France, 1916. The Great War. High above the carnage in the trenches, British and German aces joust like knights of old for control of the skies. The strain and tension of living every day on the edge of death leads to dangerous choices and wild risks. When British ace Bat Bryant's past catches up with him, he strikes out in panic and kills the man threatening him with exposure. But there's a witness: the big, handsome American pilot Cowboy Cooper.
Cowboy, it seems, has his own ideas of rough justice.
Re-Listen Audiobook Review November 2020:
Out of the Blue is one those stories that will never get old or that I'll tire of it. I can understand why some might not like Cowboy's domineering side, that kind of alpha male is not everybody's cup of tea, frankly I don't always care for it either but there's something about Josh Lanyon's character creation that makes him so enjoyable in my mind. As I've said before there is just not enough WW1/post-war stories for my liking but I've found pilots from that era an even bigger missing feature, I don't think people fully grasp the added danger pilots faced during the Great War. Josh Lanyon conveys that danger without the reader feeling like they are being taught a history lesson and that is a huge tick in my historical box: inform but don't lecture. Out of the Blue continues to be a win-win in my heart.
Out of the Blue is one those stories that will never get old or that I'll tire of it. I can understand why some might not like Cowboy's domineering side, that kind of alpha male is not everybody's cup of tea, frankly I don't always care for it either but there's something about Josh Lanyon's character creation that makes him so enjoyable in my mind. As I've said before there is just not enough WW1/post-war stories for my liking but I've found pilots from that era an even bigger missing feature, I don't think people fully grasp the added danger pilots faced during the Great War. Josh Lanyon conveys that danger without the reader feeling like they are being taught a history lesson and that is a huge tick in my historical box: inform but don't lecture. Out of the Blue continues to be a win-win in my heart.
Original Audiobook Review September 2019:
I rarely listen to audiobooks that I haven't already read and that's because I listen to them while I'm working on something else or doing chores so no matter how much I love the story I tend to zone out occasionally so having read the story previously then I know I won't be lost by missing minutes here and there. Out of the Blue is a novella that I've read three times previously and love it every time, well Alexander Masters voice kept me enthralled from beginning to end, not once did I "zone out" while listening to Bat and Cowboy's journey. There's just not enough WW1 stories in the M/M genre but I have a feeling if there 10X what there is, Out of the Blue would still be one of my favorites.
2nd Re-Read Review November 2018:
There is something about WW1 stories that always break my heart, even if it is a HEA of HFN, the lives lost alone is enough pain but with an M/M genre story there is an extra level of heartache added just because of the hiding they had to do. So when I find a story like Out of the Blue, even as my heart hurts for the conditions the characters are living in, when I can still smile, laugh, and reach the final page for the third time and know it won't be the last time then I know I have definitely found a keeper.
Re-Read Review 2016:
I have upped my rating to 5 with my re-read. Since reading it the first time 2 years ago, I have come to have a deeper respect for novellas and don't knock off 1/2 a bookmark just for it's shortness. As for the story, it was fantabulous!! I am a huge lover of WW1 stories so that just added to my enjoyment. Even knowing how the story goes, Cowboy's actions and attitude still left me reeling but loved every ounce of him.
Original Review 2014:
This story is several of my favorite genres all rolled into one: historical, male/male relationships, romance, drama, and erotica. With main characters named Bat and Cowboy you expect to be dropped in the middle of a western, which by the way is also a favorite genre of mine, but this time author has brought her way with words to the airfield of World War One. Now, I won't lie, the first time you meet Cowboy you're not real sure if you are suppose to like him or not but we quickly find out that there's more to him than he first lets on. The only reason I gave this a 4-1/2 bookmark instead of 5 is because I would have loved for it to have been longer. Simply put, I was just not ready to let go of this pair when the final page came. Once again, I was not let down by Ms. Lanyon's work.
2nd Re-Read Review November 2018:
There is something about WW1 stories that always break my heart, even if it is a HEA of HFN, the lives lost alone is enough pain but with an M/M genre story there is an extra level of heartache added just because of the hiding they had to do. So when I find a story like Out of the Blue, even as my heart hurts for the conditions the characters are living in, when I can still smile, laugh, and reach the final page for the third time and know it won't be the last time then I know I have definitely found a keeper.
Re-Read Review 2016:
I have upped my rating to 5 with my re-read. Since reading it the first time 2 years ago, I have come to have a deeper respect for novellas and don't knock off 1/2 a bookmark just for it's shortness. As for the story, it was fantabulous!! I am a huge lover of WW1 stories so that just added to my enjoyment. Even knowing how the story goes, Cowboy's actions and attitude still left me reeling but loved every ounce of him.
Original Review 2014:
This story is several of my favorite genres all rolled into one: historical, male/male relationships, romance, drama, and erotica. With main characters named Bat and Cowboy you expect to be dropped in the middle of a western, which by the way is also a favorite genre of mine, but this time author has brought her way with words to the airfield of World War One. Now, I won't lie, the first time you meet Cowboy you're not real sure if you are suppose to like him or not but we quickly find out that there's more to him than he first lets on. The only reason I gave this a 4-1/2 bookmark instead of 5 is because I would have loved for it to have been longer. Simply put, I was just not ready to let go of this pair when the final page came. Once again, I was not let down by Ms. Lanyon's work.
France, November 1916
“Don’t be too hasty, Captain Bryant,” Orton warned. “Not like I’m asking a king’s ransom. Not like you can’t find the ready, eh? What’s a couple a bob ’ere and there? Could ’ave gone to the major, but I didn’t, did I? Not one word to ’im about what you and poor Lieutenant Roberts used to —”
Bat punched him.
He was not as tall as the mechanic, but he was wiry and strong, and his fist connected to Orton’s jaw with a satisfying crack. Orton’s head snapped back. He staggered, tripped over something in the shadowy darkness of the stable, and went down slamming against the side of the stall.
The elderly dappled gray mare whickered softly. Leaning over the stall door, she lipped at Orton’s fallen form.
For a second, perhaps two, Bat stood shaking with rage — and grief.
“Get up, you swine,” he bit out.
Orton’s head lay out of reach of the uneven lamplight, but his limbs were still — and something in that broken stillness alerted Bat.
“Orton?”
He moved the lantern and the light illuminated Orton’s face. The man’s head was turned at an unnatural angle — watery eyes staring off into the loft above them.
Bat smothered an exclamation. Knelt beside Orton’s body.
The mare raised her head, nickering greeting. The lantern light flickered as though in a draft. He could see every detail in stark relief: the blue black bristle on the older man’s jaw, the flecks of gray in his mustache, oil and dirt beneath his fingernails.
There was a little speck of blood at the corner of his mouth where Bat’s ring had cut him. But he was not bleeding. Was not breathing.
Bat put fingers to Orton’s flaccid throat and felt for a pulse.
There was no pulse.
Sid Orton was dead.
Bat rose. Gazed down at the body.
Christ. It seemed...unreal.
He was used to thinking swiftly, making life-and-death decisions for the entire squadron with only seconds to spare, but he could think of nothing. He’d have to go to the CO. Chase would have to go to the Red Caps...
Bat wiped his forehead with his sleeve. First he’d need to come up with some story — some reason for what he’d done. Gene mustn’t be dragged into it. No one could know about Gene and him. Wasn’t only Gene’s name at stake. There was Bat’s own family and name to think of. This ... just this ... murder ... was liable to finish the old man.
He couldn’t seem to think beyond it. Disgrace. Dishonor.
He ought to feel something for Orton, surely? Pity. Remorse. He didn’t. He hadn’t meant to kill him, but Orton was no loss. Not even an awfully good mechanic. And Bat had killed better men than Orton — ten at last count — for much worse reason.
A miserable specimen, Orton.
But you couldn’t murder a chap for that.
Gaze riveted on the ink stain on the frayed cuff of Orton’s disheveled uniform, Bat tried to force his sluggish brain to action. Yes, he needed a story before he went to the major. More, he had to convince himself of it — get it straight in every detail — in case he was cross-examined. Mustn’t get tripped up.
If only he had ignored Orton’s note ... Why the devil hadn’t he?
“You waiting for him to tell you what to do?” a voice asked laconically from behind him.
Bat jerked about.
Cowboy leaned against the closed stable door. His eyes glinted in the queer light. Bright. Almost feral as he watched from the half shadows.
“P-pardon?” Bat asked stupidly.
“If you don’t plan on getting jugged by the MPs, you better get a move on.”
It was as though he were speaking to Bat in a foreign language. Granted, Cowboy was a Yank — a Texan, at that — and did take a bit of translation at the best of times.
Bat said, “I don’t — what d’you mean? I-I shall have to report this.”
“Why’s that?” Cowboy left his post at the door and came to join him. Oddly, it gave Bat comfort, Cowboy’s broad shoulder brushing his own. Together they stared down at Orton’s body.
Already he had changed. His face had a waxy, sunken look. The smell of death mingled with kerosene and horse and hay.
Bat’s stomach gave a sudden lurch and he moved away, leaning over a rusted harrow. But there was nothing to vomit. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Hadn’t eaten since Gene bought his packet and crashed in flames in the woods of the estate his family once owned near Hesdin.
Instead, he hung white-knuckled onto the rough metal frame heaving dry, empty coughs and nothing coming out but a few exhausted tears. Not for Orton. For Gene.
“You better pull yourself together, boy,” Cowboy told him when the worst of it was over. Listening distantly to that terse voice, Bat knew he was right. He shuddered all over. Forced himself upright, blinking at the American.
Cowboy was a big man. Several inches taller than Bat. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. Long legs. Must be the way they grew them in Texas. Cowboy certainly fit Bat’s notion — based entirely on the works of Zane Grey and Max Brand — of a man of the West. He’d been attached to the RFC for about two months. Which was a bloody long time in this war. Several lifetimes, really.
The old mare stretched her long neck and nibbled at the collar of Cowboy’s tunic. He patted her absently and drawled, “Orton was a sidewinder. A low-down, miserable piece of shit pretending to be a man. He wasn’t even a very good mechanic. Whatever else you might be, you’re one hell of a pilot. And the RFC is running short on pilots these days. Let alone aces.”
Bat blinked at him, wiped his face again. He felt hot and cold, sick and sweaty. He felt as though he were coming down with something — something fatal. He was unable to think beyond the thing at their feet. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying what the hell’s the point of you going to jail for killing that skunk? Anyway, I saw what happened. It was an accident. You slugged him and he fell and hit his head.”
“It’s still...” But he didn’t finish it. He felt a flicker of hope. “You’ll back me up then? When I go to Major Chase?”
“I don’t think you want to do that.”
Too right there. Bat didn’t. But...
“How are you going to explain what he said that got you so mad you punched him? Or what the hell you were doing in the stables this time of night?”
Before Bat thought of an answer — assuming he’d have come up with one — Cowboy added, “I guess Orton ain’t the only one who ever noticed you and Lieutenant Roberts were kinda sweet on each other.”
Bat lunged, and Cowboy sidestepped, grabbing him and twisting his arm behind his back in a wrestling move they never taught in any officer’s training course Bat had received. It was fast and efficient. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm and he stopped struggling, sagging against Cowboy. The American was so big, so powerfully built, it was easy to underestimate how fast he was when he needed to be. Not least because he never seemed to be in a hurry. He spoke in a lazy drawl and moved with easy, loose-limbed grace. Even when he flew into battle, he picked off enemy planes as though he were potting birds off a branch with a rifle. As though he had all the time in the world.
Listening to the calm, strong thud of Cowboy’s heart, Bat thought dizzily that this was the closest he’d come to being in a man’s arms ever again.
Cowboy’s voice vibrated in his chest as he intoned, “Never realized you had such a temper, Captain Bryant. One of these days it’s going to land you in a fix you can’t get out of.”
Bat yanked free and Cowboy let him go.
“Not tonight, though.”
Bat rubbed his wrist where Cowboy’s fingers had dug into the tendons. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, if you can simmer down long enough to listen, I’m going to help you.”
“Help me how?”
Cowboy wasn’t looking at Bat. He stared down at Orton’s body. Thoughtfully, as though only making his mind up to it, he said, “I’m going to get rid of him once and for all.”
“How?”
“Never mind how. It’ll be better if you don’t know. Go back to the mess, and make sure everyone sees you. Close the place down. Then head up to your quarters. Understand?”
The flicker of hope flared. Bat knew a cowardly longing to do exactly as Cowboy instructed. Leave it to him, go get blind drunk, then retire to bed and forget any of this happened.
He forced himself to say, “Awfully good of you, old chap, but you must see I can’t ... can’t let you do this.”
Amused, Cowboy retorted, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do, old chap, so why argue about it?”
He was staring at Bat, smiling that funny crooked grin of his. Bat had never noticed how blue Cowboy’s eyes were. Blue as the sky — back when the sky was empty of anything worse than clouds — light and bright in his deeply tanned face. His hair was soft gold. Palomino gold.
Helplessly, Bat said, “Why should you do this? Why should you help me? I haven’t been ... it’s not as though...”
“You’ve acted like a stuck-up sonofabitch since the day I arrived, is that what you were going to say?” Cowboy asked easily. “Not a member of your old boys’ club, am I? Well, I guess it could be that I like you anyway. Or it could be having you around makes my life easier — ’cept days like today when you seem bent on getting yourself blown out of the sky.”
His gaze held Bat’s, and there wasn’t anything Bat could say. Today. Yes. What a long time ago it seemed.
If Cowboy hadn’t been there today ... Sid Orton would still be alive.
“Git,” Cowboy said softly. “I’ll find you later.”
And so ... Bat got.
“Don’t be too hasty, Captain Bryant,” Orton warned. “Not like I’m asking a king’s ransom. Not like you can’t find the ready, eh? What’s a couple a bob ’ere and there? Could ’ave gone to the major, but I didn’t, did I? Not one word to ’im about what you and poor Lieutenant Roberts used to —”
Bat punched him.
He was not as tall as the mechanic, but he was wiry and strong, and his fist connected to Orton’s jaw with a satisfying crack. Orton’s head snapped back. He staggered, tripped over something in the shadowy darkness of the stable, and went down slamming against the side of the stall.
The elderly dappled gray mare whickered softly. Leaning over the stall door, she lipped at Orton’s fallen form.
For a second, perhaps two, Bat stood shaking with rage — and grief.
“Get up, you swine,” he bit out.
Orton’s head lay out of reach of the uneven lamplight, but his limbs were still — and something in that broken stillness alerted Bat.
“Orton?”
He moved the lantern and the light illuminated Orton’s face. The man’s head was turned at an unnatural angle — watery eyes staring off into the loft above them.
Bat smothered an exclamation. Knelt beside Orton’s body.
The mare raised her head, nickering greeting. The lantern light flickered as though in a draft. He could see every detail in stark relief: the blue black bristle on the older man’s jaw, the flecks of gray in his mustache, oil and dirt beneath his fingernails.
There was a little speck of blood at the corner of his mouth where Bat’s ring had cut him. But he was not bleeding. Was not breathing.
Bat put fingers to Orton’s flaccid throat and felt for a pulse.
There was no pulse.
Sid Orton was dead.
Bat rose. Gazed down at the body.
Christ. It seemed...unreal.
He was used to thinking swiftly, making life-and-death decisions for the entire squadron with only seconds to spare, but he could think of nothing. He’d have to go to the CO. Chase would have to go to the Red Caps...
Bat wiped his forehead with his sleeve. First he’d need to come up with some story — some reason for what he’d done. Gene mustn’t be dragged into it. No one could know about Gene and him. Wasn’t only Gene’s name at stake. There was Bat’s own family and name to think of. This ... just this ... murder ... was liable to finish the old man.
He couldn’t seem to think beyond it. Disgrace. Dishonor.
He ought to feel something for Orton, surely? Pity. Remorse. He didn’t. He hadn’t meant to kill him, but Orton was no loss. Not even an awfully good mechanic. And Bat had killed better men than Orton — ten at last count — for much worse reason.
A miserable specimen, Orton.
But you couldn’t murder a chap for that.
Gaze riveted on the ink stain on the frayed cuff of Orton’s disheveled uniform, Bat tried to force his sluggish brain to action. Yes, he needed a story before he went to the major. More, he had to convince himself of it — get it straight in every detail — in case he was cross-examined. Mustn’t get tripped up.
If only he had ignored Orton’s note ... Why the devil hadn’t he?
“You waiting for him to tell you what to do?” a voice asked laconically from behind him.
Bat jerked about.
Cowboy leaned against the closed stable door. His eyes glinted in the queer light. Bright. Almost feral as he watched from the half shadows.
“P-pardon?” Bat asked stupidly.
“If you don’t plan on getting jugged by the MPs, you better get a move on.”
It was as though he were speaking to Bat in a foreign language. Granted, Cowboy was a Yank — a Texan, at that — and did take a bit of translation at the best of times.
Bat said, “I don’t — what d’you mean? I-I shall have to report this.”
“Why’s that?” Cowboy left his post at the door and came to join him. Oddly, it gave Bat comfort, Cowboy’s broad shoulder brushing his own. Together they stared down at Orton’s body.
Already he had changed. His face had a waxy, sunken look. The smell of death mingled with kerosene and horse and hay.
Bat’s stomach gave a sudden lurch and he moved away, leaning over a rusted harrow. But there was nothing to vomit. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Hadn’t eaten since Gene bought his packet and crashed in flames in the woods of the estate his family once owned near Hesdin.
Instead, he hung white-knuckled onto the rough metal frame heaving dry, empty coughs and nothing coming out but a few exhausted tears. Not for Orton. For Gene.
“You better pull yourself together, boy,” Cowboy told him when the worst of it was over. Listening distantly to that terse voice, Bat knew he was right. He shuddered all over. Forced himself upright, blinking at the American.
Cowboy was a big man. Several inches taller than Bat. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. Long legs. Must be the way they grew them in Texas. Cowboy certainly fit Bat’s notion — based entirely on the works of Zane Grey and Max Brand — of a man of the West. He’d been attached to the RFC for about two months. Which was a bloody long time in this war. Several lifetimes, really.
The old mare stretched her long neck and nibbled at the collar of Cowboy’s tunic. He patted her absently and drawled, “Orton was a sidewinder. A low-down, miserable piece of shit pretending to be a man. He wasn’t even a very good mechanic. Whatever else you might be, you’re one hell of a pilot. And the RFC is running short on pilots these days. Let alone aces.”
Bat blinked at him, wiped his face again. He felt hot and cold, sick and sweaty. He felt as though he were coming down with something — something fatal. He was unable to think beyond the thing at their feet. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying what the hell’s the point of you going to jail for killing that skunk? Anyway, I saw what happened. It was an accident. You slugged him and he fell and hit his head.”
“It’s still...” But he didn’t finish it. He felt a flicker of hope. “You’ll back me up then? When I go to Major Chase?”
“I don’t think you want to do that.”
Too right there. Bat didn’t. But...
“How are you going to explain what he said that got you so mad you punched him? Or what the hell you were doing in the stables this time of night?”
Before Bat thought of an answer — assuming he’d have come up with one — Cowboy added, “I guess Orton ain’t the only one who ever noticed you and Lieutenant Roberts were kinda sweet on each other.”
Bat lunged, and Cowboy sidestepped, grabbing him and twisting his arm behind his back in a wrestling move they never taught in any officer’s training course Bat had received. It was fast and efficient. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm and he stopped struggling, sagging against Cowboy. The American was so big, so powerfully built, it was easy to underestimate how fast he was when he needed to be. Not least because he never seemed to be in a hurry. He spoke in a lazy drawl and moved with easy, loose-limbed grace. Even when he flew into battle, he picked off enemy planes as though he were potting birds off a branch with a rifle. As though he had all the time in the world.
Listening to the calm, strong thud of Cowboy’s heart, Bat thought dizzily that this was the closest he’d come to being in a man’s arms ever again.
Cowboy’s voice vibrated in his chest as he intoned, “Never realized you had such a temper, Captain Bryant. One of these days it’s going to land you in a fix you can’t get out of.”
Bat yanked free and Cowboy let him go.
“Not tonight, though.”
Bat rubbed his wrist where Cowboy’s fingers had dug into the tendons. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, if you can simmer down long enough to listen, I’m going to help you.”
“Help me how?”
Cowboy wasn’t looking at Bat. He stared down at Orton’s body. Thoughtfully, as though only making his mind up to it, he said, “I’m going to get rid of him once and for all.”
“How?”
“Never mind how. It’ll be better if you don’t know. Go back to the mess, and make sure everyone sees you. Close the place down. Then head up to your quarters. Understand?”
The flicker of hope flared. Bat knew a cowardly longing to do exactly as Cowboy instructed. Leave it to him, go get blind drunk, then retire to bed and forget any of this happened.
He forced himself to say, “Awfully good of you, old chap, but you must see I can’t ... can’t let you do this.”
Amused, Cowboy retorted, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do, old chap, so why argue about it?”
He was staring at Bat, smiling that funny crooked grin of his. Bat had never noticed how blue Cowboy’s eyes were. Blue as the sky — back when the sky was empty of anything worse than clouds — light and bright in his deeply tanned face. His hair was soft gold. Palomino gold.
Helplessly, Bat said, “Why should you do this? Why should you help me? I haven’t been ... it’s not as though...”
“You’ve acted like a stuck-up sonofabitch since the day I arrived, is that what you were going to say?” Cowboy asked easily. “Not a member of your old boys’ club, am I? Well, I guess it could be that I like you anyway. Or it could be having you around makes my life easier — ’cept days like today when you seem bent on getting yourself blown out of the sky.”
His gaze held Bat’s, and there wasn’t anything Bat could say. Today. Yes. What a long time ago it seemed.
If Cowboy hadn’t been there today ... Sid Orton would still be alive.
“Git,” Cowboy said softly. “I’ll find you later.”
And so ... Bat got.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
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