I loved writing my Montana Bounty Hunters series, and I’m really enjoying “meeting” the hunters and townsfolk in my new spinoff series, Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, Montana. The stories are all fun. The heroes are hot and very physically capable (even Brian, folks!). The heroines are all strong, smart, and sassy. And their adventures are often so dang funny. I love getting to “live” inside this world while I write, and it’s very, very gratifying that so many of you love these stories, too. It’s a good thing because I’ll be writing them for a long time.

Book #2 of the series, Preacher, releases on January 19th! I’m still putting the finishing touches on the book. Preacher and Laura have been so much fun to write. And yes, they fall for each other really fast. Write what you know is what they tell authors to do, and since, in my life, I only ever fell in love really, really fast, I write from a place of knowing what that’s like. No long buildup from friendship to happy ever after. No. Not for me. It’s insta-lust until one or the other realizes they really “like” being with that other person. Plus, dangerous situations can force people to have to learn to trust each other quickly. Et  voilà! Love happens.

I’ve included the opening of the story here for you to enjoy, just so you can meet more of the hunters in this series and get a taste for the kind of job they do. There are mentions of the cable TV show the original bounty hunters cast do and “Bounty Hunter Barbie” who is Lacey Jones and a fan favorite from the original series, too. Lacey and her man Dagger are in Dead Horse for a while until Cage (the hero from the first book) staffs up his office. I swear you don’t have to read the other books to figure out who’s who!

Buckle up—and pre-order your copy now! The book will be available only on Amazon, at first, and it’ll be FREE in KU. Print will come shortly afterward.

Preacher

An ex-Delta Force soldier, now Montana Bounty Hunter, finds himself bemused as he slips naturally into protector-mode when a small-town dessert chef is threatened by mysterious attacks.

Pre-order your copy now!

From the opening of Preacher…

“Preacher, got my eyes on the back door.”

Dylan “Preacher” Priestley eyed the ground between his position, hiding behind a tree in a neighboring yard, and the front door of the property they currently surveilled. Twenty feet tops. Marti, his partner on this takedown, had already circled the house while he’d stood watch, sliding along the wood siding and popping up to peer into windows. According to her, there were three men inside playing poker around the kitchen table. One of them was their target, Jasper Quigley.

“Cage is on his way here,” Preacher said softly. “There will only be the three of us. Dagger and Lacey are still making their way back from Anaconda.” Jasper’s meek-looking mama had sent Dagger and his girlfriend on a wild-goose chase, telling them Jasper had holed up there.

Yeah, Jasper was probably feeling pretty smug right about now. He’d given them the slip twice now. Once, when a bartender in Anaconda, whom they’d promised money for a tip, had let them know he was playing cards in an illegal game in the backroom. The second they’d crashed through the door, the skinny fucker had bailed out a window and was on his bike and gone before Cage, who’d been watching the back door, could manage to get around the side of the establishment.

The second time he’d escaped had been when he’d dropped by his best friend’s house for a shower and a resupply before heading back out into the woods in Gallatin National Forest. A neighbor they’d also offered to reward for information regarding his whereabouts had called to let them know when Jasper had just rolled in. By the time they’d mustered the team, Jasper had been long gone, and according to his buddy, he was camped out in the woods where they’d never find him.

With over 2,800 square miles of territory to search in Gallatin, they’d decided to set up cameras to watch all the likely places he might return to…his mom’s, his best friend’s, his girlfriend’s. That way they wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else. And since Anaconda, Jasper’s stomping grounds, wasn’t far from Dead Horse, they could be there the second their tech guru and general flunky, Fredericka “Fig” Newton, let them know.

She’d called an hour ago, having spied a man on a bike arriving after dusk at Jasper’s best friend’s house.

While they hadn’t been certain the man was Jasper, it had been over a week since the twice-convicted felon had come in for a resupply, and the weather had cooled considerably. So, they took the chance since there were only days to go before the bounty ran out.

Footsteps crunched in the dried leaves behind him. Preacher tensed and glanced behind him, just making out a large, burly shadow moving toward him.

His boss, Cage Morgan, lifted his chin when he got closer. “What do we have?”

“Marti’s already scoped out the place. Three men are in the kitchen playing poker. Jasper’s one of them. She sliced one of Jasper’s tires while she was at it to make sure we don’t have the same issue we had in Anaconda.”

“Knew I liked that girl.”

In his ear, he heard a soft grunt coming from Marti.

Preacher’s lips twitched. After working with her for two weeks, he was certain “the girl” had the personality of an old wooden post. “It’s a shotgun house. Going in the front, kitchen’s right past the living room on the right.”

“They armed?”

“One of them is wearing a shoulder holster. Since they were all seated, she couldn’t see what the other two are packing.” Preacher dug into a pouch on his web belt and pulled out an extra earpiece which he handed to Cage.

Cage took a moment to flick it on and insert it in his ear. “You hear me, Marti?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Got a plan, Preach?”

Preacher shrugged. “Break down the door and kick some ass…?”

“Sounds good to me,” Marti said in his ear.

Cage grimaced. “Let’s try a little more finesse. I don’t like that we can’t be sure whether they’re going to draw weapons.” He let out a sigh. “Hey, Marti? Think you can be our Lacey tonight?”

“I wish like hell one of you two had boobs,” she muttered.

Preacher chuckled, following Cage’s thread and Marti’s disgust.

“I’m stripping,” she growled.

Cage patted his shoulder. “You get around to the back. She’s going in the front. When she’s had a chance to suss out whether they’re all armed, she’ll let us know.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Marti groused. “Hey, is that a gun in your pants or are you just glad to see me?”

Preacher grinned in the shadows. Marti’s flat tone made the snarky comment all that much funnier.

“Yeah, like that,” Cage said, his smile gleaming.

“Okay. Stashed my shit,” she said.

Preacher gave Cage a thumbs up then made his way from the tree line to the corner of the house, just in time to see Marti crouch low and edge her way along the side of the house before straightening beside the porch. It looked like she’d taken a knife to her T-shirt to cut off the arms and most of the neckline, then she’d tucked the tight shirt into her black cargo pants. Her hair was loose and fell in fluffy waves around her shoulders; her lips were glossy and red. Until the moment she stood beneath the porch light, he hadn’t realized she was actually kind of cute.

He kept moving until he was behind the house and stood in the shadowy space beside the wooden back steps.

“Here goes,” Marti muttered. “Gawd, I can’t believe I’m letting you pimp me out.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Cage whispered.

Preacher listened as she knocked on the door.

After what felt like forever, the front door creaked open a crack, and then made a longer creaking noise as it widened. “Can I do something for you?”

“Ooh, what a big gun you have! Wow, are you some kind of cop or something?” Marti asked, sounding like a bad actress in a porn movie with her little girl tone and slight lisp.

“Or something,” the man said, his slithery tone telling Preacher that the man liked what he saw.

“Um, I was wondering…”

Preacher imagined her twisting her hair around a finger.

“Do you have a phone I could use? My date left me on the side of the road, and my phone’s still in his damn car.”

“Now, sweetheart, that’s no way for a man to treat a pretty little thing like you.”

Pretty little thing? While just medium height, Marti had an athlete’s build.

“You really think so?”

Preacher shook his head, thinking he’d underestimated his partner’s feminine powers. She was flirting with the thug, and he was eating it up.

“Why don’t you come inside? I have a phone. You thirsty? Need a drink?”

“What do you have?”

The sound of footsteps followed.

“Lookie, boys, at what showed up on my doorstep.”

Chairs scraped.

“That such a good idea?” one male voice asked.

“No big deal,” Marti’s host said. “She needs a drink.”

“And a phone,” she said, in a soft voice.

“Gotta be thirsty. How far did you have to walk?”

“Damn near a quarter mile,” Marti said. “In the dark. I was so happy to see your porchlight on. I was getting worried.”

“Well, don’t you worry about a thing now. Jasper, get her the chair out of my bedroom. Better yet, give her yours. You go fetch the other for yourself.”

Chairs scraped again, likely from the two remaining men and Marti seating themselves.

“Such a gentleman,” Marti crooned.

“Not too much o’ one.” The horse’s ass who was chatting her up laughed like a hyena at his own joke.

Footsteps clomped closer. Something thudded on the floor. “She’s sitting in front of my cards.”

“Jasper, we’ll get back to the game,” Horse’s Ass said.

“Well, you all have some fine hardware there,” Marti murmured. “Don’t think I’ve seen so many guns since my daddy took me to church in Whitefish.”

“Need to know how many,” Preacher whispered.

“You spend much time in Whitefish?” Horse’s Ass asked.

“My daddy used to go there a lot, until Mr. Whitcomb went and got himself arrested.”

“You knew Barney Whitcomb?” Jasper said.

“I met him a time or two. Seemed like a nice man. Can’t believe they’re trying him for kidnapping and assault. Daddy said the guy he hurt probably deserved it.”

“He did, indeed,” Jasper said. “I was supposed to be there the night the FBI and ATF took him off.”

“Really? Well, aren’t you lucky? You coulda been sitting in jail with him.”

“Oh, I’m lucky all right. Had some bounty hunters after my ass a while back. Dumbasses never could catch me.”

“Seriously? Bounty hunters? Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?”

Preacher rolled his eyes.

“More like those fake bounty hunters on Bounty Hunters of the Northwest.”

“Do you really think they’re fake?” Marti asked, her voice tightening a tad. “They all look like they can take care of business.”

A laugh sounded. “Come on, you ever seen Bounty Hunter Barbie? She’s got her own action figure now. It’s all fake. Besides, if they were really good at their jobs, don’t you think they’d already have caught my ass?”

Marti’s laugh tinkled.

Preacher shook his head. Hell, he’d never heard her laugh before. And it tinkled.

After a pause, Marti said, “Oh, that’s good. I was really, really thirsty.”

“Got more where that came from,” Horse’s Ass said, sounding like he was talking into her ear.

“Bet you do,” Marti said under her breath, her flat voice sounding almost like her old self. “My daddy bought me a little Remington pocket pistol to carry in my purse. Fits my hand just right.”

“What are you doing?” Cage whispered in warning.

“Mmm. I just love the way a gun feels in my hand when I squeeze off a round.”

“That the only thing you like to squeeze off?” Horse’s Ass whispered.

“I swear I get off on the feel of steel in my palm.”

“Well, you should feel this one,” another male said.

“That one’s so big,” Marti said, sounding a little breathless. “Not sure my little ole fingers can get all the way around it. Ooh, but I like how that feels.”

Cage chuckled. “Get ready, Preacher. Our little missy is gonna get all the guns.”

“If she doesn’t get raped first,” Preacher bit out.

“Try mine,” Jasper said as Preacher climbed the steps and stood in front of the back door.

“Well, let me see. I’m not sure which I like better. That first one was heavy and so wide it gave me shivers. This one’s not so heavy, but it’s looong.” She giggled. “Let me feel yours.”

Horse’s Ass said, “Shoulda tried mine first. It’s the best.”

“Well, now, I have all three. However, do I choose?”

“Now!” Cage said.

Preacher raised his foot and kicked open the back door. The sound of more splintering wood echoed in his ears.

Shouts sounded from inside.

“Give me my gun!”

Clattering sounded and then a loud thud.

Preacher ran through a mud room and down a short dark corridor.

“Babe, why’d you toss the table?”

“Bitch! You set us up!”

When he stood in the kitchen doorway it was to see Marti standing over the men, a long-barreled revolver in her hand.

“Not so fake now, huh, Jasper?”

I love writing my bounty hunter stories! They’re so much fun—action, humor, stupid criminals, danger, and sexy times! The second book in my spinoff series of Montana Bounty Hunters centers around a man named Preacher. The story is set to release in January, but I’m hoping to finish it sooner so it will come out before the end of December. He’s new to the team and, in the opening scene, we see him and his new partner Marti taking down a skip. For this spin-off series set in Dead Horse, Montana, I’m introducing the town folk. We already met the surly waitress, Nadine, in Cage‘s story. She’ll play a bigger role in future stories. In Preacher’s book, you’ll meet more of the town’s lively characters as well as the owner of the donut shop. Preacher is already attracted to her but hasn’t made a move. You’ll see why in this snippet. Enjoy!

Preorder your copy here!

Two days later, Preacher got a text as he was climbing into his black Suburban, ready to head into work.

Fig: It’s your turn to bring the donuts. Get them from Deadly Delights.

Preacher checked his watch. He had time.

How many? And what?

Fig: Two dozen kolaches. Two dozen mixed. Don’t drag ass.

Ooh, bossy. Who pissed on your cornflakes?

Fig: HaHa. Got a lot to go over.

Preacher’s mood lightened. He didn’t mind donut duty, not when the woman behind the counter at Deadly Delights was one very pretty blonde who wore confectionary sugar like most women wore powder on their noses. Whenever he saw a light dusting on her cheek, he had the urge to lean over the counter and lick it. Likely every male in the vicinity had the same urge.

Asking her out on a date had been on his mind for a while. He’d never noticed a ring on her finger and hadn’t seen her around town with any guys, so he thought maybe he should. After all, he’d been here a little while and needed to make some friends. Maybe, he could talk her into showing him around.

He grimaced. That might not be the best line. It would be the world’s shortest date. Dead Horse was a tiny town. A guided tour would take all of ten minutes.

Deadly Delights was on Main Street, which was on his route anyway with the Dead Horse Motel on the opposite side of town from Montana Bounty Hunters. Preacher shook his head as he passed the businesses lined up along the strip—Dead Center Guns & Pawn, Dead as a Doornail Hardware, The Drop Dead Gorgeous Salon.

He laughed. “They certainly have a theme going.”

He pulled into an empty parking space in front of the donut shop. Inside, business was brisk. He stood in line, trying not to look as though he was checking out the shapely proprietor while he was certainly checking her out. When it was his turn at the counter, his reason for being there completely escaped him.

It was those eyes—the prettiest blue, like cornflowers or maybe bluebonnets—although why he remembered any flowers’ names when he couldn’t remember his own was a mystery. Or maybe it was her pretty light blonde hair that she always wore in a long braid. Or maybe her pale skin with that light dusting of caramel-colored freckles across the bridge of her nose. He kept his gaze above her shoulders because he’d never drag it away from her full breasts and hips…

“Did you want something?” she said, leaning over the counter, her expression becoming concerned.

You and some of that whipped cream frosting you’re wiping off your fingers…

Frozen in place, he was sure he probably looked like a complete moron. He raised his phone to read the text message from Fig then cleared his throat. “I need kolaches and donuts.”

The woman’s mouth twitched at the corners. “How many people you feeding? Just yourself?”

He felt heat begin to fill his cheeks. Dammit. He’d never get her to go out with him if he couldn’t untwist his tongue. “Two dozen of each. And mixed… Um, mixed donuts, that is.”

She nodded and pulled four pink boxes from beneath the counter, unfolding them then laying down tissue paper or some such in the bottoms of the containers to line them.

She quickly filled his order then stacked the boxes neatly beside the cash register.

He already had his credit card out, not wanting to extend the conversation because he’d likely make a bigger fool out of himself if he did. Then he noticed the light coating of something white on her collarbone. It looked like the glazing on the donuts she’d put into the box. His mouth watered.

She rang up the order and handed him back his card. “Would you like a cup of coffee to take with you, sir?”

“Preacher,” he blurted.

She shook her head. “Pardon me?”

“Not sir. Preacher.”

“That your first or last name?”

“It’s what I’m called.” At this point, he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Well, Preacher,” she said, leaning over the counter and smiling as she handed him a coffee, “you have a good day.”

He managed a nod before reaching for the boxes and the coffee and quickly exited the store. “Damn. Fuck. Shit,” he whispered under his breath as he headed to his vehicle.

Another chance missed. It would be five more days before he’d have donut duty again. He wondered if he shouldn’t practice in front of a mirror before he attempted to talk to her again, or maybe he needed a wingman or woman to help him out…

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I’m late posting today. So, I thought I’d just pop in and share the cover for my upcoming story, Preacher.

Actually, this was the first version, but I wasn’t quite happy with it, so I asked for a change. Tell me what you think…

UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C!
*~*~*

I know! A second puzzle inside a week. I really do make you work hard for your prizes!

I hope that in between playing games, you’ve been reading (*cough*), and hopefully, it’s my latest release, Cage! I can’t wait to hear whether you’re ready for more fun happenings in Dead Horse, Montana!

On to the puzzle! And be sure to check the list of open contests below!

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I’ve been writing now for a number of years in multiple genres. I can honestly say I’ve never had more fun than I have writing about my Montana Bounty Hunters. So, when I was approaching the last story of the last hunter in the series, I thought hard about what I wanted to do next. The solution was pretty easy.

I’d write more. However, the MBH agency in Bear Lodge, MT was chock full of hunters. I needed my bounty hunter agency to expand, so I chose another location in Montana, fictional again, of course, so I could have more fun with a new set of hunters, and this time, use the town itself as a new “character” in my story. So, welcome to Dead Horse!

The book will be available solely through Amazon, at first. I want as many folks who want to get it through Kindle Unlimited for FREE as possible. I already have the print version uploaded, too. That link will come soon. In the meantime, meet the first hunter in the series…Cage.

A former SEAL and MMA fighter, and now, newly minted bounty hunter, has to hunt down his first skip…his ex-wife.

Former SEAL Cage Morgan thinks he doesn’t need anyone. As a rising MMA fighter, he makes enough to do what he wants and doesn’t have to answer to anyone.

Then an old friend sends an emissary, Reaper Stenberg from the Montana Bounty Hunters, to offer him a job. He agrees to meet him, but he has no intention of becoming a bounty hunter…until he hears who Reaper needs his special skill set to take down—his ex-wife.

Elaine Morgan is facing jail time due to her chosen line of work. She runs an illegal, underground fight club with her brother. Up until now, she’s always run clean, fair fights, but her brother owes money to the wrong people. As she prepares to the take the rap for his poor judgment, she misses her court date—that’s just one more stressor to add to the pile, and she doesn’t have time to worry about the consequences.

Until the night of the fight that will free her brother of his dangerous debt. Only her ex-husband shows up there, telling her he’s taking her in, and he has the friends with him to get the job done. The hunters’ poor timing sets off a chain of events that has the Montana Bounty Hunters staging a daring rescue.

All the while, Cage and Elaine revisit their past love, finding that the time apart put their problems in a better perspective. As their connection grows, they both fear an uncertain future.

Pre-order here!

Opening scene from Cage…

As he approached the front door to the Dead Easy Saloon, Cage Morgan flexed his hands, wincing as he did so due to the deep bruising on his knuckles. Still, sore knuckles felt like a small price to pay considering the size of the purse he’d won the previous night at the MMA bout in Bozeman.

Thinking about the $36,000 deposit he’d made at the bank that morning, he wondered why the hell he’d agreed to this meeting in the first place. Cage’s needs were simple, and the purse would pay his bills for the next four to six months until he accepted the next match.

However, he owed Fetch Winter the courtesy of meeting with his representative to talk about the possibility of a job. He didn’t owe him a “yes,” but he had agreed to listen. Fetch had led the unit that had pulled his ass out of a firefight which had killed several of his SEAL teammates back in Afghanistan a lifetime ago.

From the outside, the meeting place was like any other roadhouse bar. Wood plank siding, a tin roof, and a red neon “Open” sign. He climbed the three steps to the porch then opened the door. Music played on a jukebox, customers lined a well-polished counter, and in the rear, the crack of striking balls and groans sounded from the pool tables.

As he passed the bar, the bartender’s gaze narrowed on him, and then a broad smile spread. He lifted his chin to Cage. “Great fight last night.”

Cage lifted his eyebrows and gave him a little salute but didn’t stop. He made his way to a small round table tucked into a corner of the main room and took a seat.

A waitress with dirty blonde hair so straight it had to have been ironed paused beside his table. “What can I get ya, hon?”

Her smile was flirtatious, and while she was kind of cute for a middle-aged woman in a skin-tight tank with the bar’s logo on the front and short blue-jean shorts, he wasn’t interested in encouraging her to linger. “Whatever beer’s on tap will do,” he said and pulled a twenty from his wallet.

She smiled and moved away, her skinny hips wagging.

She was back inside a minute with a foamy beer and handed back his twenty. “Kip, the bartender, says it’s on the house. He won a pile of money last night on your fight.”

He pushed back the twenty. “You keep it then, and thank Kip.”

Just then, a commotion sounded at the entrance of the bar. “Damn, are you Reaper, that dude on TV?” asked a man who was holding onto the arm of a large man wearing a ballcap who was trying to get through the doorway.

Cage watched as the man who looked like he belonged on a Viking longboat shook the man off his arm.

Cage couldn’t make out what he said to the smaller man, but the guy held up his hands and backed away, grinning. As soon as the big man’s attention left him, he scurried to the bar, leaning over the counter to talk to Kip, whose gaze shot to the big man.

He watched the man in the ballcap grimace then step deeper inside the bar, his eyes narrowing as he searched the counter and then the tables. Cage knew the second when his gaze came to rest on Cage, because the other man tipped his chin before striding his way.

As the man approached, Cage assessed him like he always did, sizing him up as a possible opponent in the ring. They were of a similar height and weight. His arms and chest looked powerful. However, Cage could tell by the way the man moved that he wouldn’t have his same speed. Not that he was planning to fight this guy, but old habits died hard.

The big man stopped in front of his table. “You Cage Morgan?”

Cage nodded.

The man sat and whipped off his cap. “Thought the hat would work.”

Cage’s mouth twitched. “That was supposed to be some kind of disguise?”

The other man made a sound a bear might make just before it took a bite. “Fetch sent me.”

“I figured.”

“Said I was to try to schmooze you into taking a job.”

“I’ve been wondering why he isn’t here to do it himself.”

The other man raked a hand through his long blond hair. “I’m here to set up the satellite office. He’d have come, but he said we didn’t need the big guns. That you’d want this job once you heard what it was all about.”

Cage grunted and sat back in his chair. “You’re the guy in that reality TV show.”

Reaper gave him a dead-eyed look. “If I wasn’t makin’ bank, I’d take exception to your tone, dude.”

Cage snapped his fingers. “What’s it called?” He pretended the name escaped him.

“Bounty Hunters of the Northwest,” the other man said, sounding bored.

“Right!” Cage grinned. “I liked the episode when that wild man chased the bear.”

“His name’s Animal.”

Cage chuckled. “Fits.” He picked up his beer and drew on it, not knowing exactly why he was trying to rile the other man. Maybe it was because he viewed him as a competitor, and his instinct was to start the psych-out before a fight. Or maybe it was because he wanted to make sure the man didn’t waste a lot of time trying to convince him to take a damn job he didn’t want. “Can’t remember your name, though,” he lied.

“Reaper. Reaper Stenberg,” the big man said, his words a little garbled like he was grinding his teeth.

“Right,” Cage said. He took another swallow and waited for Reaper to give his pitch, but the waitress sauntered over again.

Her gaze went from Cage to Reaper, and Cage knew what was on her mind. Too bad for her, he knew Reaper was married, and he flat didn’t get into bed with another man, even if their dicks never touched.

“He’ll have the same as I’m having,” Cage said to hurry her away.

She was back inside a minute and set a beer in front of Reaper. He handed her a twenty.

“No, Kip said it’s free. He watches your show,” the woman said, sounding out of breath.

“Keep the tip,” Reaper said than turned his attention back to Cage.

The woman’s mouth tightened, but she moved along to another table.

“Saw you fight in Bozeman last night,” he said, his gaze direct.

Cage curled his fists and grimaced at the throbbing ache. “McMann gave me a run for my money.”

“You fight well. Heard you came to MMA through less than legal fights.”

Cage gave him a hard stare. “That was a long time ago.”

“Three years.” He took a sip of his beer. “Least, that’s what I hear. Bareknuckle stuff’s not for sissies.”

Cage almost smiled at the grudging compliment. “No, it’s not, but it’s hard on the body.”

“We could use someone like you. Fetch says you were a SEAL.”

Cage straightened in his chair. “I was.”

“Marine,” Reaper said, pointing at his chest with his glass.

“Won’t hold it against you.”

Reaper’s mouth twitched. “We’re building an office here. Broke ground last week. We hope to hire on eight to ten hunters to cover southwest Montana and into Wyoming and Idaho.”

“Sounds ambitious. From your TV show, it looks like you guys are sweeping up all the trash. Sure you’re leaving enough work for another agency?” Cage didn’t know why he asked. He still wasn’t interested, but he was curious about what Fetch was hoping to accomplish.

“America has the highest incarceration rate in the world. Long as that doesn’t change, we’ll have plenty of bounties to go around. And it’s not just bounties on folks skipping their court dates or mandatory drug testing. We help find prison escapees, pitch in on law enforcement manhunts—anywhere our particular talents are needed. Our Bear Lodge office helped bring in a terrorist who was recruiting anti-government whackos intent on building an army here in Montana.”

“That all sounds fine and dandy for someone who wants to be a bounty hunter. I don’t.”

“Well, Fetch thinks you might change your mind when you hear who we’re hunting. He needs someone with your skills to get close enough to make the takedown.”

Cage narrowed his eyes. “My skills?”

“Your experience in those illegal fight clubs. You’ve got connections that can get you inside.”

Cage shook his head. He hadn’t been a part of that world in years. “Not interested.”

“Ask me who we’re hunting,” Reaper said, his expression neutral, his stare boring into Cage’s.

Cage was curious all right, but he didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. He’d left that world and never looked back. Had the scars and the tattoo, thank you very much.

“Fetch explained how the money works, right? What a hunter gets as a percentage of the bond.”

“He did. And I still told him no.” Hunting people was something he’d done when he’d been in the Navy, and he’d been damn good at it. However, hunting Americans wasn’t something he had the stomach for.

“Ask me,” Reaper said, his voice lowering.

Cage wanted to tell him to go to hell. But he also wanted to know, because the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. Deep inside, he was still that man, the one who always found his target and always took him out. A cool dread washed over him, and he drew a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you hunting?”

Reaper’s mouth curved. “Your wife.”

UPDATE: The winner is…flchen1!
*~*~*

Just a quick note before we play!

Next Tuesday, I have a new release—the first in the Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT series! If you loved my hunters in Bear Lodge, with their intrepid/accident-prone warrior-leader Reaper, I think you’re going to love Cage, too! Be sure to pre-order your copy!

A former SEAL and MMA fighter, and now, newly minted bounty hunter, has to hunt down his first skip…his ex-wife.

Pre-order here!

Puzzle-Contest!

Solve the puzzle then tell me if your favorite hobby is anything like mine for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

UPDATE: The winner is…bn100!
*~*~*

Pre-order your copy here:
Kindle | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play

Well, the book is in the can! Film-speak for it’s loaded and ready for release day! I can’t be more excited! The stories are all soooo good, with a wide variety of themes and genres! Something for everyone!

My own story, “In the Wild” is related to my Montana Bounty Hunters series. In fact, the hunter in this story will appear in the spin-off series, Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT! She’ll have her own full-length story, but you can meet her below in the excerpt. Yes, HER! 🙂

Have you checked out my Collections website where all my anthologies “live”? We’re running a ton of contests. If you haven’t already been on that site, here’s a list of contests that are still open. While you’re busy entering to win something, be sure to check out the authors who are part of this anthology. There are some very familiar names (Elle James, Reina Torres, N.J. Walters, Melanie Jayne) and some authors you might not be aware of just yet. You’re going to find new authors to stalk, promise!

Contests Still Open on the Collections Website

1. Megan Ryder: Claiming Lyla (Contest–4 Winners!) — Absolute last day to enter! (Okay, so this one’s right here! Still counts!) Win books or a gift card!
2. January George: Blackout (Contest) — Absolute last day to enter! Win an Amazon gift card!
3. Tray Ellis: Falling Off the Single Track (Contest) — Absolute last day to enter! Win an Amazon gift card!
4. Melanie Jayne: Drive (Contest) — Absolute last day to enter! Win the ENTIRE NOVUS SERIES!
5. Megan Ryder: Claiming Lyla (Contest — 4 Winners) — Absolute last day to enter! Win an anthology or an Amazon gift card!
6. Reina Torres: Far From Over (Contest — 2 Winners!) — Win an anthology!
7. Margay Leah Justice: Handcuffs and G-strings (Contest) — Win an anthology!
8. Kimberly Dean: Thinking Time (Contest — 3 winners!) — Win an audiobook!
9. Elle James: Sheltering Charlotte (Contest — 2 Winners!) — Win a FREE book!

So, yes! A ton of contests! Have you entered? Don’t miss the contest I’m running here, today. You’ll find it under the excerpt from my story!

Excerpt from Delilah’s story, “In the Wild”

If not for her GPS device, Martika Mills wouldn’t have had a clue where she was. All she knew was that she was soaked to the skin, mud sucked at her boots, and two days into this hunt, she was no closer to finding Marlon Oats.

Earlier that morning, after sliding a twenty to a gas station attendant on the Montana border, she’d thought she was getting close. She’d gotten a description of the car Marlon had “borrowed” on his flight into the wilderness and had found it parked in a narrow roadside viewing point, just inside Yellowstone National Park.

After that, she’d followed the narrow stream into a deep gully off the road, knowing Marlon considered himself quite the fisherman, or so his mother had said. No doubt he intended to live off the land until the heat died down after he’d failed to make his date with the judge in Helena, where he was due to be tried for robbing a pawn shop in Springdale at gunpoint. His mother had been very helpful, liking the fact that Marti seemed like “a nice girl” who might “ask” her son to let her put him in handcuffs rather than shooting him. His mother didn’t want Marlon hurt, even though his skip might cost her the home she’d lived in since she’d married Marlon’s no-account, long-dead father.

Marti was just about to call it a day, figuring she had just enough daylight left to get back to her SUV parked behind Marlon’s at the roadside park, when she spotted a puff of dark smoke rising over the gully. Noting its direction, she climbed up a steep embankment, seeking footholds in mud and rock and grabbing vines along the sides of the rocky face until she stood at the top and realized the land on this side of the stream was flatter and filled with tall spring grass—and a herd of buffalo that didn’t seem to pay her any mind as she bent over and dragged in deep breaths. She glanced at her hands braced on her knees and grimaced, because they were covered in mud, which she shouldn’t give a shit about because her jeans were streaked with dirt as well.

Marlon had a lot to answer for, but thoughts of the rich bounty she’d score kept her from throwing in the towel. Her mother liked to say that stubborn was her middle name, which was a quality that worked well in her line of work. She always got her man because she never, ever gave up. She’d been bounty hunting for nearly three years now, the last one going solo because she didn’t like sharing her bounty with a partner or an agency, although she was considering working for one again. Agencies often served as bail bondsmen, too, and therefore had the downlow first on the richer bounties. Fetch Winter from Montana Bounty Hunters had been working on recruiting her to join a new satellite office he was trying to get off the ground in Dead Horse, Montana, to service southwest Montana and into Wyoming. He needed hunters with experience, and he’d heard good things about her.

She’d heard good things about the agency, too, if a you discounted the cable TV show that followed his hunters out of Bear Lodge. Fetch gave his crews a higher percentage of the bounty than most agencies did, and he’d assured her that he wouldn’t be looking to do any spin-off series featuring his other offices, but he had admitted that the bonuses for the hunters who permitted the production crews to accompany them were very generous. The job was hers, if she wanted it.

But first, she had to find Marlon Oats.

Trying her best not to draw the herd’s attention, she walked along the edge of the ravine, keeping within the narrow line of trees standing along the edge of the ravine as she made her way toward the place she believed a campfire had been lit.

As she drew closer, she stayed hidden and peered into a clearing. A small tent had been pitched, one that had seen better days. One of the screen windows was torn, and one of the poles that held up the tarp over the door was missing. But she couldn’t make out whether anyone was presently occupying the campsite.

Just then, she heard movement coming from the stream below and a soft off-key whistling. Hunkering down, she waited patiently until the person climbed over the edge of the embankment and stood.

“Marlon, you sweet idiot,” she said under her breath. Her heartbeats quickened, and she drew slow breaths. She needed calm, not adrenaline, to get closer to her target.

Marlon strolled toward his campsite holding a string of four fish, which he lowered into a pot beside the fire. As he began taking them out, one at time, gutting and filleting them, and then tossing the pieces into a pan he’d filled with oil, she moved closer, choosing her footsteps carefully, grateful for the chorus of gargling grunts from the buffalo nearby that masked the sounds her feet made in the suctioning mud.

She studied Marlon to see what challenges he might present. A rifle leaned against the tent, and he held a knife in his hand. Slowly, she dropped her backpack to the ground and drew her own 10mm Remington from the holster on her thigh, and then began to work her way toward the edge of the tree line, knowing she’d eventually have to expose her position to prevent him from making a move toward the rifle.

Soft chuffing grunts sounded from the herd, but she ignored the animals, keeping her gaze fixed on the more dangerous game in front of her.

Then she stepped on a twig, and it snapped.

Marlon’s gaze swung toward her position, and his eyes widened. His gaze shot to the rifle, but she shook her head.

“I’m a Fugitive Recovery Agent, so you know why I’m here,” she said, keeping her tone low and hard.

Eyes still wide, his body tensed as though he was preparing to bolt upwards and make a run for it.

“Don’t even think about running,” she bit out.

He blinked, and his gaze went to something behind her. “Bitch, you might want to think about making a run for it.” Then a smile stretched across his face as he slowly stood and waved his arms.

What the fuck…?

Then she heard it. A deep, gargling grunt. With her handgun still held in both hands in front of her, she darted a glance behind her.

A large bison bull faced her from about twenty feet away, his head lowered toward the ground, his gaze fixed on her.

Marlon laughed then darted toward the tent.

No way was she letting him get anywhere near that rifle, even if he promised to shoot the bull. As big as the fucker was, Marlon’s peashooter wouldn’t do anything more than piss the animal off. “Marlon!” she rasped as loudly as she dared as she weighed her rapidly dwindling options. “Stay clear of that rifle, or buffalo or not, I’ll shoot your ass.”

“Your choice,” he said, raising a hand to his mouth and issuing an ear-piercing whistle. Then he turned and ran toward the gully.

Another grunt, this one louder and harsher, sounded, and she knew she couldn’t just stand there; she broke into a run, following Marlon as he ran parallel to the gully, keeping twenty yards ahead of her.

Behind her, she heard the heavy thud of hooves striking damp earth, coming closer and closer.

Any second now, she’d have to veer toward the gully and jump, and hope like hell that she didn’t break something on the way down.

Then another sound came from a distance. An engine. Something small. She dared to glance back and saw an ATV running parallel but slightly behind the bull. The person driving it wore a green Park Service uniform.

Oh, thank God! But was he too late to distract the angry animal from trampling or goring her to death?

Ahead of her, Marlon gave a gleeful laugh and ran toward the naked edge of the gully, took one last glance behind him, then slid down the side on his ass, disappearing from sight.

Time for her to do the same, although with the way her hiking boots were gliding in the muck, she thought she’d be a lot less graceful and likely pitch headfirst over the rocky ledge.

The ATV’s motor revved, bringing it closer by the sound behind her. But she didn’t dare glance backward. The bull’s hooves were shaking the ground beneath her feet.

With her lungs and legs burning, she veered right, just as the ATV pulled into the path of the bison.

She peeked behind her again. The buffalo slowed then gave a loud chuffing grunt, trotting now behind the ATV. The ranger slowed, too, coming alongside her and reaching out an arm.

No way could she swing onto the back. She wasn’t particularly graceful, would miss by a mile, and get trampled for her efforts. She waved him away and veered toward the ravine.

Glancing backward, she watched the idiot ranger stop his ATV and begin waving his arms high over his head as he walked backward towards her.

“Get on the ATV,” he said, his voice calm as the buffalo ran several steps forward then made a little circle, which left him a few feet farther away when he halted, still grunting his warnings.

How like a man.

“I’ll take my chances in the ravine,” she snapped. “Besides, that’s where my skip went.”

“Get on the goddamn ATV! I’m trying to rescue your ass.”

“They teach you how to talk like that at ranger school?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.”

He walked toward her, giving her Remington a hard glare.

She holstered it quickly but backed away, holding out her hands. “We’re good. The bull’s more interested in your Tonka toy than me now.”

Just then, the bull proved her right when he ducked his head and butted against the ATV, flipping it onto its side.

Contest

For a chance to win a copy of one of our previous Boys Behaving Badly Anthologies, let me know whether you’ve already pre-ordered your copy of FIRST RESPONSE!