Summary:
Boyfriend for Hire #5
Hiring a fake boyfriend for a school reunion seems to be the only solution, but love was never part of the equation.
Felix has enough on his plate looking out for his parents, let alone agreeing to being hired for a date with the friend of a friend. His instant attraction to the scatter-brained scientist has him making impulsive decisions he hopes he won’t regret. But, somehow, he’s agreeing to more dates, and more time with sexy Ethan and his non-stop talking. When stolen wintry kisses turn to love, and Christmas works its magic, Felix knows he’s losing his heart.
The science of chemistry makes more sense to Ethan than connecting with potential boyfriends, and he’s wary of romance. Unsettled by a string of failed hookups, he knows it’s on him when everything goes wrong and he can’t help but wonder what has made him this way. His friend Jared says that Ethan needs to close metaphorical doors on past hurts—whatever that means—and that the school reunion might just be step one. Determined to show himself as confident and happy, he hires Felix to be his date for the night, but a kiss to make up for the one he missed at prom, and abruptly, it’s not the past that is consuming his thoughts.
Now all Felix has to do is show Ethan that it’s okay to love and be loved in return, and that chemistry can lead to a happily ever after.
Original Review January 2023:
I love this series so much and I have no idea how I missed reading Jared, the 4th entry but I did and I'll have to go back and check it out. I mention this for those who are wondering about reading order. Boyfriend for Hire is a series of standalones where the connection is the fake boyfriend service the men in the titles work. As stated each entry is a standalone but there are a few cameos of previous characters however knowing their journeys is not a must to understand the entry you are reading. In Felix, there are a few mentions of Jared as Ethan, the man in need of a fake boyfriend is Jared's roommate but I wasn't lost having not read Jared's story first.
On to Felix.
I could empathize with Felix in his need not to have jobs that lasted more than 24 hours because he needs to stay close to care for his parents. Being my mom's 24/7 live-in caregiver I don't have the luxury of a time card but I have turned down many social functions because I was uncomfortable being away for extended hours so I completely understood where Felix was coming from and I loved how the authors really convey that pull on an adult caring for a parent. It may only be a small factor of the story and more of a set-up situation that makes Felix the perfect one to step in as Ethan's date but it really stood out for me and gave me that connection to the character and it's that connection between reader and character that can turn a good book into a great story.
Ethan. What can I say about Ethan? I just want to wrap him up in bubblewrap to keep him safe. His inner struggles and introverted-like social skills scream "love him, for the love of everything holy in the universe give this man the HEA he deserves!" He has issues, or doors that need closing as Jared points out and having Felix on his side be it professionally at first and then emotionally is one of the most heartwarming stories I've read in a long time. Why you ask? I don't really know. Maybe it's my own brand of introverted-ness, maybe it's knowing he's had something locked away behind that door Jared says needs closing, maybe it's just my need to find goodness in my readings, or maybe it's a combination of all the above. What I do know is I'm not going to spoil it for you. Scott & Russell are all about the HEA in their Boyfriend for Hire series so we all know where the ending will lead but it's the journey the men take getting there that makes this story a heartwarmingly fun holiday gem and that is something you need to experience.
For those who don't like insta-love then this may not be up your alley and that's okay, it's not a trope for everyone and if it's not done right it's not a trope for me either but Felix is done right. But I just want to say for those who don't believe insta-love is real, I can prove you wrong because I wouldn't be here if it wasn't real. My grandparents met in January 1946, engaged on Valentine's Day 1946, married in July that summer and were still married in 1994 when my grandpa passed away. So it's real and it can lead to life long love.
Summary:
Joe knows where he is going in life. But one crazy road trip just might change everything.
Joe Blankenship knows where he’s going. He’s on track to marry the boss’s daughter and become heir apparent to a multi-million dollar medical supply business. The financial security he never had growing up is within his grasp along with a glitzy Manhattan lifestyle. All he has to do is get to New York by Christmas Eve for his engagement party.
Joe didn’t count on getting grounded in Florida thanks to a hurricane. He couldn’t have anticipated having to rent a broken-down car for the long drive north. And he certainly never foresaw being stuck with a passenger like Remy Guidry, a sweet-natured Cajun boy, social worker at a children’s home, and free spirit. Remy is the opposite of everything Joe has worked for. But he just might teach Joe, not only the spirit of Christmas, but what’s truly of value in life.
Planes, Trains, and Hurricanes is a Christmas road trip, forced proximity, opposites attract romance.
Summary:
Vale Valley Season 5 #7
Pregnant and alone at Christmas… tale as old as time. Right?
Nope! That was definitely just his luck…
Homeless for the holidays is in Nolan’s near future, if he doesn’t find a job.
But maybe that's better than living with a mate who doesn’t want him?
Unfortunately, with a baby on the way, leaving isn’t an option.
In the season of healing can Nolan and Killian find their way to each other before it’s too late?
Omega On His Doorstep is book seven of Season Five of the popular multi-author series, Vale Valley, a small town open to everyone who needs a home and love. Omega On His Doorstep is a smoopy sweet Christmas romance with an interfering but loveable best friend, an alpha that needs a kick in the pants, and an omega just looking for love and a happily ever after that they both need.
Summary:
Mated at the North Pole #1
Christmas isn’t the only thing coming this holiday season…
Dasher comes from a long line of reindeer used to pull Santa sleighs. It’s an honor to lead the team each Christmas Eve, bringing joy around the world, and there’s nothing more fulfilling than teaching young shifters. But balancing both positions is exhausting, and he’s informed he must take a mandatory vacation.
When Dasher’s friend finds him an all-inclusive resort for a great price, he signs up. What could be better than sitting on the beach, drinking margaritas, and getting some sun? On the day he’s scheduled to leave, he looks at his reservation more carefully and discovers a mix-up. He’s not going to the sun-filled beach, he’s off to the mountains. Oh well, a vacation is a vacation.
Omega Byron is working at his uncle’s dilapidated mountainside resort for yet another Christmas. After the start-up he was working for went belly up, he has no choice. And besides, his uncle could use the help. Business isn't what it used to be, and the resort is barely making ends meet.
When a hottie checks in, Byron plans to keep it professional. That is, until a hiking accident changes everything.
Dasher is the first book in the multi-author M/M Mpreg Christmas romance series Mated at the North Pole, featuring Santa’s reindeer who find their mates while on a mandatory vacation. Dasher features an alpha reindeer balancing too much on his plate, a human who has no idea shifters exist, old fashioned mountainside resort fun, Christmas magic, s’mores a plenty, a Christmas tree three sizes too big, an adorable kitten, the best Christmas present ever—true love, fated mates, an adorable baby, and guaranteed happy ever afters. If you like your shifters hawt, your omegas strong, and your mpreg with heart, download your copy today!
Laurel Holidays #4
A city boy is about to discover the true meaning of Christmas from a man with a heart as big as the snow-covered farm he calls home.
Decker Fitzgerald is all about the job. Which explains why he’s out cruising around the snowy hillsides of the Allegheny Plateau looking for a rundown farm in the middle of a whiteout. If not for his need to prove to his father—and himself—that he is worthy, he could be down in Rio with his friends over the holidays. But no, he’s creeping along winding country roads in search of some two-bit farm animal rescue parcel that Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services is desperate to contract. Seems the owner, some long-haired hippie sort, is refusing to allow them to set up a natural gas fracking pad on his acreage. Foolish tree-hugger types. Why anyone would choose a three-legged goat over thousands of dollars of royalty checks is beyond him.
He quickly finds himself stuck in a ditch and at the mercy of the elements as the snowstorm shifts into blizzard status. It’s then that a lanky stranger with a beat up tractor comes to his rescue. When the greeting and handshake reveal his rescuer is Acosta Melios, the peculiar hipster who owns the farm rescue facility he’s here to sweet talk into signing a contract, the instant pull of those cordial gray eyes falters. That is until Decker is forced to spend several days with the genial and outgoing husbandman. Between the gentle warmth that is Acosta and the loving pull of the abandoned farm animals, Decker is finding it harder and harder to persuade the outgoing farmer into allowing his father’s company to have access to his land. What isn’t hard is falling in love with the man and his throwaway charges. That, it seems, is as easy as falling off a cranky, diabetic llama.
The Christmas Rescue is a standalone small-town gay insta-love Christmas romance with forced proximity, two incredibly opposite men, a barnful of rescued farm animals, oodles of snow, strings of popcorn on a cockeyed tree, and a festive happily-ever-after.
Felix by RJ Scott & Meredith Russell
“So what is it you wanted to talk about?” He clasped his hands together.
Jared shrugged. “It’s nothing much. It’s just a small, tiny favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Like I said. Small.” He held up his hand, his index finger and thumb close to each other. “The thing is”—This is going to be something I don’t like, isn’t it?—“Ethan is going to his school reunion next week.”
Felix narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh?”
“I am,” Ethan stated. “With a plus-one.”
Am I supposed to care? He vaguely remembered Jared telling tales of his roommate’s numerous boyfriends and the ridiculous antics he got up to. Felix’s favorite story ended with a purple-dyed police officer. He didn’t know who Ethan was dating now, but good for him if it was going well.
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“Well…” Ethan bit his lower lip, rolling his eyes upward as he seemed to process his words before speaking. There was something more sexy than cute about the way he tugged on his soft pink lips with his teeth.
He should stop doing that—he’ll end up bruising them, and they’re too pretty to be bruised.
Unless it’s me kissing them and… the fuck?
“The thing is Ethan’s plus-one kind of did him dirty.” Jared answered for him. “Ethan got dumped. Again,” he added straight-faced.
“I dumped him,” Ethan said in a strained voice.
Jared met Felix’s eyes and shook his head. “He didn’t,” he mouthed.
Felix snorted a laugh, but his smile faded as the favor Jared had in mind hit him front and center. “No,” he said.
“I’ve said nothing,” Jared said, blinking with all the innocence he could muster.
Felix ran his hand back through his bangs. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.” He leaned back, side-eyeing Ethan. “Why don’t you ask Caleb? He’ll take anything you can throw at him.”
“Well, of course I tried him first, but he’s already booked. But we all know you’re the best person for the job, and you owe me one.”
Plane, Trains, and Hurricanes by Eli Easton
CHAPTER 1
December 22
The day I met Remy Guidry, there was an apocalypse. Not the apocalypse with a capital A but the lowercase kind that hits Florida on a regular basis.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blankenship." The woman at the Delta counter didn't sound sorry. Nor did she look cheery despite the green wreath that was pinned to her chest. "All flights are grounded due to Hurricane Jack. No plane is leaving Miami today. Or tomorrow. Possibly the next day either."
This dire information matched the board of CANCELED flight designations that was visible just to my right. But I was deep in denial. "Seriously? We're just seeing the outer bands of the storm. And there's an evacuation notice. Surely, you'd want to fly out as many people as possible before it gets bad."
She arched an eyebrow and her gaze shifted to look over my shoulder. I turned my head and saw the lights of a few dogged taxis outside in the passenger arrivals area. They were blurry through the sheets of rain pelting down the glass windows. One of the taxi drivers held his hat as he fought the wind to get to the driver's door.
"Sorry," the woman said flatly. "As you can imagine, everyone wants to get home for Christmas. But we can't control the weather, sir."
"What about other airports? Can you get me a flight out of Orlando?"
She shook her head. "Orlando is down too. So is Tampa. I suggest you grab a hotel room while there's a taxi left to take you there. Oh, and I'd recommend one on higher ground."
She put up a plaque that said CLOSED. Her wreath pin blinked sadly as she walked away.
I dragged my roller bag through the airport, which was growing less populated by the minute. By the time I reached the rental car counters, it was as if humanity had never existed. Or, at least, that it had never wanted to travel anywhere. All of the counters were closed except for Budget where cheerful fairy lights threw disco vibes onto the lone employee at the counter. She was a middle-aged woman with a shellacked blonde beehive. I ran over and stopped in front of her, panting.
She smiled. "You look like a man who needs to get somewhere."
"God, yes…" I checked her name tag. "…Bridget. Bridget from Budget, that's cute."
She winked. "That's me."
I gave her my most dazzling smile and ran a hand through my blond hair—short on the sides, long on top, with cut-edge layers thanks to lots of product. If my looks could help me get out of Miami, I wasn't above using them. "Well, Bridget, I need to get to New York for an engagement party. My fiancée will have my, er—" I was going to say balls for breakfast, but no, "—guts for garters if I don't make it."
"Oh my." Bridget's eyes widened.
"So I'll take anything you've got." I put my credit card on the counter.
Bridget grimaced. "I'm afraid I don't have anything. We've been sold out for hours. I've been calling around to other agencies for our customers, but I've pretty much tapped out that well, too. I'm sorry."
My heart did a nosedive—straight down, tail spinning, like a plummeting bi-plane. "Please. There has to be something."
"Well…. There are one or two rental places I haven't tried yet. But they're way, way down market and not close to the airport."
"I'd appreciate if you'd check. I'll take anything!"
"All right. I'll try." She gave me a sympathetic smile and got on the phone.
I waited, fists clenched.
This was all my boss's fault. The news had been talking about Jack for a week now. It was supposed to make a direct hit on Southern Florida and then move up the eastern seaboard. I'd wanted to fly home days ago. But, no. Simon Schubert, founder of Schubert Supplies as well as my future father-in-law, was an old-school salesman who believed that if you walked out the door without a signed contract in hand, the deal would never happen. He insisted I stay until Mason, the biggest hospital conglomerate in Miami, had signed on the dotted line on a deal for nearly a hundred-k worth of medical supplies. The red tape had been endless, and I'd had to be a lot pushier than I was comfortable being. The Florida people wanted to postpone sign-offs until the hurricane was over. Hell, the contract review had finally been accomplished by Mason's lawyer while he was on a flight to Los Angeles. Because, evacuation.
But not me. Oh, no. I was still here.
Bridget put a hand over the phone's receiver. "I found a car, Sir, but it's with Rent-a-Heap in Miramar. A Ford Fiesta."
"I'll take it," I said immediately, nudging my credit card closer to her.
Rent-a-Heap. A Ford Fiesta! Oh how the mighty have fallen. I thought of my Porsche in New York with longing. But, at this point, I'd ride an e-scooter if it came with an umbrella.
"You've been a gem, Bridget, really," I said to the woman when she completed the call. "Great customer service. I'll leave a review."
"It's Christmas," Bridget said with a smile and a shrug. "Safe driving, sir. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you!"
The words felt strange as I said them. Christmas. It was, in fact, that time of year, as the many bedecked and bedazzled decorations at the airport, and at Mason HQ, where I'd spent the past two weeks, assured me. But I'd been so wrapped up in work, in the stress of trying to close the deal, I'd had no head space for the holidays. And with all the stuff Allison had planned, it wasn't going to be any more relaxing once I got to New York either.
The only taxi I could find was about to knock off for the day. I had to give the wizened taxi driver a hundred-dollars in cash to take me to Miramar, on top of the fare.
"You leaving town?" he asked me as he pulled out of the airport.
"As fast as possible."
"Where you goin'?"
"New York."
He shook his head. "A word of advice? Don't try to take 95 north from here. It's a parking lot. Our dispatcher told us to avoid it."
My heart did another nosedive. This time the plane's tail was smoking. I hadn't thought of that. Yet another reason not to wait until the last damn second to evacuate.
"This is a nightmare." I covered my face with my hands.
"What you want to do," the driver went on calmly, "is cut over to 27 from Miramar and then take 441 up nearly to Orlando. You can cut back over to 95 from there and avoid the worst of the bottleneck out of Miami. Hopefully. Anyway, it can't be any worse."
"Oh yeah?" I took out my phone and brought up a map. 27 was west of Miramar, so a bit out of my way since I was headed north. But he was right. It was probably faster than the I-95 bottleneck.
"I'll do that. Thanks for the tip."
"De nada. Hope you make it out of the area okay, man. This hurricane—it's supposed to be a walloping SOB."
I sighed and rubbed my temple. No shit. Every cell in my body was urging me to get away. Though how much that had to do with the storm, and how much with what I knew would be Allison's wrath—far scarier than Jack's—was debatable. At least I had a plan now. I gave in to the inevitable and called her on my cell.
"What do you mean, you won't be home tonight?" Allison gasped. "Tomorrow morning is brunch at the club. You need to be there!"
I stared out at the pouring rain. The wet swip-swipe of the windshield wiper blades was audible over the wind. "Babe, every flight out of Miami is canceled. I managed to get a car, but it's a twenty-hour drive. I should be home by tomorrow night."
"But you'll miss the brunch! Can't you get a flight out of a different airport? What about a red eye?"
I grit my teeth. "Orlando's shut down too. And any flights from Florida that are still leaving are likely to be full given the evacuation notice. I'm driving home."
"But the club's putting on a special menu! And we were going to tease the engagement ahead of the party. You know this."
The party on Christmas Eve, at her parents’ mansion, was the gala where our engagement would officially be announced. Somehow, that one event had accumulated other mini-events around it like children huddled around Mother Goose. Or maybe like the tormented spirits when the Ghost of Christmas Future opens its cloak. These festivities extended through the entire Christmas and New Year's season.
"Allison, I'm doing the best I can. There's a hurricane. I'll be there tomorrow night, in plenty of time for the party on Christmas Eve. I'm sorry to miss the brunch. All right?"
"As if you leave me any choice," she grumbled. "Just don't be any later. Do not fuck this up, Joe. I've spent a lot of time planning this. You know how important it is to me."
"Swear. Love you. Gotta go. I'll text you when I've made some progress." I punched the END button on my phone before she could argue.
My gut ached and I popped a few of the antacid tablets I always carried in my pocket. I was too young for this shit, but my stomach had been acting up for the past few months. Probably the stress of the job. Simon was the type of boss who was never satisfied for more than five minutes, and I'd been traveling constantly. Plus the conversation with Allison left me feeling sour, upset, and weirdly off-kilter, like things were spiraling out of control. And if there was one thing I hated, it was losing control. I reminded myself that engagements, weddings, all of that jazz, were a huge deal to most women. Bridezillas really were a thing. Of course, Allison had big plans, and of course, she wanted me there. Once we were married, everything would calm down.
My phone buzzed. I plucked it back out of the breast pocket of my suit jacket assuming it would be Allison, maybe with an apology, maybe with, I dunno, some concern for my actual safety and wellbeing. But the screen said BORIS EVANS. He was the CEO of Mason. Oh God. Don't let there be a problem with the contract.
"Hi, Mr. Evans! What can I do for you?" I answered with my upbeat salesman voice.
"Joe? Did I catch you before you left town?"
"You did, sir. Though I'm doing my best."
"Flight grounded?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But I'm on my way to pick up a rental car. So…"
"Oh, good! When I saw on the news about all flights being canceled, I hoped you might be driving."
"That's the plan. I think I got the last rental car in Miami." I chuckled in a self-effacing way.
"Then you're just the man I need." An alarm bell dinged in my head, but it didn't have time to build steam before he came right out with it. "I need a favor, Joe. It's a big one, but I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"Uh… okay. If there's anything I can… sure."
"There's a young man who works at a home where my wife volunteers. He just found out his mother has cancer and this is probably her last Christmas. She's in Manhattan, and he needs to get there. As you know, he's not gonna get a flight."
Oh. Oh shit. "Uh-huh."
"I thought, if you were driving, maybe he could go with you. It would mean a lot to me, Joe. He's a stand-up young man and, well, obviously this is urgent."
I saw my plans for a speedy getaway melting—much like the dime-sized hail that was currently hitting the taxi's windshield was destined to do. Fuck a duck.
There was no way I could say no to Boris. Not after I'd twisted his arm to get this deal closed. And he'd remain an important client. This deal was only the first of many. I hoped.
"Of course," I said with a hiccup of hesitation. "Where, um—"
"Perfect! Thank you so much, Joe. His name is Remy Guidry. I'll text you the address of where to pick him up. It's in Homestead."
After Boris hung up, I banged my head on the window. Homestead was south of Miami, and the car rental place was north. So it would be at least a two-hour trip out of my way to go to pick up this complete stranger. And then I'd be stuck in the car with the guy all the way up the continental US. In a freaking hurricane.
"It's the happiest time of the year!" the radio opined.
I caught the cab driver eying me in the rearview mirror. "You got a passenger, huh?"
"Yeah. Lucky me."
"Look at it this way, man. At least you'll have someone to share the driving with."
That was true. But with the way my luck was going, the guy wouldn't even be able to drive.
Omega on His Doorstep by Skye R Richmond
One
Nolan
Ilet out a long sigh and closed my eyes. Something had to show up soon; it just had to. I needed a job and badly. The one decent thing Jake had done was pay two months of my rent before leaving as fast as his legs could carry him. But that would run out in a couple of days.
Okay so I didn’t blame him. Well, not really… It was my fault for seeing what I wanted, not what was really there. So that was on me.
But first, the morning sickness had made it difficult for me to accomplish anything, and now it looked like all the jobs seemed to be gone. Or no one was hiring till after the holiday season.
I was majorly screwed… Nope, that’s what got you in this position. I ignored the mocking voice.
How was this possible? There had to be one job left suitable for me. I looked down at the open page on my laptop again. There was a job at the factory; I could take that... but that wouldn't be safe for my little one.
Peanut moved like he or she could feel my stress, and I rubbed my belly, whispering, “We'll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
It just had to be. Right?
My landlord wouldn’t kick a pregnant guy out, would he? Being a shifter himself, he knew I was expecting . However, Jake’s pack was the closest here, so maybe not…
God, I'd always been so careful. I still didn't know how this could have happened. Especially with someone who didn't want cubs or pups, if they ended up like their other sperm donor. He wasn’t Peanut’s dad, he’d made that very clear on his way out the door.
There was a part of me that was glad that the likelihood of my peanut being a pup was slim. My family had a way of making white tigers like me. Even though my dad had been human, I turned out like my mom.
And more than likely, my peanut would follow suit.
“In due time, little one. In due time.” I ran my hand over my stomach and closed my eyes. Having a baby like this wasn’t part of the plan. It was supposed to come after the whole mated, then baby carriage.
But all that was moot. I was here now. This was the only path available and that’s all that mattered now. I was doing this to make a life for my kid. Nothing could be more important than that.
Even if you didn’t plan on going it alone.
Sometimes, life had a way of reminding you that you don’t always get what you plan. I knew that now, but maybe I forgot that somewhere along the way.
I thought Jake was going to be my forever. My one true love and all of that. Silly me. The same story that fantasies are made of. He bolted faster than I could process it. But he wasn’t your mate, a voice whispered. One that sounded a lot like my mom.
Goddess rest her soul.
“An abortion? You can’t be serious. I could never get rid of my baby. I want this child. Whether you do or not.” I had to stand my ground. It was my body, and I could do whatever I wanted with it. More than that, white tigers were rare. And for as long as I could remember, my parents had always reminded me of that fact.
“If you don’t want an abortion, then we’ll put it up for adoption. This wasn’t part of the plan.” Jake’s words were adamant, and it tore at me because this was the one alpha I considered would have had my back. No matter how difficult things got.
“This wasn’t a one-night stand,” I argued. “You and I have something together. We can do this together.” No matter what I said, my words weren’t getting through to him. He simply looked away, breaking my heart further.
“If this is how you feel, then I’ll be a single father. I don’t care. I’m not going to get rid of this baby. It matters to me.” And I was set on that.
I opened my eyes and stared at the computer screen in front of me. The statement still held true. While I knew my decision was the right one for me, I couldn’t stop the worry that plagued my mind. The worry of what being a single parent meant.
Snap out of it, Nolan. No more pity parties. You’re going to show your little one that they’re the most important thing.
“I’m going to make sure we’re okay,” I whispered.
Yeah, so the situation didn’t exactly look like I thought it would, but I’d always dreamed of being a dad one day. Maybe everything wasn’t like what I’d longed for, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be awesome.
“Would you like me to top off your coffee?” I looked up and met the waiter’s eyes before shaking my head.
“No, thank you. I was just leaving.” I got up from the table at the diner and packed up my laptop. After searching hours and hours for a job and not finding anything, I was calling it a day.
I got in my car and headed back to the apartment. The sun was already starting to set as I glanced down at the clock on my radio to see it already nearing seven o’clock. Where had the time gone? I turned down my road before pulling into my driveway.
“Home sweet home,” I mumbled. At least for the week. Still, it was weird coming home, knowing that the house was now empty. I didn’t have Jake anymore. The thought was a bit depressing, but I tried not to think about it much.
I grabbed the mail and went inside, the silence immediately hitting me. Another thing I would have to get used to. I was doing my best; I’d grown up with my parents and Pop-pop, and then they were gone. Jake and I moved in together shortly after that.
I sorted through the mail, tossing bills to one side, everything else to the other. How depressing that only one item was categorized as other. I grabbed it and sat down at the kitchen table. I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but my name was scrawled across the front of the envelope.
Who still sent handwritten mail?
Mr. Nolan Carmichael,
I received your application and believe you can be a great asset to our team. Your presence is requested in Vale Valley immediately. I have high hopes for what you can bring to the position and highly anticipate your timely response
Please do not hesitate to contact me if you would like any help with your move; the directions are enclosed.
I look forward to meeting you.
I flipped the letter over between my fingers, rereading it. Included was also a bunch of other info. such as salary, even accommodations. Huh, but there was no actual signature.
Was this a joke? Could this be real?
I read all of it again, trying to remember the job posting. Vale Valley. I couldn’t really remember sending that particular application, but I had sent out quite a few. Despite not knowing where Vale Valley was, it sounded familiar for some reason. Still, it was one of the only responses I’d gotten with an immediate start date so…
A letter. Not an email. Weird and fancy too.
The offer was amazing, and I wouldn’t have to pay rent. I really had nothing to lose. And maybe starting over somewhere new was exactly what the doctor ordered.
I rubbed my belly. “See Peanut, I told you we’d be okay.”
Maybe I wouldn’t completely fail as a father.
When I calledthe number on the letter to accept the position, they said they were expecting me. I still didn’t know what the offer was but all I saw was a brand-new start for me and my baby. Nothing trumped that. Not to mention, my tiger seemed very agreeable with the plan.
The one time you didn’t listen to him was Jake… and look where that got you.
It took a few days to get everything ready, and then with my GPS pointed to Vale Valley, I was off. Nothing like taking a blind leap into the unknown. Still somehow, the moment I headed in that direction, I felt a sense of peace. This could all work out, this felt right. It really did.
When I arrived in Vale Valley, nerves hit me. But I also felt a low buzz of something I couldn’t quite explain, like a warm hug. But then the voice of logic returned screaming, what the fuck did you do.
I left all my belongings, carrying only the things that could fit in the back of my car and took off. Not like I had any family to keep me back. The few friends I had—three actually—well, I didn’t want to be that guy that everyone got tired of after he’d overstayed his welcome. Still, I also knew they would be there even if things flopped. Only a phone call away.
I stopped off at a diner called Bella’s to grab something for lunch before I headed to meet my new employer. I was earlier than I thought I’d be, leaving me plenty of time before meeting with him. At least I was pretty sure I was meeting him, judging from the voice on the phone.
I knew I should be worried not knowing if my boss was even male or female, but for some reason, I had this certainty everything would be fine.
Then again, maybe I was just doing everything not to question my sanity for uprooting my life on a whim.
“Would you like something to drink?” the curvy dark haired woman asked when she stopped at my table and handed me a menu.
“Just water please. With ice. And could you point me to the bathroom please?”
She nodded and pointed with her pen to the back of the diner. I smiled gratefully and hurried towards it.
I’d made myself a pack lunch and a small cooler. I’d eaten my sandwiches and cookies but I’d only drank a little with my bladder being what it was these days. I had still needed to stop twice.
Once I was done in the bathroom, I washed my hand and splashed some water on my face.
“You’re doin’ the right thing,” I said to myself, then let out a breath before returning to the diner.
When I was back in my seat, a glass of water waited for me. I drank the whole thing down. The waitress must have been waiting for me, popping out of nowhere to ask, “What would you like?”
I grabbed the menu, and skimmed through it. “The chicken basket and a hot chocolate please.”
She smiled, took the menu, and left.
While I waited for her to return with my cocoa, I took a moment to look around the diner. This was my new home. It started to sink in.
She came back with a mug of cocoa, whipped cream and all. My stomach rumbled like it was waking up to the delicious smell.
From the corner of my eye, I caught her watching me. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
I looked up and shook my head “That obvious? What gave me away?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t take much. I know practically everyone in the town. Never seen you before.”
I nodded. That made sense. “New to town, like really new. I got a job.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pants pocket. “On my way to this address. Do you know it?” Maybe I could get some dirt on my new employers; if the town was as small as she said, then maybe she knew them. Maybe it would make me less anxious.
She nodded. “Killian Grayson,” she smiled. “His residence, actually. What are you doing there, unless you’re working at his office in the city?”
Wasn’t that the million dollar question? “A bit of everything, helping out...” I figured that was as good a reply as any.
“Oh well, Killian is just lovely. Don’t mind all his grumblings.”
I really wasn’t sure what to make of that so I simply smiled and nodded.
They called out my order, at least I thought it was.
“That’s you.”
She left, and I sat there, staring at the address. Killian, I rolled the name around on my tongue, and it spilled across the surface like fine wine from my lips.
I hoped she was right and that he was really lovely. If not, I was screwed. I slipped the address back into my pocket. It would be okay. Everything would be fine.
“For better or worse, you’ll find out everything you need to know about the guy,” I muttered to myself.
Dasher by Lorelei M Hart & Colbie Dunbar
One
DASHER
Riding a bicycle is embarrassing when I could fly instead.
You shouldn’t worry about what other people think, I told my beast. I waved to Kane, who ran a candy store popular with tourists. And secondly, it’s mid-November.
I know. I know, he sighed as I pedaled along the road to my job.
We were always exhausted toward the end of the year, and we needed to conserve our energy for Christmas Eve, so we avoided any unnecessary flying.
He grumbled and huffed that a reindeer on a bike was still ridiculous.
Though snow was thick on the ground, the roads and sidewalks were always clear in Christmas Village where I worked. I inhaled the cool, crisp air, and as it filled my lungs, I gazed at the wintery landscape.
The branches of the pine and birch trees were bowed with snow, and even though it was morning—just—and we’d only have daylight for a little over five hours, the sky was overcast, which was the norm at this time of year. The buildings in town were outlined in twinkling green and red lights that stayed on round the clock. Humans called them fairy lights, but shifter elders in our community knew the truth: they’d witnessed elves designing them decades ago.
The trees lining the road to Christmas Village were also draped in elf lights, giving the place a festive atmosphere, which was kind of the point. Candy canes dangled from the branches, scenting the air with sugary goodness.
After placing my bike in the bicycle rack—there was no need to lock it in Christmas Village—I went inside and checked my emails, before heading out again to the huge barn-like structure where I’d spend the morning teaching newly-recruited reindeer shifters.
Assuming they passed their final exams, some of them would be chosen to pull one of the many Santas’ sleighs next Christmas. Humans wrongly believed there was one Santa and one flight of reindeer. We never contradicted them because that impression was bound up in their legends and rituals, but how did they expect one Santa to traverse the entire world on Christmas Eve?
As I walked toward the building, I checked a list on my tablet and scrolled through which of my trainees might need extra help. Once we accepted a reindeer shifter into the program, we did everything to make sure they completed it. The only reason they would be asked to leave would be behavior that wasn’t befitting of a Santa’s reindeer. We’d never had anyone drop out, and that was partly thanks to a rigorous selection process and our recruits’ dedication.
In the next few months, the more advanced trainees would go on test runs at night, pulling an empty sleigh with me and the other trainers flying alongside.
But for now, we were inside learning how to take off and land. In the afternoon, they’d be in a classroom, being taught how to use the stars to guide them. That skill was not intuitive for reindeers, both the wild and shifter versions, as most of our four-legged cousins kept their hooves firmly on the ground.
My assistants, Arctic and Frosty, were already here, as were all the trainee Santas’ Reindeers.
“Morning, everyone. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”
I was greeted with nods and murmurs, but I didn’t miss the shared flirty glances between one omega and alpha. We couldn’t forbid anyone mating during their training—if the universe put you and your mate together, fate couldn’t be ignored—but it was easier for everyone if they didn’t. Newly mated couples had a lot of sex, and that was disruptive to their training.
I was a little envious, even if they were just engaging in sex and they weren’t fated, because I had neither a mate nor had I slept with anyone in a while. My job was not only time-consuming but it came with a lot of pressure. Imagine certifying a reindeer to pull a sleigh on Christmas Eve and discovering they were pooped halfway through the night—or worse, they needed to poop—or, as the lead reindeer, they took the flight in the wrong direction.
While the good-natured Santas wouldn’t put the blame solely on my shoulders, their expressions would suggest the d word: disappointment. Ugh! I’d almost prefer them shouting at me.
We divided the trainees into three groups, and after everyone shed their clothes and shifted, we spent the next two hours demonstrating and perfecting their landing techniques. Touching down without toppling over or tripping wasn’t difficult for flying reindeer shifters who’d been perfecting their talent since adolescence, but doing it as part of a group and while pulling a sleigh was a skill that required months of practice.
To an outsider, it would appear mind-numbingly boring, and our trainees might feel the same, but when they touched the ground or a roof on December 24, there could be no mistakes.
My stomach was rumbling when I took my skin and announced our session was done. Usually I’d join the trainees in the mess for lunch, but I had a video conference with all the Santas, many of whom were not in the village today. As head reindeer, I was included in all their meetings.
After speaking to Blizzard and Icy and asking them to come to the Saturday class I ran for those trainees whose technique needed tweaking, I headed for my office and took a quick shower. The Santas were particular about hygiene, and they wouldn’t appreciate me appearing in a rumpled shirt and hair sticking up as a result of my shift.
During the call, I had to mute my mic because my belly was complaining loudly about not having any lunch. There were protein bars in my desk drawer, but eating during a call was frowned upon.
The discussion about which colors to paint the sleighs this year went on long after the designated hour, and the Santas agreed to meet again next week. It was kinda pointless because they’d decide to paint them red, green, and gold as they always did.
I made the mistake of unsuccessfully hiding a yawn, which was noted as they were penciling in the time of the next meeting.
“Dasher, are you getting enough sleep?” one Santa asked.
“Yes, Santa 62.” I was able to identify him by the number emblazoned on his shirt, but he and I were old friends. I rode with him one Christmas Eve when I was much younger.
“Still riding that bicycle?” Santa 15 enquired.
I nodded, and when they finally said their goodbyes, I disconnected the call.
There wasn’t much to choose from at the mess, and I wandered back and forth trying to decide between a piece of dry lasagna or limp stir fried noodles.
“Dasher… sir.” One of the elf kitchen hands addressed me .
“Dasher’s fine, Folas.” I grinned as I read his name tag.
“I saved you a plate of egg fried rice.” A spot of pink appeared on each of his cheeks. “I know… ummm know… it’s your favorite.” I thanked him and sat by myself and ate in the almost empty room.
The afternoon was taken up by tedious paperwork, emails, and phone calls. Each year we had to apply for permission to fly over each country and some of the government officials didn’t send in their approvals until December 23. It was the same every year and was part of the job I disliked.
Instead of cycling home, I detoured and visited a friend, Snowy, who was on paternity leave from Santa’s Reindeers. His fawn was due next month, and when he welcomed me at the door, my gaze went to his huge rounded belly.
Snowy and I spent my visit sitting in the nursery while he unfolded and refolded the baby clothes. “Nesting,” he explained. While he chatted about birth plans and his in-laws wanting to sign the baby up for private school, my mind wandered, comparing my life to his.
Sure, being head reindeer was a prestigious position, one I loved, but the rest of my life was empty. I had friends, but when I returned home at night to a dark house, there was no one to share my bed or listen while I complained about Santa 43’s stinky socks.
I imagined sitting in my spare bedroom on December 24, rocking a toddler to sleep and listening for the reindeer to land on the roof or the snow-covered ground. Picturing their excitement the next morning as they stuck a hand in their stocking had me blinking away tears. That wasn’t happening any time soon, if ever. My job was my life, a choice I’d made years ago when I joined the trainees scheme.
My phone beeped, and Snowy paused his explanation about the different types of diapers. “Work?” We both laughed because when I got a call or message from the office, the ring tone was “Jingle Bells.”
It was from the Santas, and there was an attachment. “I’ll read it when I get home.”
But as soon as I cycled around the corner after saying goodbye to Snowy, I pulled over and tapped my phone. It began with the usual pleasantries and praised my work as a trainer and head reindeer, and I skimmed over the words. The next paragraph got my attention.
We, all the Santas in Christmas Village, believe you need a vacation, and we’d like you to take it before Christmas.
No way. I hadn’t had a holiday in years. Delivering presents to the world’s children wasn’t just a one-night event. I started planning for the next one while humans were waking up to presents under their trees and in their stockings.
This isn’t a request, Dasher. You can’t refuse and we’re insisting you take time off.
I shoved the phone in my pocket, muttering I had too much to do. Me taking off might put everything I worked for in jeopardy.
Once inside my house, I stared at the empty fridge, before boiling water for instant noodles. But when I woke up the next morning, slumped on the sofa, I studied the packet of unopened noodles on the kitchen counter.
It’s just one night,I told my beast. Everyone falls asleep before dinner sometimes.
The Christmas Rescue by VL Locey
Chapter One
“What in thename of Cameron Diaz’s gorgeous smile is this road sign even saying?”
I pulled up slowly to a cockeyed sign on a crooked post, rolled down the window of my Beemer, and stared through the sideways snow at the hand-painted plank. Snow blew into my car and face, the intensity of the supposed snow showers now making it nearly impossible to even see five feet away. I was going to kill Leander, my father’s personal assistant, if I ever made it back to Pittsburgh. “The weather app says they’re only calling for snow showers along the Pennsylvania and New York border. It’ll be fine!” The liar. Leander was a liar. A skinny twink fibber who seriously needed a new fucking weather app. When I saw Leander next, I would punch him right on the chin. Then strangle him with the stupid Ravenclaw scarf he’d given me for the Secret Santa party yesterday. Ravenclaw. Please. It was obvious I was a Hufflepuff. I’d done a test on YouTube to find out. Leander was a prick.
My cell service had cut out several miles back, leaving me to creep along unpaved roads with no damn street signs trying to find the Happy Laurel Farm. I couldn’t imagine the mountain laurel was happy right now. It was probably buried under several feet of snow and wondering why it hadn’t been born a palm tree. I also was wondering the same thing as I sat in my car, cheeks coated with snow and ice, trying to decipher if the road on the right was actually named Mule Kick Run. Had I driven out of the real world and into an episode of The Andy Griffith Show? Was Barney Fife going to appear out of the snowy woods to run me in for some trumped-up charge like loitering on a county road with malicious intent? City slickers were always malicious in the eyes of the rural folk. Just ask Aunt Bea.
“Where the hell am I?!” I shouted into the whirling, white void.
Nothing but the howling wind replied. As the window rose with a soft hum, I eased off the brake and took the left onto Mule Kick Run Road. Somewhere in the frazzled recesses of my memory, I recalled something about a mule. Whether it was the name of a road or one of the animals on the home page of the Happy Laurel Farm website, I wasn’t sure. I’d given the webpage a quick scan before leaving Pittsburgh early this morning. The site was one of those freebie ones that this Acosta Melios had obviously set up by himself. Shots of the rambling hilly farm in all four seasons, interspersed with pictures of farm animals, greeted any visitors. Which were few and far between if the little ticker on the bottom of his webpage was accurate.
Snow blew into the windshield now instead of across it. Christ alive. This looked to be way more than a few snow squalls. The snow was steady now, not just a burst of white for five or ten minutes. It was piling up on the serpentine road quickly, making each mile more and more dangerous. The further I went up Mule Kick Run Road, the deeper the woodlands became. The trees were thick with snow, pine branches lying low to the ground, many on the road itself. I maneuvered around several low-hanging pine branches at about five miles per hour, my ears now straining to pick up the local radio station. It was country. That was all I could find up here in the boonies. Let’s just say I was not a fan of the worn jeans, pickup truck, cold beer, hot gal in Daisy Duke shorts world. I was more of a top-selling menswear designer, BMW sedan, Grey Goose on ice, sexy man in a power suit aficionado. Also, I really didn’t do animals.
I had nothing against them. They were just…messy. Mom never allowed animals into her home, and Dad was pretty much down with that. As a boy, I did have an interest in bugs and would collect insects in little plastic bug jars. I’d hide them in the closet because my older brother, Frank Jr., would smoosh them if he saw them. I never had my bug friends for long because the nanny would stumble across them and freak out, tell my mother, and I’d get in trouble for bringing insects into the mansion. It wasn’t as if Mom cleaned the house. What did she care if a few ladybugs were flitting around the solarium? Also, since I was having a mental rant, why the fuck wasn’t Frank Jr. out here doing this? He was the heir apparent. The one being groomed to take the reins of Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services when Dad stepped down in ten years. Shouldn’t he be the person out on road calls and interfacing with the public? Sure, I was nicer and more congenial, and far better looking…
I slid around a corner in the road to find that the road was blocked by downed lines. The brakes slowed me. Finally. I took a moment to let my heart settle. Now that had been scary.
Okay, Deck, it’s snowing out. You need to drive for conditions, buddy. And next time buy a car with fucking all-wheel drive. It does snow in Pittsburgh. Dork. No wonder Mom looks at you like you’re a bird that just flew into the window.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?!” I shouted at the thick black cables lying on the snow-coated country lane. That was being generous. Country lane was something that you strolled down on a warm summer day, maybe with your best guy or gal—whatever floated your boat—at your side. A country lane was charming. This damn wintry roadway was a deathtrap waiting to happen. If you got stranded out here, the bears would eat you within a day. Probably coyotes too. The bears would open the car door—I’d seen them do that on YouTube videos—and feast on your innards while the coyotes had to make do with your fingers and toes.
Bears were bigger and got the good stuff. That was how nature worked. Might makes right. Kind of like my relationship with my older brother. Frank Jr. had been bigger and stronger for the first sixteen years of my life, so he got the best pickings while I got the leftovers. He got all the love from Mom and Dad as well as the CEO seat of the company. What did Decker get? Decker got sent out to sign up hillbillies while Frank Jr. got to vacation in France with the woman of the month. What was her name? Julia? Janet? Jewel? Something with a J. It didn’t pay to get to know them too well. He’d dump her within thirty days. But hey, that was okay by Dad. After all, Frank Jr. was at least being a user with women. Not like me, the queer child. I mean, really fuck all of that homophobic shit. I was just as good a boy as Frank Jr. maybe even better. Man. I meant man, not boy. As good a man. And a much better employee. It was my ass out here doing the dirty work.
Yeah, fuck you, Frank. And fuck your stupid mustache. You look like an ’80s porn star.
Sitting in the middle of the road, I checked my rearview. No one, it seemed, was as dumb as me. Guess the country folk had more sense than to be driving around aimlessly when it was snowing like hell. They’d probably shot enough deer during hunting season to feed them and their large brood of farm kids for the winter. That was really clever. Relying on grocery stores was stupid. When I got home—if the bears and coyotes didn’t make a meal out of me within the next few hours—I was going to take up hunting. Not sure what kind of big game animals one found prowling around PPG Arena, but I’d be willing to give it a go.
You’d need a gun to go hunting. You’re scared of guns. Remember? Dad and Frank Jr. took you to Kenya when you were ten for a big game hunt and you couldn’t bring yourself to shoot anything. You couldn’t even chuck rocks at the Guinea birds at the watering hole like Frank Jr. did when he got bored. Remember how Frank Jr. called you a pussy and your dad was so disappointed in you? Remember that?
“Yes, I remember. The water buffalo Frank Jr. shot still hangs in Dad’s home office,” I said with a sigh as I slipped the car into reverse. “Why does this country not bury its lines underground like Germany does?” I knew I should have stayed in Berlin with Franco after I graduated from Harvard Business School. Dad and Mom hated Franco. He was too much the anarchist for their conservative morals. I’d rather fancied his liberal views and bohemian lifestyle. But he’d grown weary of my waffling around on important issues about our relationship and finally gave me the boot.
Das Boot. That is a great film. We should watch that again if we don’t get mauled by bears.
I gave the surrounding woods a quick look. Sadly, the quick look was long enough to pull my attention from backing up. Snow was covering my backup camera, so that meant I had to do it the old-fashioned way. Since my backing up skills were not great, I kind of overcompensated. The rear tires left the road and my car slammed downward into a ditch. The nose was poking straight up into the air, the front tires spinning aimlessly.
“Oh fuck!” I yelped at the thud. My pulse skyrocketed. I gave her some gas, but nothing happened. I tried rocking back and forth. Nope. The car didn’t budge. I pushed the driver’s door opened, looked down, and saw that the ditch was at least three feet deep. Why? Why on God’s earth did a ditch need to be so fucking deep? Did a river run through it in the summer? Did the locals use the rushing snow melt in spring to power their milking parlors via waterwheels? Was that even possible? Oh fuck. I was spiraling. Knowing a panic attack was on the horizon, I fumbled with the radio. I cranked past several renditions of Randy Travis singing about pretty paper and Dolly Parton going on about hard candy on Christmas. I finally found a news channel or an hourly news break. It was four p.m. on the nose. Shit. It would be dark in less than an hour. Why did I live in a state that had night?!
“…Governor Mike Milligan has just declared a state of emergency across Pennsylvania because of the snowstorm now settling over the commonwealth. Snow accumulations of up to thirty inches are expected today and into tomorrow. Wet, heavy snow may impact power lines.” I gazed at the snapped cable down the road and mumbled, “No shit,” to myself as my stress levels rose. “All non-essential and non-emergency vehicles are warned to stay off the roads until the storm has passed. Stay tuned to 98.1, Kickin’ Country, for weather updates. Time to get back to the hits with ‘White Christmas’ from The Oak Ridge Boys.” A pig snort ended the news update. A. Pig. Snort. Then a yee-haw followed. Maybe death now wouldn’t be so bad after all.
My eyes grew teary. Great. Just great. This was it. I was going to die here along the road in some backwoods county with the Oak Ridge Boys being the last song I ever heard and only the bears would mourn me. In a fit of terror and rage, I beat on the horn like a madman, pounding the shit out of my wheel as I vented to the heavens. After I calmed down a bit, I came up with a plan. I would simply call for a tow truck.
Plan A failed due to a lack of cell service. This country really needed to get on the infrastructure stat. I’d have to send off a text to Bernie Sanders in Vermont. He’d get on it. Bernie was good that way. Pity I wasn’t in Vermont. I bet Bernie would ride out on a moose to save me. He seemed the sort.
Plan B involved calling the state police. That plan also went up in smoke as there was no cell tower or Wi-Fi anywhere nearby. Unless the bears that were now picking up my panicked scent had a Wi-Fi hotspot in their cave…
Plan C was to cry uncontrollably. Aha! This one succeeded.
Once the tears stopped, I took a small sip of my double chocolate latte that I’d grabbed just outside of The Burgh an eternity ago. When I was lying in the belly of a bear, my soul was going to go back to the city of bridges and haunt fucking Leander for the rest of his glitter boy life.
Plan D came to me after my drink was gone. Must have been the caffeine jolt. I would simply walk down the road, around the fallen lines, and find a farm. Farm folk were nice. Not all of them were mean to men with pretty mouths. They’d let me use their landline to call for help. Then, because they were kind and forgiving sorts, they’d give me fresh milk from a cow and a few cookies that the wifey had baked. All ten kids would stare at me in awe, and I’d tell them all about life in the big city. Yeah. That would work.
I flung the vehicle door open with renewed energy. Again, the caffeine rush, I was sure.
I sat there staring down at the ditch for several minutes, long enough for the snow to coat my head, shoulders, and the side pocket on the driver’s side door. It was cold out there. Like, bitter cold. And the snow had a bit of ice in it. With a slam, I closed the door, cried a little more, and then began tooting my horn after I did a food search. I found four Milky Way wrappers in the glove box, a container of tropical flavored breath mints, and half a chicken salad sandwich that I’d bought at a famous sandwich shop before I’d left the city.
I’d be fine for a few days. If I rationed the sandwich and Tic Tacs, I could probably survive for several days. Water would be no issue. I could eat snow. And if I left my car running on and off, I’d be warm enough. Maybe the Hufflepuff scarf in the back seat would come in handy. Fucking Leander. Had he known I’d be this close to death? Maybe so. He did like to claim that he spoke to the spirit of his dead great aunt at office parties. Although he was generally high when someone broke out the Ouija board, so who really knows if he spoke to his aunt or was just royally toked up? Thinking of ghosts made me jittery, so I turned on the radio and cranked an old Johnny Paycheck song up as loud as it could go, which was pretty damn loud. I’d paid extra for the best stereo system. I had to have music in my cars as I drove all over this stupid snowy state for my job. And my father.
I blew the horn again, just to ward off any bears that may be creeping in, and snuggled into my thick wool coat. After a few minutes, I reached back for the yellow and black scarf, then wrapped it around my neck. Hands under my arms, I tried not to freak out, but it was hard. I tooted the horn, whimpered, tooted, whimpered, tooted, began making out my will in my mind, tooted, and then whimpered a little bit more.
Yep. I was going to die here. Alone in the woods of Pennsylvania. Or was I now in New York state? God only knows. I could have driven over the border and not known it. There was no way of knowing. Snowy woods looked the same no matter where you were. I tooted, then scoured the forest. Ever vigilant. If I was going to be devoured by a bruin, I was going to see that bastard coming. Nothing was going to sneak up on Decker Allen Fitzgerald!
Someone—or something—rapped on my driver’s side window. I screamed, flailed, hit the horn, and nearly shat my pants, which would have been the absolute worst thing ever. They were brand new slacks and had cost a pretty penny. And they were worth every one of those pretty pennies because they made my ass look incredible.
It was then that I heard the sound of something running. Something like a large machine. I turned down the radio and peeked through the frosty glass to see a lean, handsome face staring in at me. The man was bundled up, a hood over a knitted cap, and a scarf around his neck. He tapped again. Then he smiled. Oh, oh my, he was really pretty. Snow clung to his long lashes that framed slate-gray eyes. It was adorable. And I was officially cheesy as a Hallmark holiday movie trailer.
I pushed the button down. “Oh thank God! My savior!” I nearly wept again. The sound of the tractor parked a few feet down the road entered the open window as did the smell of diesel fumes. “I’m stuck here in this gorge and bears are eyeballing me as we speak!”
“Bears are hibernating,” he corrected in a voice thick with an inland Northern Appalachian accent that sounded like the cherubs singing at the moment. “I’ll pull you out of the ditch and get your car back to the farm. ’Fraid you’ll have to ride out the storm with me. Township won’t risk plowing until the storm is done. School buses aren’t running now with the Christmas holiday starting.”
“Okay! Fine, fine, I’d love to ride out the storm with you.” His thin, dark eyebrows rose. Snowflakes were sticking to his eyelashes and brows. Gosh he was pretty. “I mean with someone. I thought I’d die here alongside the road.”
“Right. The bears.” I heard a small amount of amusement in his tone. Was he laughing at me? Probably. Rural folks always chuckled at us city boys when we were blathering.
“Okay then. Let’s get you out of that car.” He straddled the gulley expertly. I unbuckled my seatbelt, gazed into his slate-gray eyes, and sort of tumbled out of the car into his arms. In my defense, it had been a harrowing day. For a lean man, he was quite strong. Not that I weighed a lot, but I did work out and was quite solid and compact. He grunted in surprise, smoky eyes widening as he jostled my weight around. “Careful now, get your feet…no, you need to push yourself upward. Yep, there you go.”
I stood on the road, solid ground beneath me, feeling much better about my chances of surviving this mess. Snow whipped around us as my rescuer heaved himself out of the ditch, then gave me a smile. It was a lovely smile that made his gray eyes glow like finely polished agate. A big, orange tractor set a few feet away, lights blinking, the front carrying a small snowplow.
“The lines are down,” I shouted to be heard over the increasing wind and the noisy muffler on the tractor. Did tractors even have a muffler? Who knew?
“Yep, that happens a lot. Electric company doesn’t maintain the trees as they should.” He ambled past me, his dark brown coveralls grease-stained, and the matching coat sporting patches on both elbows. Long brown hair hung over his collar, the snow wetting the strands exposed to the winter weather. I followed along in his wake simply because I had nothing else to do.
“How will you get my car out? It’s a BMW, so it’s not used to being manhandled. Will you be gentle?” I asked as he dug around behind the torn seat of the tractor for something.
“I’ll treat her as if she were your baby sister,” he tossed over his shoulder, his words blowing down the road on a gust right off an iceberg. Flakes danced and spun, making it hard to see even a few feet. He yanked a long, thick chain free and then gave me a look. “You stay back here out of the way until we have her up out of the ditch. Then you can follow me. I’ll plow a path to the farm. Is that four-wheel drive?”
I shook my head. His mouth flattened a bit. “No, I don’t generally hit the road during such terrible weather. My father insisted I come out to talk to this farmer who’s holding up what will be an incredibly lucrative natural gas well, all over a few pigs and a cross-eyed chicken. I always thought people just ate unwanted farm animals. Who spends good money on a blind horse or a pig with digestive issues? Can’t they just be dog food or bacon?”
The softness left his gaze, his gray eyes turning cold as the wintry sky above. “Tell me you’re from Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services.”
I blinked, the snow now blowing into my face. “I am yes. Decker Fitzgerald, head of contracts and negotiations for Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services, at your service. And you are?”
“Jesus wept,” he grumbled, ignoring my offered hand to stalk past me with his twenty or so feet of chain that could have pulled an elephant through the woods.
My brain was chilled. That had to be the reason that I was so slow on the uptake. Usually, I’m the quickest of the Fitzgerald boys. Frank Jr. was slow as molasses in January when it came to deducing things that didn’t involve women, cigars, booze, and Formula One race cars. And even those things weren’t figured out at lightning speed.
And still, Dad chose him to take over the company. Not the son with a degree in business negotiations and acquisitions. Oh no, not him. He’s a little limp in the wrist, you know.
Bitter as kale, aren’t we, Decker?
“Uhm, are you Mr. Acosta Melios, the owner of Happy Laurel Farm?” I asked at the top of my voice.
He slid the thick hook into the frame of my car, turned, frowned at me, and nodded.
Well poop.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Meredith Russell lives in the heart of England. An avid fan of many story genres, she enjoys nothing less than a happy ending. She believes in heroes and romance and strives to reflect this in her writing. Sharing her imagination and passion for stories and characters is a dream Meredith is excited to turn into reality.
Eli EastonHaving been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
For as long as she can remember Skye had her nose stuck in a book, getting lost in the world of someone else's creation (She still does). Her love for writing came from her love for reading. She could never have one without the other.
Writing was always a hobby and a cathartic experience for her. There are many stories lost to the never to be completed or published pile but needed to be written at the time.
Just a girl that loved stories so much she decided to write hers.
She would love to hear from her readers and learn more about Y'all. So if you get a chance... Holla at her.
I also write Contemporary MM Romance as Rheland Richmond.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.
Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.
As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
RJ Scott
Eli Easton
Skye R Richmond/Rheland Richmond
EMAIL: rhelandrichmond@gmail.com
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Colbie Dunbar
VL Locey
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
Plane, Trains, and Hurricanes by Eli Easton
Omega on His Doorstep by Skye R Richmond
Dasher by Lorelei M Hart & Colbie Dunbar
The Christmas Rescue by VL Locey
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