Who Writes More Convincing M/M Romance--Men or Women?

I’ve heard of editors betting whether an M/M story was written by a man or a woman.

Now, depending on the degree of honesty in the proceedings, some editors reportedly have a knack for knowing, others not so much. I’ve heard arguments on both sides. Witness the debate…

“If M/M is written primarily by straight women for straight women, that means a straight woman knows best what another straight woman wants in an M/M story.”

Mmm…no. What readers want is a good story with well-drawn characters they can invest in. The author’s ability in this department is what readers want. The book can be written by an asexual purple polka-dotted Martian with numerous organs and orifices—as long as the characters are well executed.

“A straight woman can’t possibly have a clue what it’s like to be a gay man, let alone conjure one for fiction.”

Geez. For decades, M/F interactions typified romance. Women wrote the vast majority of this, including the male character. This “have a clue” business about male characters didn’t get the press then that it does now (if it ever did get press then). The gay character is still a character. Maybe he’s an accountant, likes golf, favors pepperoni on his pizza, is gay, likes T-shirts versus button-downs, worries about the mortgage, and loves red. See? He’s not defined by his preference. He’s a guy, first and foremost.

“Straight women can’t write believable intimate gay encounters (read: they have no reference for man-on-man sex).”

Well, folks, have to disagree. Sure, there’s the mechanics, but that’s pretty standard, isn’t it? Ninety percent of a good sex scene is in the mind of the character(s). The emotional investment, the chance to reveal the naked core of the character(s). The human sexual experience is emotional, regardless of the gender of the participants. Men who write M/M romance are not uniformly sputtering ‘that would never happen!’ with any more frequency than their female counterparts when they read these scenes.

“Gay men favor the work of gay writers, while straight women favor books written by straight females.”

My thought—no. Being human, gay male readers of M/M like what they like because of content, not because they know the sex/orientation of the writer. The same is true of straight women.

 

My favorite M/M writers are split evenly between men and women. Mostly gay men and straight women. There are a couple of ringers in there, though—transgendered writers. Notice they haven’t been accorded a spot in the above debate, which likely makes them giddy with happiness.

Sooo…coming back to the initial dilemma of our blindfolded editors, betting over the slush pile whether the author is male or female, my money’s on the horse called “You Can’t Tell.”

 

Covert Delivery and Draven St. James

Today Draven St. James joins me to talk about her new release from the Loose Id Eostre's Baskets collection, Covert Delivery.

What is your name and occupation?  My name is Aspen Starr and I'm a psychometrist. Basically, I do the testing for psychological profiling.

How old are you? I'm twenty-four.

How did you come by your current occupation? I defied my good old dad and went to college to study psychological profiling. He had me slotted for a company position, all the way down to a corner office, an apartment, and a very creepy crypt keeper of a boyfriend. I snuck off with the help of a little destiny in the form of a mystery basket. Now, I'm working at a forensic psychologist office performing psychological evaluations.

Do you like your job? Why or why not? I love my job. It helps that my boyfriend, Dr. Garren Thomas is my boss. It didn't start off that way, but with working together, some wicked dance moves and his phenomenal phone…skills, I couldn't help falling for him.  Okay, I just completely rambled. Yes, my job is great. I get to help people and the brain is a fascinating organ. I'm constantly surprised, and at times a bit scared, but that makes things interesting.

Who is the person you dislike the most? Wow, I'd have to say I don't have a fondness for Christopher the Crypt Keeper. 

Who is the person you respect the most? I respect Garren. There is so much more to him than just the tough exterior.

Is there anyone special in your life? Yes, yes, and I think I've made that obvious with my above answers.  Lol.

What’s your favorite meal, and do you fix it yourself or have someone fix it for you? Fried chicken and I do fix it myself.

Football or baseball? Football. Men in tight pants running up and down a field.  Not to mention all the jumping up on one another and ass slapping. The locker room fantasies alone are enough to keep me coming back for more.

Favorite holiday? Given the year I've had, definitely Easter. I mean when a mysterious collection of life altering eggs comes to your door…well you can't help but fall in love with the holiday. I still don't know how Eostre's Baskets put everything together, but Essie changed my life. 

Favorite song?  Do not laugh, but Amazed by Lonestar. As, I'm sure Garren could tell you, I'm a closeted country music fan.

If you had one wish, what would it be?  I should say world peace or the cure for world hunger, right? But I'd kind of like to convince Garren to get a tattoo for me, something dark and sexy.  That way when he's walking around the office in his staid suits, only I would know the sexy ink that was beneath.

Blurb

Aspen Starr is in a bind and not in a good way. His father is trying to use him to sweeten a business deal and being a bought boy toy holds no appeal. Just when he thinks he has no options left Sundae’s Custom Easter Baskets knocks at his door. Soon he finds himself blindly following a trail right into the path of a sexy new boss and a whole new mess of carnal complications.



Garren Thomas has rules and one of those is to never get involved with an employee. Easy to say, harder to enforce when Aspen is hired on. With each passing day Garren's control slips until all he wants to do is spend his days with Aspen in his bed.

When faced with giving into his desires, Garren sees his simple life being torn apart. Can he get Aspen out of his system without losing his heart? Aspen isn't much better off. He is drawn to Garren, but he can't help the fear that the secrets from his past will destroy it all. As Aspen begins to lose himself within the confusion of sex and love one question plagues him: who sent the basket?

Excerpt 

Garren pushed away from the wall and into the light of the lobby. “Looks like I missed out on a lot.”

Aspen ducked his head and went to his desk to dig around in a drawer. The first time Taylor had sent him shopping for office supplies, Aspen had bought random sheets of kids’ stickers. On the rare occasion Taylor performed child evaluations, a little bribery to bring out good behavior never hurt. Aspen came away with two sheets of fairy stickers.

“Not too much. We’re working on crowns and a new kingdom.” Aspen swerved around Garren, his eyes twinkling. “Do you want a crown?”

Garren narrowed his eyes on Aspen. He put his hands on Aspen’s shoulders to stop him and leaned in to whisper, “That was low. There’s no way I can refuse those pixies. I’m going to end up with a glittery, construction-paper crown glued to my head, aren’t I?"

Aspen looked over his shoulder. “Don’t worry there won’t be glitter on yours. I’ll be the queen,” he murmured with a grin. “So you’ll need to fill the role as king.”

Garren shook his head. “You’re trouble.”

Aspen shimmied to dislodge Garren’s hands. “You just figured that out?”

With a resigned sigh Garren followed him.

“Girls, I found someone else who needs a crown,” Aspen declared, gesturing at Garren.

The tykes jumped up and down. Garren fought the urge to reach out and hug Aspen for giving them this moment of levity even at Garren’s expense.

Aspen held out the stickers, and the enthusiasm magnified until the girls were dancing around the room. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the girls chanted in a singsong fashion.

A softly murmured, “Oh my,” came from behind Garren.

Garren turned to yet again see the shimmer of tears in Mrs. Burgett’s eyes, but a smile accompanied the moisture.

Aspen grinned back at her. “I hope you don’t mind. The girls have been fantastic. We’ve managed to make crowns and bracelets.”

“Even for you, Mommy,” one of the twins piped up and ran over to Mrs. Burgett to carefully hand her the items as though they were made of glass.

Mrs. Burgett cradled them. “Thank you, Maryann.”

“Becca and Mr. Aspen helped,” Maryann replied.

“And we ate apples and cheese crackers,” Becca added.

Garren looked briefly at Aspen. He’d seen Aspen eating the same things earlier in the week.

“That was very nice of Mr. Aspen,” Mrs. Burgett said with a hitch in her voice. “But we have to go now, girls.”

“Oh,” the girls replied with exaggerated pouts on both their faces.

“Say thank-you to Mr. Aspen,” Mrs. Burgett directed.

Both girls ran over to Aspen and threw their arms around his waist. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to make your crown,” Becca said.

“That’s fine, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to make a matching one when you leave,” Aspen assured her.

“You need to make two,” Maryann interjected. “One for the big king behind you. That way we’ll know you’re helping rule the kingdom even if we can’t see you.”

Garren wanted to pick the girl up and hug her. Tell her that everything would work itself out and she’d never be hurt again. While it was a possibility if Mrs. Burgett went through with the charges, he wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

“Thank you, Mr. Aspen,” Mrs. Burgett said. “You don’t know how much I appreciate you taking care of my girls.”

“You’re welcome,” Aspen responded.

Maryann and Becca skipped over to their mom, and grabbed hold of her hands as they exited the office.

Garren stared after their retreating backs. He grimaced at the tattered clothes and worn shoes. His jaw clenched, and he pivoted and stalked back to his office. The lump in his throat threatened to shatter his control of his emotions. He made it through the door, placed his hands on his desk, and breathed deeply. Mrs. Burgett reminded him of his mother.

Aspen lightly touched his back, and Garren jerked around to gaze at him.

“I know you’ll do all you can,” Aspen confided.

“And you?” Garren cracked and cupped Aspen’s face with one hand. “You gave those little girls your lunch and made them laugh. You took away their stress and let them be kids.”

Aspen glanced away. “I did what anyone else would do. They deserve to have as much joy as every other child.”

“You’re wrong. Not everyone would do what you did. I think most would have set them in the lobby and spent the time telling them to be quiet.” Garren had seen that reality time and time again.

Aspen shrugged.

Garren caved and leaned in until his lips were mere inches from Aspen’s. “You are so beautiful.”

Aspen didn’t back away. His breath came faster, and his eyes flashed with that same glow Garren had seen in the past.

“Garren,” Aspen whispered with a thread of uncertainty.

Garren brushed his thumb over Aspen’s full lower lip, and desire zinged through his body when Aspen’s tongue peeked out to trace the path. Garren’s brain screamed what a huge mistake kissing Aspen would be, but at that point he wasn’t being ruled by his head.

BUY:

Amazon   Loose Id

~Author Bio

I’m a born and raised Oregonian. I’ve traveled extensively in search of mischief and mayhem to fill my books.  My ventures have been quite successful in inspiring a wealth of stories both sexy and humorous.  It gives me a great excuse to do some crazy stuff in the name of research. Of course at the end of the day, coffee within reach, laptop at the ready is where I find my peace.

 

Contact:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/draven.stjames

Blog: http://dravenstjames.wordpress.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DravenStJames

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/dravenstjames/

Email: Dravenstjames@gmail.com

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-covertdelivery-1461858-149.html

Procrastination

I meant to write this blog last month.

Somehow, time got away from me. I've been working on the resurrection of an old story; it's taking a long time. Maybe too long. The fact that I've put it aside multiple times in favor of other projects doesn't help. This has been going on for three years. Despite my determination to finish the manuscript, I'm afraid I'll procrastinate yet again.

Writers procrastinate a lot, especially when they are stuck on a plot snarl, or facing a blank page, paralyzed by writer's block.

Writers spend too much time on Facebook, Youtube, and reading stories in publications like Buzzfeed.

Sometimes, writers want everything to be perfect. When it's not going well, it's horrible. The words squeeze painfully onto the page. It's like using a paper cut to donate blood. 

I know some advocate "just get something down on paper, even if it's garbage." I find this leads to massive deletion later. Instead, I leave this note:

        "NEED MORE HERE"

in bold red type and go on to the next scene. My manuscript has a baker's dozen of these, which I'm struggling to fill in. Perfection needs to take a backseat to completion.

If I ever finish the story, I'm sure it'll be awesome.

 

Rabbit Wars--What's Behind It

This is a romance, the tale of Jeff and Ash. Rabbits are in there too. It takes place in the fictional town of Crooked Creek, Colorado.
I love old things, historic things. Things with an interesting past...even a disreputable past.
All over the Rockies are small defunct gold mines. Colorado's gold rush was in 1859--pretty much eclipsed by the much bigger event in California a decade earlier. When the ore played out, jobs were lost, people moved away, and some of these towns faded into oblivion.
Over the last twenty-plus years, gambling has returned prosperity to these historic places. New residents have repurposed old buildings; tourists pour in; the City Council has money to work with once again.
If you've never visited a gold town, I encourage you to do so. They're everywhere, not just in Colorado.
I hope you'll check out Rabbit Wars and see what Jeff, Ash, and Rabbits have in common.

BLURB:
After two months in Dubai supervising a construction project, architect Jefferson Fontaine returns home to find his boyfriend boffing the dog walker. Reeling, Jeff grabs his dignity and departs. The arrival of a mysterious wicker box and a letter requesting Jeff’s presence for the reading of a local entrepreneur’s will sends Jeff to his hometown of Crooked Creek, Colorado. The last thing he expects is to encounter an old flame who disappeared fifteen years ago.

After high school, Ashton Eiker hoped to start a future with the boy he loved, but his world crashed when Jeff refused to bring Ash along with him to college. Ash ran from the rejection, but returned to Crooked Creek a year ago, bringing his confectionary talents and opening a chocolate shop. When the great uncle of a childhood friend names Ash in his will, he could hardly anticipate getting a helping of his past in the mix.

Jeff and Ash jointly inherit the historic Jeremiah Rabbit House, and are forced to work together to meet the terms of the will or neither will have the mansion. It’s a battle of opinions, shared personal history, and present attraction, but the true prize isn’t the Rabbit legacy. It's the chance at something better.
BUY:
http://www.loose-id.com/eostre-s-baskets-rabbit-wars.html

Loose Id has all formats--whatever you need for your type of e-reader!

CONTACT:
www.whitleygray.com
https://www.facebook.com/whitley.gray

When Will I See You Again...

Today Julie Lynn Hayes treats us to an interview with the delightful Alexx from When Will I See You Again.

 

What is your name and occupation? Alexx Jameson. I work at the Crescent Bay Chronicle.  In the mail room, right now, but I hope to become a reporter there some day.

How old are you? *looks nervously around* Twenty. Almost twenty-one. Well, next Halloween, actually.

How did you come by your current occupation? When I first moved to Crescent Bay, I got lucky, and I ran into the editor, Mr. Randolph. One thing led to another and he gave me a job.

Do you like your job? Why or why not? I love my job. I became best friends with the receptionist. His name is Miller. I like everyone there. Well, almost everyone. I’m not really all that fond of Price Chancellor, I have to admit. He’s a news reporter, and a bit of a diva. But honestly, most people aren’t fond of him, and I think the only person he really cares for is himself.

Who is the person/creature you dislike the most? I guess that would be Price.  *laughs*

Who is the person/creature you respect the most? I respect Mr. Randolph a lot. I’m grateful to him for giving me a job, and for giving me a chance to show that I can be a reporter and not just the mail room guy. I think he’s what makes the Chronicle the great newspaper it is. Okay, maybe it’s not the Times or the Tribune or anything, but it’s perfect for Crescent Bay.

Is there anyone special in your life? Well,  yeah. Kinda sorta. I mean there’s someone I’m attracted to. But who isn’t? His name is Raoul Marchand. Yes, one of those Marchands. Most famous supernatural family in Crescent Bay. And he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Of course, it’s ridiculous to think that he and I... that him and me... oh never mind, just wishful thinking.

What’s your favorite meal, and do you fix it yourself or have someone fix it for you? I live in a boarding house, actually, and while I do have kitchen privileges, I try not to abuse them, so I’m more of a microwave meal kind of guy. Usually I do stuff I don’t have to cook, and cheap take-out.

Favorite color? I don’t really have one. I think all colors are pretty.

Football or baseball? I’m not really into sports.

Favorite exercise? Writing?

If you had one wish, what would it be? That’s a hard one. If you’d asked me that before, I’d have said becoming a reporter was my biggest wish. But since meeting Raoul... I just want him to be... well, happy. And safe. Does that sound too corny? I just worry, that’s all. I know I don’t have a chance with him, but I hope he meets someone that will be good for him and not just use him for who he is.

What makes this Raoul so special to you?

Well, he’s drop dead gorgeous. But it’s more than that. There’s something inside of him, something I can’t explain. Something I want to get to know. I want to ease his suffering, make him feel good about himself and the world around him. I know, I know, he has it all now—looks, family, money, position. What more could he want? But I think he’s not happy. I just want to make him happy.

When Will I See You Again takes place in a time when the presence of werewolves and vampires among the general populace is known and accepted, largely because of drugs that control any baser animal instincts. SL57 is the werewolf wonder drug, short for SomnioLupus, otherwise known as Wolf Trank. In the small seaside town of Crescent Bay, people come to the famous nightclub Charisma, mostly because of the charismatic man who is one of the best-known supes in the area: Raoul Marchand. Raoul is a regular party animal, one who lives but to have a good time, and who cares for no one and nothing. But he hasn’t always been this way...

 BLURB: Raoul Marchand is the crown prince of Charisma, the infamous night club in Crescent Bay, renowned for its supernatural clientele. He has the pick of any and all men, but he cares for none. He uses them and throws them away again, and has done so for some twenty years, in the aftermath of a tragedy that robbed him of what he loved most in the world.

Alexx Jameson is an idealistic young would-be reporter with the Crescent Bay Chronicle. Presented with an opportunity to write a story on the Marchands, he eagerly grasps the chance to be a real reporter. His friend, Chronicle receptionist Miller Fenwick, suggests they go to Charisma to do a little research. Alexx isn’t sure that’s such a great idea. After all, he’s still under age, being only twenty. No problem, Miller can fix that! Added bonus, there’s a full moon tonight.

When Alexx first encounters Raoul, it isn’t exactly in the way he dreamed of, and he’s sure he made a terrible first impression. But Fate throws them together under unforeseen circumstances, and the attraction between them can’t be denied. Can Raoul let go of the past long enough to find his future with Alexx, or is he doomed to repeat past mistakes?

Excerpt:

Alexx drew in his breath in dismay. This wasn’t going well. Even so, he could not stop staring at Raoul. His eyes met the other man’s. Raoul’s were very golden; he wasn’t aware such colors even existed in the spectrum of the human eye. But then again, he didn’t have any friends that were werewolves either. He wondered if this was a sign that perhaps this man was about to change, right here and now?

The thought was both exhilarating and frightening.

Alexx’s vision telescoped until he wasn’t aware of anything but this gorgeous man in front of him. Blood pounded in his ears and his mouth felt suddenly dry. Having lost all sense of the others in the room, he was surprised when he felt his chair yanked out from under him. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck, propelling him to his feet. He glanced at his companion; Miller was being subjected to the same surly treatment.

“You waste my time for this?” Raoul’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. Alexx found himself wildly attracted to him. “I have somewhere I need to be. Paolo, please show these gentlemen out.” Sarcastic much? He turned and reached for the door, but it opened before he touched it.

A shaggy blond with hazel eyes and a cheerful countenance stuck his head inside. “Hey Paolo—” He interrupted himself at the sight of the occupants of the room.

Alexx heard Miller’s sigh of relief, even as he too recognized the newcomer. He’d seen him around the Chronicle often enough, although he’d never really spoken to him. Foster Levine, son of the Chronicle’s owner—heir apparent and future newspaper magnate.

Alexx’s relief quickly changed to anxiety. What if Foster knew how old he really was? He couldn’t be sure one way or the other, but for the sake of argument, he had to assume he did. Would he out him to Raoul Marchand and his burly minion? Had they simply jumped from the frying pan to be scorched by the fire?

~*~

Author Bio:

Julie Lynn Hayes was reading at the age of two and writing by the age of nine and always wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Two marriages, five children, and more than forty years later, that is still her dream. She blames her younger daughters for introducing her to yaoi and the world of M/M love, a world which has captured her imagination and her heart and fueled her writing in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She especially loves stories of two men finding true love and happiness in one another's arms and is a great believer in the happily ever after. She lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah and two cats, loves books and movies, and hopes to be a world traveler some day. She enjoys crafts, such as crocheting and cross stitch, knitting and needlepoint and loves to cook. While working a temporary day job, she continues to write her books and stories and reviews, which she posts in various places on the internet. Her family thinks she is a bit off, but she doesn't mind. Marching to the beat of one's own drummer is a good thing, after all.  Her published works can be found at Amber Quill Press, Dreamspinner Press, MuseitUp Publishing, Torquere Press, and eXtasy Books. She is also an editor at MuseitUp.  

Julie's links:

Blog:  http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com

Twitter: @Shelley_runyon

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/julie.l.hayes.7?ref=tn_tnmn

My Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3442231.Julie_Lynn_Hayes

Email: tothewolf.max@gmail.com

 

Twelve Random Things About Me

Thought I’d let you guys in on a few details about me—some more interesting than others.

1.     Light roast coffee. One cup in the morning.

 

2.     Last song added to ipod: Eli Lieb—cover of “Wrecking Ball.”

 

3.     There are more than six hundred books on my Kindle.

 

4.     Pop is a rarity for me. Usually in July when it’s hot and I’m driving.

 

5.     I keep paper and pen by the bed for those borderline conscious epiphanies.

 

6.     Jeans, not khakis.

 

7.     I love Clementine oranges.

 

8.     Two cats—one is a Maine Coon and weighs twenty pounds!

 

9.     Boxer briefs, not boxers or briefs—for the characters, that is.

 

10.  I read my first M/M book in 2008—Josh Lanyon.

 

11.  I prefer room service to a tent in the woods.

 

12.  I grew up skiing, but haven’t been in years.

 

 

Tell me something unique about yourself!

Z.A. Maxfield and My Heartache Cowboy

What is your name and occupation?
I’m Jimmy, ma’am. I work as a hand on the J-Bar ranch.

How old are you?

How old do I look? ‘Cause I can tell you I look pretty good for my age. I been taking care of myself lately on account of I stopped drinking and started eating right.

Why did you change your behavior?

I was making my friends crazy. They staged what you might call an “Intervention” but what I’d call a great big pain in my ass.

How did you come by your current occupation?

My daddy was a bull rider. I grew up around horses and I figured I’d make my living in the rodeo like him, but that didn’t work out. I moved around some. Worked some spreads in Oklahoma and Texas. I guess I found what I was looking for here at the Jenkins’ place and I just kind of stayed.

Who is the person/creature you respect the most?

I’m torn. I want to say the man I respect most is Crandall Jenkins. I mean -- he was always real good to me. He treated me real fair. But if I’m honest, I’d have to say Eddie Molina is the person I respect the most. He don’t lie. He’s never once let me down. He’s my rock. I don’t know where I’d be without Eddie. That’s a fact.

Is there anyone special in your life?

Yes ma’am there is. I ain’t gotta tell you that, do I?

You don’t have to tell me. Are you happy though?

Yes ma’am. Like I never thought I’d be. Ever. I’m a lucky man.

What’s your favorite meal? do you fix it yourself or have someone fix it for you?

I guess I like a big old Porterhouse steak with a baked potato and all the trimmings. Maybe some of that dark chocolate cake for dessert. Me and Eddie had a meal with our friend Don in Arizona and they brought me a piece of cake the size of a dinner plate. Had chocolate chips in it. That was some good cake. I’m learning to cook because someone seems to think we don’t eat right. *Cough*Crispin*Cough*

Football or baseball?

I watch anything that’s on. I like Rodeo. That’s a sport.

Favorite exercise?

Hell no. Wait. Are we talking about certain horizontal gymnastics? ‘Cause I could stay in shape that way. I’m pretty dedicated.

Favorite holiday?

Thanksgiving is nice ‘cause of the food. Last year Emma Crandall brought me a plate. Made me feel real special. I’m going to miss her now she’s moved to Florida.

Favorite song?

I like that church song Rock of Ages. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. I guess my mother used to sing it some.

If you had one wish, what would it be?

I wish my brother Jonah was here with us right now. I wish I could tell him…I don’t suppose it matters what I wish. Is that all?

Sure. Thank you.

Thank you ma’am. I’m going to go get me one of those little cakes now. I have developed a passionate sweet tooth lately.

Go ahead. There’s coffee back there too.

Now you’re talking. Thanks again.

BLURB:

Jimmy Rafferty and Eddie Molina go way back at the J-Bar ranch. They’ve worked together, bunked together, camped out, and drank together. So how has Jimmy failed to notice that Eddie is gay? Eddie has not failed to notice that his friend has a serious drinking problem, and he’s determined to help Jimmy kick the booze cold turkey.

Taking him up to a snowbound cabin to detox, Eddie is confronted with Jimmy’s fierce denial. But the pains of withdrawal are nothing for Jimmy compared with the heartache of denying his true feelings and his deep longing…for the one man who cares for him more than anyone else on earth.

EXCERPT:

When I woke, I was alone and the truck wasn’t moving.

Who the hell did Eddie think he was, leaving me asleep by myself in a truck outside in the freezing cold? My pa and my older brother, Jonas, used to do that. We’d be on the road, and when I fell asleep, they’d leave me in the parking lot of some dive bar or motel—just leave me asleep outside in the dark. I’d wake up with no clue where I was, no idea if they were coming back or if I should go in and try to find them.

My first useful thought was to look for the keys, because I hadn’t forgotten what Eddie said. I hadn’t forgotten the plans him and boss Malloy made for me behind my back. It would serve them right if I up and hightailed it back to the J-Bar with Eddie’s truck and no Eddie.

No keys.

Not like that was going to stop me. Where the hell did Eddie get the idea I’d go quietly? I slid over and tore the wiring out from under the dash. Found what I needed without hardly even looking.

I hated waking up alone like that. Unwanted. Abandoned.

One twist. Two. Touch the wires together and the engine should . . .

Fuck.

Nothing.

What the hell? I checked I got the proper color-coated strands and tried again. I was frowning down at the mess of tangled wire when someone tapped on the window behind me.

I glanced up and saw Eddie frowning down, no doubt pissed at what I’d done to his truck. Serves you right for leaving me like that, you prick.

“You need a working engine for that,” he told me as he opened the door. “One that has a battery.”

“Fuck you.” I spilled out of the car ready for a fistfight.

“What?” Eddie jumped back.

“Why did you have to leave me like that? What did I ever do to you?”

Eddie shook his head at me. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You were sound asleep and I thought maybe you needed it.”

I took a swing at him. “I hate waking up alone in a car like that.”

Ed plucked my fist from the air and peered at me like he was trying to see through my skin. “I didn’t know.”

“I hate that. Left behind in the car like a damn dog. Like a fucking duffel bag. You can’t be bothered to even wake me up and take me in out of the fucking snow.”

Now Eddie frowned like he was thinking about it. Now, after the fact. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t think how you’d feel waking up alone like that. I won’t do it again.”

“Would have served you right if I took your truck and left you up here to walk back to civilization, wherever the hell that is. Would have served you right if I’d died out here.”

“All right, all right. Simmer down now.”

I glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“It’s pretty civilized inside. How about you come in with me.”

“How about you suck my fucking—”

“That’s enough.” He turned and headed toward the cabin’s welcoming front door. “I almost didn’t bother to disable the damn thing, but I thought on the off chance you knew what you were doing and could—”

“Which I did,” I pointed out.

“Come inside.” He jerked his chin toward the cabin like I was a dog and I was supposed to just follow along and yip around at his heels.

I debated making a run at him, but frankly, Eddie was a tough buzzard. He wasn’t too much older than me, just forty-two compared to my thirty-eight. But I was a lover, not a fighter, or at least that’s how I thought of myself. Back there on the road, Eddie had proved he wasn’t above using violence to get his way in this, so I went along.

You’re going to have to sleep sometime.

Eddie led me into a rustic-looking cabin that seemed awful nice for the middle of nowhere. There was a place for us to hang our hats just inside the door, over a table with a passel of pictures on it. There were old time black-and-whites of families and framed pictures of a good-looking man, a pretty woman, and some kids. There were some of the kids alone, and holy cow, there were probably a dozen pictures of Ed. He looked so young in a couple of them, they must have been from before we met.

One of Ed and the unknown man caught my eye. Something about the difference in height, the casual way they leaned together, the way they looked at each other, made me think this was Ed’s friend from the road, Don. Even though they’d both aged some since it was taken, I was almost sure of it.

No knobby hands, no weathered angel, this Don was good looking, without a doubt. He was lanky and chiseled. He had an intelligent face and a smile that drew the eye. He seemed sure of himself and charming. Whatever I’d seen in the darkness outside the car had to be a trick of the light.

Ed looked so young and earnest next to him it took my breath away. Brawny and tan, he wore a yoked Western shirt with the sleeves rolled up past well-muscled forearms and he eyed Don like he would follow him anywhere.

And that Don, he looked like he could appreciate a guy like Ed, as well.

Hadn’t I seen firsthand how much he did appreciate him?

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~*~

Z. A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. Three things reverberate throughout all her stories: Unconditional love, redemption, and the belief that miracles happen when we least expect them. If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four can find time for a writing career, she’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework.”