology.

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New Release and a review The Hunted and the Hind By A.L. Lester.

Title: The Hunted and the Hind

Series: Lost in Time #3

Author: A. L. Lester

Publisher: JMS Books LLC

Release Date: 30 December 2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/NB

Length: 40,000 words

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mystery, Non-binary, Paranormal, Romantic Suspense, Historical, 1920s

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Synopsis

Inadvertently tumbling through the border after Fenn and then thrown into the middle of the internecine political disputes of their people, Sergeant Will Grant of the Metropolitan Police has spent three months in prison in the Underhalls of the Frem. When Fenn comes to free him and return him home through the border, he has very little time to work out what’s going on before the sudden appearance of Fenn’s missing younger sibling, Keren, throws Fenn for a loop.

Instead of returning them to London as planned, the trio step through the border to the Egyptian desert. Once they work out where they are, it’s a two week trip back to England with the possibility of pursuit both onboard ship and when they reach home.

Will the journey give Fenn and Will time to resolve the feelings they have been dancing around since the day they met? How will they keep Keren from recapture by the faction who tried to persuade Fenn they were dead? And has Will’s friend Alec forgiven Fenn for lying about their motives when they first traveled to London four months ago?

The Hunted and the Hind is the third and final book in the 1920s ‘Lost in Time’ trilogy. The books need to be read in order.

My Review

Note to self: When requesting an ARC copy of a book, make sure to read the entire blurb carefully. Yes, I did receive a free advance copy of this book, but I then had to purchase the first two books in the series because I got over-excited about the historical, time-travel, magic\paranormal theme and missed the last part that it wasn’t stand-alone. So, the author basically got two purchases from me in exchange for the free copy. 

On to the review: Yes, the blurb is right, you need to read the series in order. Book one, Lost in Time sets up some of the major characters of the series. Alec Carter and Will Grant come home from WWI and re-join the police force at about the same time. “Lew” Taylor is from the future where he was “working” (magical term) on a magical border between worlds. His foster sister is also a “worker” who transports herself back in time while trying to use the magic to find her dream job. Lew follows her “working” after he realizes what she’s done and is also transported back in time, but to a different year. While he’s searching for her, he finds friends to help him along the way. When one of those friends get murdered, he’s introduced to Alec Carter and Will Grant who figure out that he’s lying about something that might be related to the murder. Their investigation reveals the truth about the magical border and the “creature” that was pulled across from the other side when either Lew or his sister traveled back in time. The magical occurrences come to be known as “The Peculiar” with the group and the police supervisors above Alec and Will. Lew, Alec, and Will work together to try to locate the creature to stop the killing spree it’s on. 

In the second book, Shadows on the Border, we are introduced to Fenn who crosses the border (Their people call it the Shimmer) to capture the same creature that the others are also hunting. Fenn meets Will Grant first, and they become allies in their hunt for the creature. Will introduces Fenn to the others on his team. During Fenn’s stay with the group, it’s revealed that Fenn’s family (specifically the youngest sibling) is in danger if the creature is not caught and returned to the other side. The group finally captures the creature and Fenn works to push it back across the border, but Will is caught in the “working” and crosses over as well.

This leads us to the last book, The Hunted and the Hind, Will is imprisoned by Fenn’s people while Fenn works to free both Will and Fenn’s captured sibling Keren. Fenn’s society is undergoing a political battle that has created a dangerous situation for both Fenn and Keren. Fenn returns Will to his world on the other side of the border and brings Keren along to protect them. During this book, Alec and Lew are called in to assist the couple as they try to protect Keren from the wrath of one political faction from the other side.  

Often, I dislike reading series books that are not stand-alone especially if they have cliff-hangerish endings so it would have driven me nuts trying to figure out what happened to Will in Book 2 until Book 3 was released. But since I acquired all of them at the same time, I was able to just keep reading, and it was well worth it. The multiple romance arcs are a slow build over the entire series. Alec and Lew are the first to get their relationship lined out. Will and Fenn develop their relationship over the last two books, mainly in this last book of the series. 

I love the entire series, but the blurb tells me this is the last book in the series. I’m entirely disappointed if that’s the case because this storyline makes an awesome beginning for a continuing series of adventures for the entire cast of characters. Will, Alec, Lew, and Fenn work well together to thwart the enemy’s plans and to combat “The Peculiar” throughout the series. I’d be delighted to read any more books featuring these characters and future incidents of “The Peculiar.” Or maybe they get called to the other side to aid Fenn’s people with an incident? I hope my review puts a bug in the Author’s ear and encourages an exploration of additional scenarios for these characters.

Excerpt

“Can I ride the one over there, please, Will Grant?” Keren called across the yard, pointing at creature with a white stripe down it’s face that they’d become enamored of earlier.

Will Grant nodded and came across the courtyard toward them. “You may. That was my intention, anyway.” They looked at Fenn. “Do you have animals you ride in the Outlands?” they asked.

Fenn stroked Olive’s nose. “Not like these,” they said. “These are beautiful creatures. We sometimes ride the antacas we use for pack animals. Some  people breed them for meat, too. They have horns and a very sharp spine. And are extremely bad tempered. They’re smaller than these, though. Bumpy.”

Will Grant leaned against the stable door next to Fenn, as Keren took themselves across the yard to quiz the horse-keeper. He rubbed at Olive’s ears absently. “You’re not bumpy, are you girl? No-one would dream of accusing you of such a dreadful thing!”

The horse shook its head and buffeted Will Grant’s stomach. He staggered a little against Fenn’s side and blew out a laugh. It was very strange to see them like this, out of their city clothes, in what Fenn assumed were special clothes for riding. The humans seemed to have a variety of different clothes for each task, rather than sensible clothing that would serve for most things. Here in private, both Fenn and Keren had donned the extra clothes made for them in Port Said, patterned more or less on their usual loose trousers and robes.

It was even stranger to see Will laugh like this. After the conversation with their parent this morning, Will had seemed to let go of a little of the tension that had gathered round them since this trip had been mooted. It was a nice look on them, Fenn decided. Underneath it all was the tension and sadness that was Will’s permanent signature. But a little of that had eased. Fenn wondered what it would take to ease the rest of it.

“Come on, then,” Will Grant said, straightening. “Let’s get Keren up and we can go out for a wander through the woods and down to the lake. And once we’re there we can try our kias out near the water. We’re lucky Mama has kept the stable going, with no-one but her here to ride.” He glanced around. “The men coming home needed the work.”

Fenn nodded. “Your parent is a good person,” they said, cautiously. “They reminded me of Ana. Very…,” they searched for an accurate, polite word.

Will Grant laughed. “Very, yes,” they said. Their eyes had softened. “I haven’t done right by her,” they said. “I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head. I should have come home before.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were ready,” Fenn replied. “Home is a difficult place to be, sometimes.”

Will Grant shook their head. “But still. She’s my mother and she lost all of us. Father died a few years before the war and she missed him dreadfully. It was a love match, I think. They spent a lot of time together, anyway.”

Both of them were leaning against the stable door now, talking quietly whilst they watched the bustle as the horse-keepers got animals out for them all to ride.

“Is that not always the case, here?” Fenn asked, curiously.

Will looked at them over Olive’s nose. “For Mama’s generation, not always. Sometimes, marrying well is more important than whether you have strong feelings for your potential partner. Making the marriage and producing children is the thing, you see.”

Fenn looked at him.

“Not for me,” they hastened to add. “Mama has given up trying to marry me off. She made it clear this morning that she has no expectations in that direction at all.” They hesitated. “She said, you are welcome to visit here, too. She knows that I…have feelings…for you.”

Fenn was silent for a moment. “I would be honored to visit them,” they said. “Whether or not you have feelings for me, Will Grant.” They felt the shiver of embarrassment in Will’s kias. Humans did not talk about this sort of thing, apparently. Probably because most of them didn’t have kias and had to articulate everything verbally. It was very graceless and left a lot of room for misunderstanding. How did people without any kias at all between them manage?

They gently opened the edges of their kias to Will Grant and allowed their own feelings to be felt. Admiration, friendship, desire, love. All of it. Will glanced over and smiled, clearly picking some of it up without even trying to reach back.

The two of them stood against the door in amicable silence until the chief horse-keeper called across the yard, “Ready, Mr William? I’ve got Peter tacked up for you, here!”

Will Grant started. “Coming, Ralph. Thank you.

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Meet the Author

Writer of queer, paranormal, historical, romantic suspense. Lives in the South West of England with Mr AL, two children, a badly behaved dachshund, a terrifying cat and some hens. Likes gardening but doesn't really have time or energy. Not musical. Doesn't much like telly. Non-binary. Chronically disabled. Has tedious fits.

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New Release plus Review Kelpie Blue by Mell Eight

Title: Kelpie Blue

Series: Out of Underhill, Book One

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/04/2021

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 49500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, disability, fairies/faes, magic users, shape-shifter, fantasy, romance

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Description

When a beautiful blue horse asks Rin to go for a swim, Rin doesn’t realize how much his life is about to change. Blue is unlike anyone else Rin has ever met, and the magic of the fae, and of this particular kelpie, is wondrous, but deadly. Rin learns too late he might be in for a swim he won’t survive. 

My Review

The Blurb/ Description for this book leaves a lot to the imagination. Rin is a young man recently out of high school who was badly injured in a car accident and has been working to regain the use of his legs. On his mother’s property is a lake that he’s been ordered to stay away from all of his life. One day during his recovery, he walks to the lake and meets Blue the Kelpie. 

Blue asks Rin if he’d like to go for a swim and is shocked when Rin actually answers him. His “snacks” as he calls his prey never answer him mostly because they can’t hear him. Blue’s voice is telepathic and not verbal. Yet Rin did hear him and answer back because he’s magical even if he doesn’t know it yet. His heritage comes into play later in the story when Rin’s mother is kidnapped. Rin and Blue go to Underhill to find her and bring her home. 

 The author incorporates Rin’s Journal as part of the storytelling. While not all of the story takes place in the Journal, you’ll get a lot of “backstory” through the Journal entries. Rin writes in his journal and Blue helps himself to making comments or journal entries of his own. This is basically the main way we hear Blue’s side of the story as he doesn’t speak verbally.

Rin and Blue work together to help save Rin’s Mama and the family farm from human and Fae enemies. 

Generally, when I read horse related stories, I find discrepancies and inaccuracies from true life and I must keep telling myself that “it’s just fiction.” In this case the inaccuracies for a horse addicted person may be prominent. I spent my youth working at horse racing tracks in multiple states and find the inaccuracies very irritating. However, the rest of the story is very interesting and unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well without the horse racing portions. 

I wish I could say that I completely enjoyed the book, but as a horse person, the inaccuracies distracted me from the rest of the story. I do believe that the average person will enjoy this story.

Excerpt

Kelpie Blue
Mell Eight © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Mama was a cowboy. Okay, technically she was a cowgirl, but that’s beside the point. She grew up in the South, with a capital S. Her childhood was full of Bible-thumping, cattle, and hay. There wasn’t much room for school, especially since she was a girl. Her job was to help around the farmhouse, milk the cows, get married, and have a brood of kids who would grow up to work the farm too.

But, like I said, Mama was a cowboy. She wore pants and rode horses. She skipped church to nurse a sick calf. She could milk the damned cows, cook, and clean, but she didn’t have to like it. Her parents tried to set her straight, but Mama would sneak out to play with the colts in the paddock instead of sewing with her girlfriends. She would go out to the movies or even drive to a club in the neighboring city with friends who had never heard that girls only ever wore full skirts.

There were girls like Mama who cropped up in farm families from time to time, and the general consensus was she’d grow out of it soon. It was childhood rebellion, and it would fade.

Then I appeared. No, not like magic—poof, suddenly there was a baby in Mama’s arms. At first, her Sunday dresses were a bit too tight, and then her jeans wouldn’t button. Babies were fine in the South, so long as there was a husband to go along with them. Mama didn’t even have a man offering to court her, let alone a boyfriend or a fiancé. She had met a drifter, someone who came with the cows from Texas and was gone a few days later. There were men who thought Mama was beautiful despite her prickly personality and the baby growing inside, and they offered for her hand, thinking she couldn’t say no. Her parents were relieved—they could cover up the baby mistake with a quick wedding—but Mama always said no.

Her parents turned her out. Mama said she thought they were planning to set up a wedding anyway, so when she crawled back to them in desperation, they could tuck her firmly under their thumbs and end her rebellion forever. Instead, Mama hopped on the first train heading north and never looked back.

She worked as a waitress, saving every dime, until labor pains made her supervisor call an ambulance. Her tips were huge that day, enough that when she got out of the hospital, she could finally afford to buy an old farm left unoccupied for the last decade. The forest on part of the land was haunted, the locals told her, and people kept disappearing. No one would buy it; the bank practically gave it away to Mama for free.

I was a quiet baby, so her supervisor let her keep me behind the counter when she returned to work. Her money mostly went to diapers, but every once in a while she’d call in a contractor. The barn got fixed up first. The fences around the massive home paddock were next. She put a new roof on the farmhouse and replaced some rotting wood around the foundation. Eventually, she bought two retired racehorses.

The horses themselves weren’t anything special. They hadn’t won stakes races, and their thoroughbred pedigree wasn’t anything to laud, but they were good-looking horses all the same. Mama knew horses, and when she got some foals out of them, she taught the babies how to run.

Mama’s horses won stakes races. She cut her hours at the restaurant to spend more time training her colts and fillies. She bought more pedigree horses and built a second paddock so the stud stallions wouldn’t fight over their mares. She was eventually able to build a third paddock solely for training.

I was ten years old at that point, and Mama had an amazing reputation as a trainer and breeder. Owners would bring their thoroughbreds to her for training. She quit her job at the restaurant and built a second barn with an indoor training ring. The barn was so large she could run the horses inside in bad weather. I was glad because it meant I didn’t have to clear the snow from the paddocks in the winter.

I was almost fourteen when it all ended. We were driving home from the racetrack with two horses in the trailer behind our truck. Mama never saw the drunk driver who hit us. He came whipping around a curve in the road, well over the double yellow line. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. Mama was in the bed next to me.

The weight of the horses in the trailer had saved our lives. We hadn’t gone over the ridge, and our car hadn’t flipped because the trailer had prevented it. Mama had broken ribs and a broken hip. I had severe compound fractures in my legs. The drunk driver was dead.

I turned fourteen in the hospital. Mama traveled between the farm and the hospital for weeks after she was released. It was almost a year before she could properly sit a horse, but she never had the strength in her legs to control a bucking yearling like she used to. Me, I was lucky I could even stand.

I had braces for my legs and crutches for my arms. I couldn’t carry hay or oats to a horse, let alone ride them. Mama had been teaching me everything she knew, but now it was all she could do to take care of her own horses and me.

The trainers and their thoroughbreds went away as did the money from Mama’s colts and fillies winning stakes races every racing season. Mama got rehired at the restaurant, so we could keep the few horses she still owned. I was home with my schoolwork and nothing else to do with my time. I was way behind in school, so Mama was trying to homeschool me and catch me up with my grade. She hadn’t finished high school, but she insisted I would.

I was bored as anything and very depressed about my life. I was relearning to walk with the pins in my legs and with the crutches. My only escape during the day was struggling through a walk down one of the flat riding paths. Back when I could ride a horse down those paths, I wasn’t allowed to go into the woods or near the lake. Those were Mama’s rules, and I was supposed to follow them or she’d ground me. But the lake was so serene as I limped toward it, and I needed a break anyway.

That was when I met Blue, the crazy horse reading over my shoulder who doesn’t know how to respect a private diary. Of course, he tried to kill me then. I think now might be my turn to return the favor.

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Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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New Release-- Love Logan by Tilly Keyes

This one is going on my "To Read" list. I haven't had time to read it yet, but I will. I love to read time travel and paranormal\magical\Sci-fi genres, but work and other obligations (another series of books to soon be reviewed) got in the way of me reading this one right now.

Title: Love Logan

Author: Tilly Keyes

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/21/2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69100

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, time travel, action/adventure, enemies to lovers, humorous, interspecies

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Description

Zero’s teleportation machine is the talk of the town, but opening night, it fails, leaving him a laughingstock. However, unknowingly, the machine pulls someone from the twentieth century and spits them out in Zero’s time.

Logan has strange, dull clothing and bland hair, and when he opens his mouth, it gets worse. He’s afraid of everything, but worst of all, his talk of love grates on Zero’s nerves.

He vows to fix the machine and send Logan home no matter what. Zero’s best friend, Honey, has other ideas. Despite Logan being terrified of her and labeling her a cat-person, she finds his talk of love enlightening.

With Logan about to go home, Zero needs to realize there’s more to life than going down in history before it’s too late.

Excerpt

Love Logan
Tilly Keyes © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Each shuffle of clothing and stomp of impatient feet increased Zero’s thumping heart. The curtain muffled the words of the audience, but they increased in volume until a unified grumble shook Zero’s bones. Being ten minutes late was part of his plan to build anticipation, but he hadn’t envisioned the wait would have him close to fainting from nerves.

Zero pursed his lips and exhaled slowly. He brushed his sweat-soaked palms on his suit, then removed his top hat and wiped his brow on his sleeve. He wanted to wear something more flamboyant with tassels and twinkling lights, but he softened his look and chose a stripped black-and-silver suit, and his trusty black top hat. The night was all about his invention, and he dressed down to put all emphasis on it.

“This is such a bad idea.”

Honey’s words pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to her, widening his eyes.

“You’re here for support, not to further my anxiety.”

Zero could see her normal ellipse shaped pupils had narrowed to a line of black, splitting her lime irises in two. She was afraid for him, and he couldn’t deny that fear when his heart tried to escape his chest.

“If—If only you’d tested the machine.”

Zero pushed his hat firmly on his head. “I have tested it.”

“But never like this. You haven’t done this with a living thing—”

“It will work,” Zero said.

Honey gripped his arm. “But what if it doesn’t?”

He frowned and glanced at her paw that gripped his arm. She blinked then retracted her claws with a softly spoken apology.

“This is my moment. I can feel it in my bones. My life is about to change.”

“Dying is life changing, life ending,” she replied.

Zero shook his head. “I won’t die—hopefully I won’t die, and if I do, I hope it will be quick.”

“What if you walk through and only half of you appears on the other side?”

Zero lifted his hand and tilted it one way and then the other. “Well, if that happens, I’ll die quickly, so it’s not so bad.”

Honey hissed and flattened her ears. “Don’t make jokes.”

“I wasn’t joking,” he said, turning to face her. “If it goes wrong and I die, then you know I died doing what meant the most to me. Besides, I couldn’t live with the shame of a failure, so let’s hope it is either roaring success and I appear in the opposite arch or it’s unable to put my atoms back together and I die instantly.”

Honey shut her eyes and bowed forward. Zero rubbed at her arms, but she didn’t straighten to look at him. She sagged further.

“I can’t go out there until I see your smile,” he whispered.

She sniffled and shook her head. “I don’t feel like smiling.”

“Please Honey, for me. I need to see it. You’re my lucky charm.”

“Fine,” she said with a huff. “But you better not die.”

Zero thought better than making that promise. It was a strong possibility, not that he admitted it to her.

Honey lifted her head and twitched her cheeks. Her nose rose, and two daggered teeth showed through her narrow lips.

“Thank you,” Zero said.

The second the words left him, her smile dropped, and she breathed heavily through her nose.

“Right,” he said and clutched his lapels. “Here I go.”

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Meet the Author

Tilly lives in a small village in the UK, surrounded by fields, and meadows. By day, she’s looks after her two lively boys, but by night…she’s usually asleep, too exhausted to write, but sometimes she gets lucky, sometimes she settles down with a nice cup of tea and sinks into a story. 

She hopes you enjoy them. Let her know by sending her an eMail.

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New Release--Little Match Girl by Dianne Hartsock

Title: Little Match Girl

Author: Dianne Hartsock

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/21/2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 21400

Genre: Contemporary Holiday, LGBTQIA+, BDSM, Gay, Erotic Romance, Contemporary, Exhibitionism, Bondage, Sensation Play, Professor/Student

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Description

Christian can’t help himself. He’s falling in love with the sweet guy who’s been coming into the sandwich shop for the past several months. But Christian’s been avoiding the candle-seller all year, going so far as to cross the street to avoid walking by him. Ashamed, he wonders if Dani can ever forgive him.

Losing his mother to cancer, Dani has spent the last year in a haze of grief and loneliness. His life is selling candles, giving himself to any man who can pay, and saving himself from having to go home to his father’s brutality.

Desperate for a place to belong, Dani sets out, with Christian’s help, to find his mother’s family. Christian wants Dani to be happy, though the cost might be losing Dani forever.

Excerpt

Little Match Girl
Dianne Hartsock © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The door chimed, but Christian finished wiping down the coffee machine. He didn’t want to appear too eager despite his thumping heart. He ran the rag over the counter, scrutinizing the bright reflection of lights on the gleaming surface from the Christmas Giving Tree in the center of the room; the tree empty of its cards the day after Christmas.

“Hey, Christian, isn’t that your fairy?” Jordan mocked in a stage whisper from where he was adding wood to the glowing embers in the fireplace on the far wall. Asshole.

Christian leaned a hip on the counter, his gaze intent on the guy sliding into the corner booth. He came to the sandwich shop nearly every night right before closing time to order a coffee, rain or shine. Or like tonight, when it was beginning to snow. None of the other servers would deal with him. Not that Christian blamed them. Dani never tipped more than fifty cents, if that much.

That didn’t bother him. The man was beautiful—wispy blond hair cut in a pixie style around his sweet face. Big gray eyes full of shadows. Christian gave him a minute to count out his change on the glossy tabletop the way he always did, then approached him around the scattered tables and sofas. The fireplace warmed the cozy seating area, empty now since most of the students from the nearby college had gone home for winter break. Wind howled at the windows, but they were snug enough inside.

“Hi, Dani. How’s it going?” he asked, as usual.

“I’m good,” came Dani’s standard reply in a lilting voice that made Christian’s pulse jump. Dani peered up at him, his expression somehow softer tonight, his spectacular eyes less fierce. He bit a plump lip, betraying his nerves, and Christian stifled a groan. He’d dreamed of those lips wrapping around his dick only the night before.

As if guessing his thoughts, Dani lowered his gaze, pretty color flooding his cheeks. Christ, he was gorgeous, his features neither masculine nor feminine. If Christian didn’t know for a fact he was a man, he would have thought Dani was a girl tonight, despite his rough clothing. There was something decidedly sweet about him, a definite change when he showed his gentler side. Christian wondered what it would be like to have Dani in his bed in this mood. The thought of him, soft and yielding, in direct contrast to a hard cock, had Christian stiffening inconveniently. He took the seat opposite Dani in the booth to hide his interest.

“Hi,” he said again when Dani gave him a tentative glance. “Coffee and sandwich, as usual?”

Hunger flashed over Dani’s face, but he dropped his gaze and moved the coins on the table with a fine-boned finger. “Only coffee, please.” His voice cracked, and he covered his eyes with a shaky hand. “I’m sorry. I barely have enough money for that. Nothing for a tip.”

“I don’t care about that,” Christian said, leaning forward. Only then did he notice how pale Dani appeared, face pinched with cold. Surely his jacket was too thin for December? “Did you eat today?” he asked with concern, and stared when Dani shrugged, noncommittal. Appalled, remembering that Dani hadn’t come in yesterday, Christian unconsciously raised his voice. “Did you eat yesterday?”

Dani made a violent movement as if to stand. “I’ll go—”

“Sit down, please. I’ll get your coffee,” Christian assured him, heart squeezed by Dani’s distress.

He rose to his feet and crossed the room. Rounding the counter, he called into the tiny kitchen where his coworker was washing dishes while he pulled a mug from the cupboard over his head. “Jordan, I’m taking my break. Can you bring me a sandwich and the leftover soup?”

Jordan looked up from the sink and sauntered over to him, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He glanced at their single customer and frowned. “What? You gonna feed the little queer now?”

Anger burned through Christian, and he stepped up to Jordan, raising his chin when Jordan stared at him in surprise. “Just what’s your problem with Dani?”

The redhead blinked, and then a slight sneer curled his lips. “Sorry, man. I know you’re gay and all, but at least you’re a guy. I don’t know what that is.” Jordan flashed Dani a scowl.

Christian balled his hand into a fist. “He’s a fucking human being, asshole. That’s all you need to know. Now, get my dinner.”

He turned back to making the coffee, relieved when Jordan huffed but returned to the kitchen. Jordan was a big guy and could probably snap him in two, but Christian was so over the homophobic crap he dealt with in this small town. He needed to seriously consider moving back to Portland.

Coffee made, he added steamed milk and chocolate. Dani usually had his coffee black, but he definitely needed the calories. Christian peered across the room and smiled. Dani was undeniably lovely in the glow from the fireplace and the twinkling fairy lights encircling the ceiling. What was his story? Christian couldn’t remember seeing him around town, though he’d lived there close to two years, attending the local college.

He joined Dani at the table, delighted when his eyes widened as Christian pushed the mug in front of him, mounded high with whip cream.

“Just drink it,” he warned when Dani opened his mouth as if to protest. The color deepened in Dani’s face, but he obediently picked up a spoon. Christian watched, mesmerized, as he brought a dollop of cream to his mouth, the spoon passing those exquisite lips. Dani’s eyelids instantly fluttered, bliss suffusing his face, starting an ache in the pit of Christian’s gut. He imagined Dani would look like that, lost in orgasm. Something he keenly wanted to see.

Jordan approached the table, and Christian tore his gaze from Dani, frowning when Jordan put the plate he carried down with a thump.

“Hurry and eat,” he groused. “I want to start closing the kitchen.”

“Whatever.” Christian waved him off. Jordan had no grounds to complain, having eaten his dinner an hour ago. The turkey and cheese sandwich was grilled to a golden brown, the tomato and roasted red pepper soup hot and savory. Jordan could be a dick sometimes, but he was a fantastic cook.

Dani stared at the plate of food then glanced away with effort. Damn, the guy must be starving. Christian picked up half the sandwich and pushed the plate toward Dani. “Here. Eat up.”

Dani appeared distressed. “I don’t have the money…”

Christian waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. You can pay me back later.”

Dani seemed startled and then a sad, lost expression crossed his face, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said hoarsely and started on the sandwich. He ate slowly, as if to make it last. The soup followed, and Christian tortured himself watching the slim neck work as Dani swallowed each mouthful. He bet that creamy white skin would taste like sugar under his tongue.

Finished, Dani shyly pulled his coffee mug to him, chewing his lips in a nervous habit Christian had noticed. Christian wanted to lean across the table and kiss those sweet confections. A pot banged in the kitchen, reminding him of the time.

“We’ll be closing soon,” he told Dani kindly. “Why don’t you take your coffee and sit by the fire while we put things to rights?”

Dani nodded, and Christian studied him as he crossed the room to the dwindling fire. His clothes seemed worn and hung loosely off his thin frame. Poor as a church mouse, Christian guessed. Where did he get the money for coffee every night? One of the many questions he meant to get an answer to.

Christian joined Jordan in the kitchen, and they closed down the shop, working with practiced efficiency. When the kitchen was in order, Christian went out to wipe down the tables and was disappointed to find that Dani had left; his coffee mug was sitting empty on the low table beside the hearth. Damn. He’d wanted to talk with him some more.

Once they’d swept the floor and counted the register for the morning deposit at the bank, they left the shop, Jordan locking the door behind them. A gust of icy wind laced with snow struck them, and Christian turned up the collar on his jacket.

“See you tomorrow,” Jordan said with a wave and started down the well-lit sidewalk toward his car. Christian turned in the opposite direction to his own beat-up sedan and jumped, pulse racing, as a figure detached from the wall.

“Dani?”

He nodded, coming up to him. Dani clenched his hands at his sides and raised his chin in defiance. “I’m ready. The alley is dark, or we can go inside where it’s warmer…”

Christian looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Payment. You said I could pay you back later. I’m ready.” His face was deathly white, but there was a determined, desperate gleam in his eyes that made Christian’s chest hurt.

“This wasn’t what I meant at all,” he said, needing to be perfectly clear. What kind of life did Dani have that he thought… Yes, he wanted Dani in his bed, but not like this. He moved closer, cupping Dani’s face with care. He leaned in and rested their foreheads together, gazing into the wide, shadow-filled eyes.

“When we have sex, Dani, it will be because you want me to. No other reason,” he promised. Desire flared in Dani’s gray eyes, and Christian touched Dani’s full lips with his thumb, groaning as they parted for him. “Go home, sweetheart, before you catch your death of cold. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Dani nodded, eyes glimmering with a few tears. He hesitated as if to say something but shoved his hands in his coat pockets and hastened down the dark street. Christian watched him go, pressing his lips together.

“I’ll find out your story, Dani,” he promised to Dani’s retreating back. After fishing his keys from a pocket, he got in his car and drove carefully on the icy road to the apartment he shared with his college buddies. He hoped Dani didn’t have far to walk on this cold night.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination. 

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

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NEW Release--- In the Winter Woods By Isabell Adler-- Review

Title: In the Winter Woods

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 14, 2020

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61800

Genre: Contemporary Holiday, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, romance, gay, bi, seasonal/holiday, Christmas, Vermont, writer, law enforcement, crime, crime procedure, mystery, small town, maple syrup

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Synopsis

Declan Kensington isn’t really in the mood for Christmas. His latest mystery book sales are tanking, his finances are in a dismal state, and his spirits are anything but festive. Perhaps spending the holidays alone at his family lakeside cabin in the small village of Maplewood, Vermont, will provide him much-needed peace and quiet. Then he might finally get to work on a new book and (hopefully) jumpstart his stalling writing career.

When he starts receiving anonymous letters threatening him to leave, Declan realizes his solitary writer’s retreat isn’t at all what he bargained for. And if the threats aren’t enough, a killer strikes, casting Declan in the role of the most likely suspect. Now it’s up to him and the handsome local Public Safety Commissioner Curtis Monroe to find out the truth before Declan spends Christmas (and the rest of his life) in jail. But as dead bodies pile up and dark secrets are revealed beneath Maplewood’s picture-perfect facade, Declan’s heart may yet be in more danger than his life…

My Review

I received an ARC copy of this book in exchange for a review. This review was not affected by receiving a free copy because, I fell in love with this book immediately, and would purchase this book and re-read it often.  

While the story is set during Christmas time it's not really about Christmas. The holiday theme is just background compared to the murder mystery that takes center stage in this book. The romance comes slowly while Declan and Curtis Monroe spend time together following up on the leads of the murders that shock the little town of Maplewood.  

I find the main characters Declan and Curtis very relatable and worth getting to know. Declan is a mystery writer whose writer's block and dropping sales have left him little choice but to move out of the big city to his family’s lakeside cabin. Curtis Monroe is the local public safety commissioner who left California to come back to work in his hometown. Together, the pair unravel the mysteries of the threatening letters and murders while finding friendship and romance along the way.  

This book is definitely worth putting on the re-read favorites shelf. 

Excerpt

In the Winter Woods
Isabelle Adler © 2020
All Rights Reserved

At first glance, there was nothing sinister about the lakeside village of Maplewood, Vermont.

In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in the village. I had passed the post office, the fire station, the town hall, and a big billboard announcing the construction of some sort of theme park, all situated along the half-mile stretch of Main Street before parking my car in front of the convenience store. It abutted the first gas station I’d seen in the last few hours. The faded sign at the front was fitted with twinkling lights and plastic green holly garlands that had seen better days. Despite the general shabbiness, there was something charming and distinctly Christmas-y about it, like looking at a vintage postcard.

I got out and tightened my parka around me. Snow crunched under my sneakers, which were hardly suitable for the weather. I’d forgotten just how cold the winters here in Vermont could be, and now I was paying the price for neglecting to properly equip myself for the long trip from Manhattan’s Upper West Side all the way to Lake Champlain.

Granted, it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Not the part about leaving New York City, but coming here to Maplewood. I didn’t remember much of the town, having last been here with my family when I was thirteen or fourteen, but I doubted it’d changed much in the last twenty years.

The doorbell chimed as I entered the store. It seemed to be empty aside from a gray-haired elderly lady behind the counter, who looked up and offered me a distracted smile before turning back to a talk show on a small TV set tucked beside the register.

I blew on my hands and rubbed them together, then picked up a basket and started off down the aisle toward the refrigerators in the back. I suspected I would have to stock up on everything before going up to the cabin. It hadn’t been used for something like five years, since the last vacation my sister Jenny and her husband had taken there after being married, when the cabin still belonged to our parents. Everything still lurking in the depths of the pantry would have to be thrown out anyway.

Between grocery shopping and another full tank of gas, this retreat was turning out more expensive than I initially imagined. And it was a retreat, I told myself firmly, a writer’s retreat of one. Jenny would say I was running away from my problems, but it was the opposite, really. I’d come here to tackle them head-on.

I wanted to do battle with my lingering writer’s block somewhere where I wouldn’t have to stretch my dwindling income to cover rent for a Manhattan apartment. It’d come down to either living in the center of the known universe or, well, eating. And whoever had come up with the idea an artist had to starve to produce great art was clearly full of it.

The first thing that caught my eye was a display rack of Champ the Champlain Lake Monster merchandise. Much like the Loch Ness monster in Scotland, “Champ” was a popular piece of local folklore and somewhat of a draw for holidaymakers all around the lake. A cardboard cutout of Champ wearing a Santa hat invited the customers to peruse the display. I glanced at the selection of postcards and printed T-shirts and moved into the food isles.

I picked some sensible items—dried pasta, canned tomato sauce, eggs, bread, and some packaged vegetables. Then (because I wasn’t living in complete denial) I added instant coffee and a box of sugary donuts.

The doorbell rang again as I was contemplating adding cocoa to the selection. I glanced briefly above the shelves and saw a tall man in a dark blue uniform step inside. He wore one of those heavy-duty puffer jackets and a hat.

I hadn’t heard another car or a bike pull up, so I assumed he’d walked here. His cheeks were red, his pale skin flushed with the bracing cold of midday winter air. Maybe he was one of those people who found regular outdoor exercise invigorating. I shuddered.

The uniform clearly marked him as some sort of law enforcement officer. He was also handsome in that macho, all-American-good-looks kind of way I found inexplicably irritating. The blue eyes and chiseled jaw reminded me of the D-list actors who drifted from one episodic role in a network show to another for the length of their careers, relying on their appearance rather than talent to get them through.

The officer’s gaze swept over the store and lingered on me for a split second before he turned to greet the shopkeeper. I tuned out their chatter as I tried to figure out what else I needed for the next week or so. The cabin wasn’t that far away, but I preferred to avoid making frequent trips to the village if I could help it.

Having finally concluded my shopping, I took my basket over to the counter, which was decorated with green and silver tinsel. Both the newcomer and the elderly lady fell silent at my approach.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.

The shopkeeper put on the spectacles that hung on a dainty beaded chain around her neck and began scanning my items. She looked for all the world like a prim schoolmistress in her pale-pink sweater and upswept hairdo, her gray hair almost white against her deep brown skin. However, the look she gave me above the glasses now perched on the tip of her nose was friendly enough.

“Renting a cottage or just passing through?” she inquired.

The officer turned to examine a rack of magazines near the window, but for some reason I got the distinct impression he was listening in.

“Renting. That is, I’m staying in one of the cabins, up near the lake. It’s my family’s, actually. The Kensingtons?”

“Oh, yes!” Her face lit up. “I remember. Such a lovely family; came here nigh every year in the summertime. But not anymore.”

This wasn’t phrased as a question, precisely, but her voice rose expectantly at the last bit.

“My parents died last year.” Saying it still hurt, but I’d made my peace with it enough by now to be casual about it. “The cabin passed down to me. Well, to my sister Jenny and me, but I don’t think she has much interest in coming to Vermont anymore.” Neither did I, for that matter, but I wasn’t about to say so in front of the locals. “My name is Declan Kensington.”

The old lady raised her head, her eyes going wide behind the thin golden rims.

“The Declan Kensington? The mystery writer?”

“One and the same,” I said.

The man finally picked a newspaper and moved to stand behind me. He was definitely paying attention to our conversation, though why it would interest him, I had no notion. He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, in any case.

“My goodness!” the shopkeeper gasped. “You know, I’ve never made the connection with the Kensington family. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, Mr Kensington, am I ever!”

I was somewhat surprised that an old-fashioned-looking small-town shopkeeper would be reading crime thrillers that featured an openly gay protagonist, but perhaps I was being unnecessarily judgmental. Times were changing, after all—at least according to my Twitter feed.

She continued, oblivious to my incredulity.

“I’m Janice. Janice Bentley. I have all your books! Well, most of them,” she added almost apologetically.

I knew what she meant, of course. Even the most die-hard fans of my Owen Graves mystery thriller series had been loudly critical of the last books I’d produced, and the rest voted with their wallets. Which was why I was here, in Maplewood, in an attempt to cut down on my living expenses by taking up in an old family cabin while I worked on my next masterpiece.

And boy, did I need a masterpiece.

“Strange timing for a lakeside weekend getaway,” the man said. We both turned to look at him, and he shrugged. “It’s freezing.”

As if the fact wasn’t self-evident.

“I’m not here on a vacation,” I said icily. “I’m here to work.”

Not that it was any of their business, of course, but it struck me that saying it out loud was a commitment of sorts, as if their expectations would somehow keep me accountable. It was a bit pathetic, really, that I had to resort to such excuses to trick myself into writing, but I had to face the truth. I was fumbling my way through the worst writing block of my career, and I had to take all the incentives I could claw out. If I didn’t force the words out somehow, and soon, I might as well throw in the towel and become a junior analyst in my mother’s (and now my sister’s) financial advisory firm, waiting for a nice zombie apocalypse to put me out of my misery.

“Your light is broken,” the man said.

“What?”

He nodded toward the parking lot.

“The Honda Accord. It’s yours, right? I saw one of the taillights was busted when I walked by. You should get it fixed.”

“I’ll take care of it, officer,” I said, still reeling from the unpleasant way his words echoed my grim musings. “Unless you’d rather slap me with a fine.”

I don’t know why I was being snappish, really. The officer wasn’t being belligerent, but something in his careless standoffishness irked me. That, and I was already in a foul mood; not much was needed to set me on edge.

He didn’t exactly roll his eyes at my challenge, but I got the distinct impression he did so in his mind.

“The roads here can be dangerous in winter if you’re unfamiliar with them, especially at night,” he said with a hint of reproach. “If someone is driving behind you, you might be putting them at risk. Better be safe than sorry.”

I felt instantly bad. The man gave me no reason to be rude. And besides, my behavior smacked of the kind of privileged white-male arrogance I was doing my best to check myself on.

Clearly, I wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere this time. “I’ll have it fixed.”

The officer nodded and pushed a couple of dollar bills across the counter to pay for his newspaper, which turned out to be The St. Albans Messenger.

“Have a nice stay, Mr. Kensington,” he said and headed out. I saw him throw another glance at my Honda before walking off down the road, the newspaper tucked under his armpit.

“That’s Curtis Monroe, our public safety commissioner,” Janice said, dropping her voice conspiratorially, even though he couldn’t possibly hear her. “He’s a sweetheart, really.”

From our very brief acquaintance, “sweetheart” wouldn’t be the word I’d associate with Commissioner Monroe, but the last thing I wanted right now was to argue the point with Janice.

“Commissioner? So you have a large public safety department here at Maplewood?” I asked, looking longingly at the till. The light was beginning to fail ever so slightly, and I was itching to be off.

Janice laughed as if I were being purposefully funny.

“Oh, heavens, no! It’s just him and Jack Gleason, his deputy. It’s such a small, peaceful village; we hardly have any trouble going on except for the tourist season. And even then, it’s mostly folks having one too many drinks and making a ruckus. You’ll be bored with us quite soon, Mr. Kensington, I’m sure.”

“You know, maybe boredom is exactly what I need right now to focus on my work,” I told her, handing her my credit card. “It looks like the perfect place to get some peace and quiet.”

In retrospect, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Purchase

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Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

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