A long, long time ago, I published a novella inside an anthology called Wild, Wild Women of the West II with Kensington Publishing. Well, I have the rights back to that story, so I’m offering it here, knowing that likely very few of you have ever read it! It’s fun and sexy. Very sexy, so be warned. Prudence is my favorite kind of heroine—too smart and curious for her own good. He’s my favorite kind of hero—brave and bemused when he meets the heroine. I think you’ll enjoy it! Happy reading! ~DD

When budding dime novelist Prudence Vogel travels west to meet legendary lawman Jake White Eagle, she discovers he really is the tall, handsome hero of her novel. Flustered and out of her element, Prudence is determined to shadow the handsome sheriff to lend authenticity to her next story.

While Jake certainly finds Prudence attractive, her constant presence is distracting. When things she has written seem to be coming true, he decides to get closer to see whether she’s involved in the criminal activities her story has foreseen.

Order your copy here!

Excerpt from Once Upon a Legend…

Serendipity, Montana 1883

Prudence Vogel didn’t want to miss a thing.

She wet the tip of a sharpened pencil on her tongue and steadied a writing tablet on her lap, ready to capture the last moments of her journey. But, as was her nature, her mind wandered, and instead, she began to write the adventure playing out in her imagination.

Katarina’s nose wrinkled at the smell of stale beer and dust as she slipped behind the saloon and peered into the darkened room—

The stagecoach jolted as a wheel slipped into another deep rut on the rough trail, sending her pencil scraping off the edge of the pad.

She sighed, resigned she’d have to commit the final moments of her journey to memory and pick up her heroine’s adventure after she arrived at her destination.

She slid her tablet into the pocket of her valise behind her dog-eared copy of The Adventures of Katarina, her latest, well only, publishing credit. She’d kept the novel in clear view in hopes of drawing a comment to give herself an opportunity to sell one of the many copies she’d brought with her.

Not the dog-eared copy—that one contained penciled notes of the details she’d gotten wrong. For that was the purpose of this journey. Prudence Vogel had never traveled outside the city of Chicago, yet her first novelistic experience was an adventure tale set in the wild frontier, featuring a tall, handsome hero she’d only fantasized about. She needed to know whether she’d been wrong.

For all she knew, the real Jake White Eagle was a short, squat man who could suck his whiskey through the space where his front teeth ought to be. She’d braced herself the entire journey for disappointment because she’d built such high hopes he’d be the hero she’d envisioned—the kind of man a real “Katarina” would admire.

Tales of his wild youth, his talent with a gun, and his time spent scouting with Wild Bill Cody for the 5^th Cavalry had fired her imagination since she’d come across the first mention of his name in the Chicago Tribune.

After that she’d scoured every newspaper she could get her hands on, searching for a description of the man and his exploits.

Physical descriptions had been hard to come by—“burnished skin” and “the deadly stare of the black-eyed Indian” hadn’t told her whether his jaw was square or rounded, or his nose was a sculpted blade or broad and bumpy. And it would have been helpful to know whether Katarina would have to lift her patrician chin to kiss his lips. Since she’d lacked definitive answers to her questions, in her mind she’d created an image of the man she wanted him to be.

However, news of his dangerous exploits had been much easier to find. The man had earned quite a reputation as a gunslinger as he’d roamed the western territories. Then for some reason, last year, he’d settled in Serendipity, Montana. Not Deadwood or any number of more recognizable wild, western towns, but an unknown place with a whimsical name.

In her research, she’d missed the reason for his inexplicable move. Now, she wanted the truth for the sequel to her book, and detailed descriptions to bring her wild west adventures to life.

Prudence pulled back the curtain to take a look outside, blinking against a cloud of dirt stirred up by the stage’s team of horses.

Bright sunlight dispelled the gloom in the interior of the stagecoach. Everywhere around them endless blue sky filled the view. The golden tips of the prairie grass rimming the trail waved in a slight breeze. Cottonwood trees swayed in the distance.

“Close that curtain! You’re lettin’ in the dust.”

As if we aren’t already wearing a coat of gritty trail dirt? Prudence bit her tongue against the retort. Ever since Mrs. Waters had boarded the stage in Helena, she’d offered a contrary comment to every one of Prudence’s actions.

Prudence firmed her lips into a polite smile and turned to the stout woman sitting on the opposite seat. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s happening outside this coach?”

Mrs. Waters snorted. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

Prudence lifted her brows, which sent her spectacles sliding down her nose. The woman had repeated the same tired old cliché as Mrs. Lake in the opening scene of her dime novel.

Just like the character of Mrs. Lake, the woman had a cliché for every occasion and nary an original thought.

Another coincidence! An odd prickling raised the fine hairs at Prudence’s nape.

While some of the less important details—the flora the fauna and the ruggedness of the trail—had mostly been wrong, the events in her story had been strikingly similar. The string of similarities between Katarina’s adventure and her own true life adventure had at first amused Prudence who’d been convinced she’d simply done her research and was an apt pupil of human nature.

But this time, the words were repeated as though they’d been scripted in advance.

As well, the more Prudence thought about it, Mrs. Waters was an exact physical replica of the irascible woman who’d complained throughout that first scene of her adventure novel.

Even Mr. Stanton who slept beside her resembled the handsome debauched gambler who’d managed to snore throughout the last leg of the fictional journey despite the bone-rattling thuds of the lumbering stagecoach.

The one jarring detail that didn’t match her story was the character of the heroine. Prudence was a far cry from the beautiful and spirited “Katarina.” Sadly, she wasn’t brunette, or possessed of a pure, porcelain complexion and soft, curvaceous figure. Her own hair was a muddy blonde, her nose sprinkled with an unfortunate quantity of mud-colored freckles, and her figure was as straight as a boy’s. Worse, she wasn’t the least bit adventurous.

Still, if the story was somehow unfolding…

A loud banging sounded from the top of the coach. “Folks, we’re comin’ up on Serendipity,” came the call from the driver.

Mrs. Waters patted her hair while Mr. Stanton snuffled and opened bloodshot eyes as he retied his string tie.

Surreptitiously, Prudence reached for the edge of the window casing and held on tight…just in case…

Shots rang out, the coach jerked forward and back, then shrill whinnies filled the air as the team lurched again and shot forward, sending a screaming Mrs. Waters headfirst into Mr. Stanton’s lap.

Prudence suppressed a squeal of fright and held on. Then just as quickly, she relaxed, suddenly unafraid, because she knew how this would end.

A hero rode to their rescue.

Sure enough, shouts sounded outside—from the driver and another man whose horse ate up the distance between them in a staccato flurry of sharp hooves.

Gradually, the team slowed, snorts and frightened whinnies settling like the dust sifting underneath the flapping leather curtains, until at last the stagecoach came to a stop.

Just like in her story.

Only Prudence didn’t wait for their rescuer to fling open the door. She stood and grasped the door handle, nervous but determined to see if the object of her obsession was indeed on the other side.

The door gave way unexpectedly, bringing her along with it, and she toppled out of the coach and straight into the arms of a very tall man. Thick, strong muscles surrounded her as he swept her off her feet and held her close to his solid chest.

Startled, Prudence glanced up, but his rasping breath fogged the lenses of her spectacles, and she groaned.

Why, oh why hadn’t she put them away? Better to be blinking at the man than looking like a startled, befuddled mouse. Around the rims of her glasses, she noted the breadth of his wide shoulders and the dark shadow from the hat shading his face.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” His voice was a deep, raspy bass that seemed to wrap around her like a raw caress.

“Jake?” she whispered, more sure of his identity than she’d ever been of anything in her life. She knew his voice—had heard it speaking in her imagination.

Naturally, he smelled of sage and soap. She’d written that as well.

“Do I know you?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

A wide, tremulous smile stretched her lips, and she slowly wound her arms around his shoulders. “No, but I know you, sir,” she said, too excited to give more than a passing thought to her forward behavior.

His head tilted as though he was scrutinizing her. “She bump her head?” He directed the question to the people stepping from the coach.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Waters said, her voice trembling and affronted at the same time. “But she’s a very strange young woman.”

First, the good news: WE’RE WRITING AGAIN! Noon & Wilder are back at it. We’ve finished book 1 of a new series with crow shifters, shamans, healers, and…

Well, you’ll have to wait for that since we’re working on books 2 and 3 and want to have them done before we release.

Second, the interesting news: it turns out that stress affects our ability to be creative!

I know, right?

Stress over a long period of time causes actual physical changes to the brain. Those of us with Complex Post Traumatic Stress know this in our bones—but we’re learning so much more about how to treat it.

Did you know, for example, that mindfulness has been clinically proven to help the brain recover from the damage caused by stress (and also trauma)?

I know, right?

Pretty amazing. I’m taking a course right now about the connections between creativity, mindfulness, and community, and I am learning my little butt off.

Another interesting factoid is that mindfulness can help with chronic and acute pain, such as that suffered by cancer patients undergoing chemo.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

Pretty amazing, how meditation works. It can actually change your brain, physically. When we’re under stress, or experience trauma (either little-T trauma or big-T trauma), our emotion center gets larger and our thinking/creativity center gets smaller. Then further stressors become magnified. It’s like if you’re fully relaxed and someone says something irritating, we can just brush it off; but then they say it when we’re six calls in on a day where we couldn’t get the thing done we sat down to do and now we have to make dinner and pick up the kids and… Nuclear meltdown.

Sound familiar?

If you haven’t tried it yet, check out a meditation app. I’m a lifelong member of Calm.com, and there are several others out there. If sitting still or lying down aren’t your thing, try yoga or Tai Chi. My physical trainer swears her heavy-lifting sessions are meditative for her. Even just twenty minutes a day can make a difference.

Try it next time you’re experiencing feeling overwhelmed. Take a five-minute pause and meditate. It can help you find the peace in “the now” and not get spun up with the latest spin cycle—whatever’s stressing you. If you don’t know where to start, click over to www.calm.com and give it a try. They have a lot of great free meditations you can dip a toe into.

What about you, Dear Reader? Do you meditate?

Resources

Molly Birkholm, Trauma Specialist and Teacher: https://www.youtube.com/c/MollyBirkholmYouTube/featured

Calm App: https://calm.com/

UPDATE: The winner is…Anna Marie Flamini!
*~*~*

Just a reminder before I blast you with Sunday’s post! I have a novella arriving early Tuesday morning! Have you pre-ordered your copy?

Once Upon a Legend is sexy fun set in the Wild, Wild West with a lawman who doesn’t know quite what to think about the woman who falls into his arms from the stagecoach and starts telling him of the danger coming his way… Enjoy!

Report Card

Last week…

1. I guess it’s supposed to be traumatic, but on Monday morning, I showered and, as I was washing my hair, my fingers dragged away clumps of hair. It was time. My dd and the 20-year-old shaved me bald.
2. Last week was ridiculously busy with appointments. On Monday, I saw my oncologist. He didn’t like my white cell blood count, so he gave me another WBC booster shot. On Tuesday, it was another trip to the city to have tests run at the hospital where the port installation surgery would take place. Then, I had the surgery on Thursday. I now have my “borg” port.
3. On Wednesday, my SIL drove me to the nearest military installation an hour and a half away to get me a new ID card. I was a little bummed that my hair didn’t last long enough for the photo. LOL
4. I worked on edits for one author. I also took care of a lot of administrivia—you know, stuff that has to be done but doesn’t move the goalposts or pay the bills.
5. My daughter, the girls, and my SIL continue to be amazing. All four girls in the house were there for me on surgery day even though we had to begin the drive at 4 AM. I really am the luckiest Nina in the world.

This next week…

1. This week is “Hell Week.” Um, by that I mean I have another chemo treatment on Monday. What follows for the rest of the week will not be pleasant.
2. Once Upon a Legend releases on September 17th! I hope you get your copy!
3. I want to wrap up Ignition. It’s the fourth and last book in the Delta Fire series. I moved the release date to October 1st. I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to create, so I might have to push off finishing until the week after.
4. I’m working on editing projects for two authors this week. Two that I have to finish. So, I’ll be hoping for an hour or two of lucidity every morning to putter away.

Open Contests

Be sure to check out these posts and enter to win the prizes that are still up for grabs!

1. Word Search: Signs Fall is coming… (Contest) — This ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Saturday Puzzle-Contest: Movie Night! — This ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
3. Tell me a story: Sweet dreams are made of these… (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
4. Katherine Eddinger Smits: Cassadaga, Florida: Spirits, Ghosts, and Mediums (Contest + FREE Read) — Win an Amazon gift card. Plus, pick up a FREE Read!

Puzzle-Contest!

Because I had a guest yesterday, I didn’t run my Saturday Puzzle-Contest! So, let’s do it today!

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, solve the puzzle… It’s a photo of a ridiculously, aesthetically pleasing woman hanging laundry. I can’t seem to resist these “cottagecore” photos. Anyway, solve the puzzle then tell me whether you still hang laundry to dry outside. 

UPDATE: The winner is…Amy Fendley!
*~*~*

Do you believe the spirit continues after death
and can communicate with the living?

This is a different question than asking if you believe in ghosts. Ghosts are often considered lingering echoes of a personality or energy tied to a place. Spiritualists, on the other hand, believe that when we die, our personalities transition to another plane of existence and can sometimes communicate with the living. Mediums claim they can contact these spirits and pass on messages to loved ones.

One town in central Florida that has become a hub for such beliefs is Cassadaga. Known by some as the “Psychic Capital of the World,” it’s a fascinating place for those curious about the paranormal. In Cassadaga, you can book a session with a psychic or medium, get your tarot cards read, have your astrological chart cast, or even try palm or tea leaf readings. The town also offers healing services and spiritual messages. Cassadaga was founded in 1894 by George Colby, a spiritualist from Lily Dale, New York, who said he was led to the spot by his spirit guide, Seneca.

My fascination with the occult drew me to Cassadaga years ago. During my college years, a friend and I spontaneously decided to visit and get a reading. However, with limited walk-in options for mediums, we took what we could get. I don’t remember much about the reading—it was pretty generic, and I felt a bit let down. Despite that, my interest in the town never faded.

Years later, after retiring from my career as a VA social worker and working on my fifth book, Witch Trial Legacy, which is set in the town, I decided it was time to revisit Cassadaga for research. I shared my plans with fellow writers from my local Romance Writers of America chapter, and two friends asked to join me. We set up a date and planned our trip.

The day of our visit finally came. My husband drove, while Adele, her husband, and Donna (names changed for privacy) rode along with us. We took the scenic route, adding an extra hour to our drive, and stopped for lunch around noon, thinking we’d reach Cassadaga shortly after.

But, as life would have it, Donna received an urgent call about her cat, which was seriously ill. Distraught, she asked to go home, and of course, we did. After eight hours on the road, we returned home without ever reaching our destination. Ironically, Donna’s cat ended up being fine.

A few months later, my husband and I made another attempt—just the two of us this time. The weather was perfect: sunny, with a light breeze, and not too humid for Florida. As soon as we arrived in Cassadaga, I felt a peaceful atmosphere wash over me. The pace of life there seemed slower, and everyone was friendly and welcoming. We explored the town, taking photos of the signs advertising readings and spiritual services. We had a lovely lunch at the Cassadaga Hotel, browsed the gift shop, and checked out the camp bookstore. Though I didn’t get a reading, the day left a lasting impression on me.

Since then, I’ve felt a deep connection to Cassadaga—it’s a place unlike any other. If you’ve been there and read Witch Trial Legacy, I hope the setting feels familiar to you. If you haven’t visited yet, I highly recommend you do!

Witch Trial Legacy
(The Cassadaga Collection Book 1)

Sybilla Sanborn must break a centuries old curse before everything she cares about goes up in smoke.

Sybilla is a nurse gifted with the ability to heal with her touch but cursed with visions of future tragedies she cannot prevent because no one heeds her warnings. With help from the mediums of the spiritualist town of Cassadaga, Florida, she learns she is descended from both the first person executed for witchcraft in this country and the man who accused her.

Conn Ahern is an Iraq war vet dealing with pain and PTSD while working as a paramedic and struggling to save the ranch his grandmother founded. He’s an atheist who wants nothing to do with the people of the town.

When Conn and Sybilla meet, sparks fly, but not always in a good way, and their relationship fans the flames of jealousy and revenge in someone who doesn’t want them to work things out.

During a séance, her ancestor’s spirit reveals how Sybilla can rid herself of the curse and save Conn, but the price may be too high.

Buy Witch Trial Legacy from Amazon

Contest

To win a $5.00 Amazon gift card, please reply to this post with your answer to the question I asked at the beginning: Do you believe the spirit continues after death and can communicate with the living?

About Katherine Eddinger Smits

From an early age, Katherine was captivated by fairy tales. After devouring the Brothers Grimm and similar collections, she eagerly explored mythology, legends, gothic romance, fantasy, and science fiction.

Growing up near Florida’s Weeki Wachee mermaid attraction, Katherine spent countless hours swimming in the springs, pretending to be a mermaid. Although she once considered auditioning as a Weeki Wachee mermaid, her true wish was to be a real one—a dream that, unsurprisingly, didn’t come true.

Since life as a mermaid wasn’t an option, Katherine earned a master’s degree in social work and dedicated her career to helping veterans and their families—a role she cherished.

Now in retirement, she has the time to immerse herself in reading and bring her imagined worlds to life. Spiced with mystery and suspense, her stories of fantasy and romance feature gifted humans overcoming real-life challenges in a contemporary world full of mages, mermaids, and fantastic creatures.

For a free short story, monthly contests, freebies, and fun, join Katherine’s newsletter community. Get Your Free Short Story!

That song by the Eurythmics is playing in my head this morning. I awoke at 4 A.M. but felt refreshed. When I drifted off before 10 last night, I was still floating on a little leftover fentanyl, was lifted a bit by the hydrocodone I took to ease the itchy ache of the new CHEMO PORT sitting just under my skin on the right side of my chest, and was assisted by the kick of the melatonin I took. I was determined my sleep would indeed be sweet and deep.

With sleep, all things feel possible. Without it, I’ve discovered, I can actually dip into depression—something I’ve never really experienced before—and I don’t like it. It changes me. So, I am looking at planning for better sleep come chemo week (next week).

So, with sleep in mind, here’s today’s challenge! See the pretty watercolor below? (Wish it was mine!) For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, what helps you get a great night’s sleep? Or, tell me what she’s dreaming about…

 

Well, the day I had dreaded came yesterday. I woke up, showered, and as I was rubbing my hands through my hair to swipe away the suds, my fingers pulled away clumps of hair. It was worse when I stepped out of the shower and attempted to blow-dry my hair. My brush couldn’t get through the knots of hair and pulled our more clumps.

I gave up and called out to my girls. My dd and the 20-year-old went to work, first completing the blow-dry without bothering to brush my hair, then using my SIL’s hair clippers to shave my head. We’d been preparing for this day. I’d made tons of jokes about what my head would look like. I’d imagined a bowling-ball-round kopf. Or worse, the bald woman in Total Recall.

Or perhaps Uncle Fester.

Actually, with a little well applied smoky-eye makeup, I could be a sexier “Aunt Festrine.” Hmmm…

When the 15-year-old got home from school, she said, “You know, you look like The Ancient One in Dr. Strange.”

And I’m okay with that.

Hair is only hair. I met with the oncologist today, wearing one of my chemo hats to protect my head from the sun and spare people’s eyes. We went through where we were going with treatments. I had another white blood cell booster shot. I’m set for port surgery on Thursday and another round of chemo next Monday. I’m marching on.

And just to keep it real, here’s me after the girls shaved me bald. There will be no tears. It’s just hair…

Seattle and Western Washington are known for rain. I called my Seattle-based series Rain City Tales. After about nine months of rain, however, the summer switch gets flicked on, and we enter our drought. It usually goes from about July 6^th into mid-September. During that time, we get dry and hot, increasingly so in the last few years. With that dryness comes the potential for fire. This year, Western Washington didn’t have many fires, and the offshore winds kept the smoke from Oregon and Idaho fires blowing away from us. British Columbia and Alberta, Canada, have also seen some fires, a large one devastating a third of the historic town of Jasper and burning large swaths of the Jasper National Forest. Each time these fires flare and ravage the land and communities in their path, my thoughts are drawn to the brave firefighters who battle these blazes, flinging themselves into danger and, at times, paying the ultimate price to save others.

This year, I published two books featuring firefighters, wanting to honor the brave work they do. The first, Throuple Honey, highlights a smoke jumper who lost his husband in a fast-moving fire in a national forest. Shane Ward didn’t have all his gear when he jumped into a fire zone with his husband Corder Mitchell. Corder sacrificed himself for Shane, and now Shane must pick up the pieces and move on. He leaves the profession and takes up beekeeping across the mountains from Seattle. The couple he works for, Emmett Simpson and Dante Scarletti, run a farm outside of Wenatchee, Washington. They’ve been in a slump with their relationship for months. Shane’s arrival sparks a rekindling of their relationship and a further bonding with the grieving fireman as they help him heal from his staggering loss.

The second book, Blaze of Cortez, is the eighth installment of the Rain City Tales. It is a standalone story within the series, though characters from other books come in and out. In Ray Cortez’s experience, everyone leaves, including his family and his relationships. He doesn’t let anyone in, his heart having been broken too many times. When Ray returns to Seattle after fourteen years, he finds his coworker, fireman Leif Ramsey, to be a danger to his protective barriers. Leif isn’t out to his family or his workmates, and Ray won’t date a closeted man. The two are drawn together, and Leif takes a risk for Ray’s affections, but a fire at Ray’s estranged family’s home threatens to burn away the fledgling relationship he’s started with Leif.

To find out more about me and my writing, please hop over to Delilah’s Collections for my Get-To-Know-The-Author post. Throuple Honey and Blaze of Cortez are available on Amazon and Kobo.

Excerpt from Throuple Honey:

Love is like honey—you might get stung, but the rewards are sweet, and they stick to you.

He should’ve checked his gear. Should’ve made sure.

Shane Ward scanned his smoke-filled surroundings, hoping for a cave or somewhere else they could hide from the fast-approaching wildfire. The jump earlier that morning had promised a challenge, and Corder Mitchell, the man Shane had been married to for the better part of a decade, had thrilled at the chance to battle this two-thousand-acre blaze in the Mount Rainier National Forest. Their Lake City fire chief had been reluctant to let them both go on such a dangerous summer job, but Corder had been insistent, assuring the chief nothing bad would happen. Though Shane knew his husband couldn’t promise their safety, Corder’s two loves, firefighting and the outdoors, had merged on this assignment.

The tinder-dry conditions provided ample fuel, and the stiff, hot wind blowing against his back had doubled the size of the mid-August fire in less than two hours. The sun tried to penetrate the thick layer of brown smoke, only succeeding in casting an eerie, orange glow around them, punctuated by the light of blazing trees. Even through his mask, Shane could smell burnt wood.

Surrounded by the approaching flames, Shane tried to find a way out. Their carefully planned escape route had closed with a sudden and unexpected shift in the wind. Visibility worsened with more thick smoke choking the forest.

A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead. Heat blasted at his back from the approaching blaze. He focused on Corder. “See anything we can use?”

Corder shook his head, covered in his protective gear. “Got your shelter?”

Shane nodded, not wanting to tell Corder that he’d left it behind at base camp. There had to be a way out, and if there wasn’t, he didn’t want Corder doing something stupid because of his mistake. Loud cracks and bangs behind them reverberated through the trees, and Shane chanced a glance backward. A tall cedar had erupted in a geyser of flame, its sap exploding and breaking off significant pieces of the trunk.

“We gotta move.” Corder grabbed Shane’s gloved hand, and they took off running.

Spying a better vantage point, Shane tugged at his husband. “Over there. A clearing.”

With another nod, Corder changed their direction and made for the break in the trees. Tall, dry grass met their feet when they cleared the canopy.

“Shit, this’ll make things worse.” Corder glanced back. “It’s gaining on us.”

Tapping his gloved hand on Corder’s shoulder, Shane nodded at the burning trees on the other side of the clearing with dread. “It’s coming from all sides.”

“Time for the shelters.” Corder yanked the packet from his gear and extended the metallic shelter. He paused, glancing back. “Hurry up. It’s almost on us.”

Shane hesitated but finally had to confess his predicament. “I didn’t check everything this morning in the rush to get on the chopper.”

Corder went still. “You don’t have your shelter?”

Shaking his head, he pointed at Corder’s. “Lie down, face into the ground, and I’ll cover you up. No use in both of us dying.”

“No fucking way. It was my idea to do this job.” He shoved at Shane, trying to push him down. “Besides, I have a second one inside my pack.”

Reluctantly, Shane lowered himself to the ground. “How do you have two?” He glanced past Corder. The fire had almost reached them.

“Hurry up,” Corder said, nodding at the ground. “I need to get you covered up and get mine set up over there.” He pointed toward the edge of the clearing where a section of the grass had either been tamped down or eaten by something.

Unable to clearly see his husband through the helmet, he couldn’t read any expression under the tinted visor. He lay face-down on the ground.

“I love you, Shane.” Corder threw the shelter over him.

About Brent

Though writing most of his life, Brent came to romance in 2012. With the support of his husband and his two romance novelist cousins, Brent embarked on a writing career. He’s loving the journey, finding inspiration and a story everywhere he goes, whether it be staring out the window at the local coffee shop, tucked in a booth at his favorite pub, driving through each of the fifty US states, or riding the train to explore the world. Keep up with Brent and his stories on his website, Facebook, and Instagram.