Summary:
Alpha Kissed #3
Of course I’ve noticed him.
He’s Hal, the singer who everyone loves and fawns over all night. There is no shortage of suitors surrounding his piano while he sings songs that drive directly into my heart. I wouldn’t stand a chance. So I sit here on my barstool and listen and pretend he might know I’m alive.
But he never takes anyone home, and I doubt he’s going to start with me.
I’m not the type of guy who approaches a man like him. I see him every night I perform at the Moonlight Lounge. The songs I choose are pointed in his direction, but nothing seems to make him look my way for more than a few seconds. His sweater vests and ties make him look a little uptight but I know there’s more. The way he bites his lip. The smooth manner in which he tips back his drink. The outline of biceps under the button down shirt I need to know him. Because my gut says he´s mine.
The Alpha’s Cranberry-Kissed Omega is a MM non-shifter mpreg with a hot musical alpha, a ninja competitor, psychologist omega, and a holiday surprise meeting that sets everything in motion. The Alpha’s Cranberry-Kissed Omega is part of the Alpha Kissed series but can be read as a standalone.
I previously included this book in my Turkey Day blog post a couple of years ago but hadn't had the opportunity to read it until now. Lorelei M Hart is not a new-to-me author although I've only read one other so nearly a new-to-me author😉. Mpreg is not for everyone, frankly I didn't think it would be for me either until I read a few fan fics of various fandoms. I really enjoyed them, my experience in the published world is still kind of limited to about three authors but I've enjoyed them all and Hart is in that column.
As my listings are limited I kind of have a preconceived expectations on the whole alpha/omega characters and in my mind's eye, I expected Hal and Kiplings roles to be reversed, don't ask me why because beyond lack of experience I have no reasoning. I enjoyed the flip in types for me at any rate, it just completed the whole package I guess, making Cranberry-Kissed all that much more intriguing.
There aren't many Thanksgiving themed stories out there so when I find one that even mentions the holiday it goes in the Turkey File but Cranberry-Kissed begins and ends at Thanksgiving making the story seem even more complete. Some might use the term "fluff" but to me that terminology isn't all that flattering and Cranberry-Kissed is a fun, holiday read that will warm your heart and put a smile on your face so I prefer the term "fluffy" as in Despicable Me when Agnes gets the new unicorn doll and screams: "It's so fluffy!". Nothing but squishable goodness in Lorelei M Hart's The Alpha's Cranberry-Kissed Omega.
Summary:
Shielded Hearts #7
He made the mistake of falling in love with his best friend.
Rod has known Travis almost all his life; since the third grade when Rod was the new kid in town and Travis befriended him with trading cards and a fruit snack. Apparently, Rod’s easy.
Travis was always destined to take over the family business. As the only boy he’s expected to take the helm of the Walker farming operation, and he’s good at it.
When Travis announces he’s engaged to a local girl, Rod decides he's done waiting for something that will never happen.
Rod abruptly leaves town and Travis begins to question what Rod really means to him. But will his family support him?
His Best Man is a standalone in the Shielded Hearts series, a friends-to-lovers romance with a happily ever after. The Shielded Hearts series follows a different couple in each book as they stop killers, unravel a human trafficking ring and fall in love. Not necessarily all at the same time.
Original Review July 2019:
In His Best Man we finally get to see Rod Beton and Travis Walker, who we briefly met in Unforgivable when they came into the bar where Cam worked, have their story told. As you can imagine it isn't all roses and rainbows for the pair(it would be a pretty dull and short pamphlet if it was easy😉).
Poor Rod has long since been in love with his friend Travis and just as he's worked up the courage to talk to him about it he finds himself being asked to be Travis' best man. You just want to bundle Rod in bubblewrap to keep his heart safe and I'll admit I wanted to throttle Travis on more than one occasion but there has to be some drama in the seventh entry in Accidental Roots series or it wouldn't fit the Skagit, Washington crew we've come to know and love.
His Best Man is definitely a tale of timing, acceptance, and being who you were born to be. Whether Rod and Travis came find that right timing is something you'll have to read for yourself. Again, this entry has even less to no mystery crime-wise than the previous entries but that lack of who-done-it didn't keep me from devouring the boys' journey. You'll cry, you'll laugh, you'll cry some more, but most of all your heart will be warmed by that last page.
Once again, this entry is a standalone but personally I am glad I read them in order. Mostly its just some secondary character mentions and cameos from the earlier stories that made it flow better for me knowing where their journey took them but if you start with His Best Man you won't be lost. However you choose to read Accidental Roots, I highly recommend giving this series the time because they are all wonderfully written tales that keep you entertained from beginning to end.
Poor Rod has long since been in love with his friend Travis and just as he's worked up the courage to talk to him about it he finds himself being asked to be Travis' best man. You just want to bundle Rod in bubblewrap to keep his heart safe and I'll admit I wanted to throttle Travis on more than one occasion but there has to be some drama in the seventh entry in Accidental Roots series or it wouldn't fit the Skagit, Washington crew we've come to know and love.
His Best Man is definitely a tale of timing, acceptance, and being who you were born to be. Whether Rod and Travis came find that right timing is something you'll have to read for yourself. Again, this entry has even less to no mystery crime-wise than the previous entries but that lack of who-done-it didn't keep me from devouring the boys' journey. You'll cry, you'll laugh, you'll cry some more, but most of all your heart will be warmed by that last page.
Once again, this entry is a standalone but personally I am glad I read them in order. Mostly its just some secondary character mentions and cameos from the earlier stories that made it flow better for me knowing where their journey took them but if you start with His Best Man you won't be lost. However you choose to read Accidental Roots, I highly recommend giving this series the time because they are all wonderfully written tales that keep you entertained from beginning to end.
Texas Winter by RJ Scott
Summary:Texas #2
Riley’s past comes back to haunt him both professionally and personally.
His dead brother left more than just bitter memories for Riley to deal with. The FBI get involved and suddenly it is more than his good name that is on the line. Jack is always there for him but how much more can Riley’s husband reasonably be able to understand?
Especially when Riley finds out on his delayed honeymoon that he has an eight year old daughter he never knew existed...
There were so many directions the author could have taken this in and would have been an interesting and enjoyable read but this is so much better than any of those options. Great to see Riley and Jack come into their own.
Overall Series Re-Read Review 2018:
I seriously have no idea what more I can say about Texas that I haven't already. This is the series that brought me into the world of published M/M genre so Jack & Riley Campbell-Hayes and the Double D universe will always hold a special place in my heart. No matter how many times I read this series, I always smile, cry, laugh, and just completely escape into their world. I may never experience that first time adrenaline rush but it still gets my blood pumping and heart racing. Texas is not just Jack and Riley's journey, yes they are the primary leads but we also get to see their children, their family, their friends all navigate life on and off the ranch. The Double D has a way of bringing people together, giving them hope and purpose, a fresh start, a place to grow and become who they are meant to be, but at the heart of each story is just that: heart. When RJ Scott wrote The Heart of Texas, I doubt she had any idea what she started, how far it would go or how many people it would touch but I'm just glad she gave life to Jack and Riley and everything that came from their love. This is one series that isn't getting old any time soon for me.
I seriously have no idea what more I can say about Texas that I haven't already. This is the series that brought me into the world of published M/M genre so Jack & Riley Campbell-Hayes and the Double D universe will always hold a special place in my heart. No matter how many times I read this series, I always smile, cry, laugh, and just completely escape into their world. I may never experience that first time adrenaline rush but it still gets my blood pumping and heart racing. Texas is not just Jack and Riley's journey, yes they are the primary leads but we also get to see their children, their family, their friends all navigate life on and off the ranch. The Double D has a way of bringing people together, giving them hope and purpose, a fresh start, a place to grow and become who they are meant to be, but at the heart of each story is just that: heart. When RJ Scott wrote The Heart of Texas, I doubt she had any idea what she started, how far it would go or how many people it would touch but I'm just glad she gave life to Jack and Riley and everything that came from their love. This is one series that isn't getting old any time soon for me.
Audiobook Overall Series Review 2019:
As I've said many times before, RJ Scott's Texas series was the first published M/M genre book that I read so they will always hold a place of pride in my heart. No matter how many times I read or listen to the journey Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes, their friends and family take I never tire of it. The characters and the paths they take are so real, so honest, the good and the bad, the heartache and the healing, it never fails to put a smile on face.
As for the audio versions, I can't imagine anyone other than Sean Crisden bringing these stories to life. Sean's voice make Jack, Riley, and the whole Texas family(which grows with each entry because its not just blood that connects everyone) real. Honestly I felt as if I looked up I'd see Jack with Solo Cal out in the yard or Riley on the floor with his maps.
If you haven't read/listened to Texas before I highly recommend giving it a go but it is a series needed to be experienced in order. I warn you though Jack and Riley can be addictive, you'll never want to say goodbye and now thanks to audio you really don't have to😉😉.
Spiritual Whispers by VL Locey
Summary:
In a tiny Vermont town two men are about to discover the joys of falling in love all over again.
Taliesin Wadleigh has lived in Couton-on-the-River for his entire life. Six of those twenty-six years were spent with the first man who had ever captured his heart. Those times were the happiest of his life and then, without warning, his fiancé was taken from him. Physically at least. Spiritually Carmichael is still in that whimsical shop with his beloved. Having a charming spirit close at hand to share late night tea with has helped heal Taliesin’s aching heart and he’s happy spending his days selling antiques to tourists and avoiding the outside world and all those who inhabit it. Or so he tells himself…
Then a tall, handsome stranger walks into his shop and Taliesin, as well as Carmichael, senses that their life – and perhaps their afterlife – is going to change dramatically.
When Eason Dunne retired from professional baseball two years ago he had plans. Amazing plans. Happy plans. Two years after he hung up his cleats all those glorious ambitions have fizzled. He’s now divorced and flitting from one project to another hoping to find…something special. Inheriting an old inn in some one horse – pardon him one moose – town in Vermont was not at all something special. Lacking anything else of meaning in his life he makes the trip from Las Vegas to Couton-on-the-River to try his hand at innkeeping. It’s in this little tourist trap that he wanders into the local antiquity shop and meets the eclectic, bespeckled, adorable owner. A man with somewhat offbeat taste in furnishings, a cross-eyed cat, a seemingly haunted radio, and one rather protective ghost. Eason isn’t sure what to make of the situation or his attraction to the skinny man in the bow tie but when danger threatens Taliesin both the men who love him are going to have to work together to save him.
Spiritual Whispers is a standalone small-town gay paranormal romance with a lovely age gap, a quirky antique shop owner, a disillusioned retired baseball player, a ghostly protector, a lazy shop cat, lots of tea, the occasional moose, and a happy-ever-after.
Original Review October 2023:
Paranormal stories may not be VL Locey's go-to genre for storytelling but that doesn't mean she isn't good at it, it just means when she ventures down that rabbit hole it was a story the characters were ready to clue her in on. With Spiritual Whispers, Taliesin and Eason had a whopper of journey to share.
This is a lovely, fun, heat-filled, slightly spooky tale of moving on. I say slightly spooky because the ghostly visits from Taliesin's love, Carmichael, are not scary at all, a bit mischievous once Eason enters the picture but not scary. Though to be completely honest I can't deny my first reaction probably wouldn't be much different than Eason's freakout. On the surface, Taliesin and Eason appear to be an opposites attract scenario which is true in part and yet they are perfectly suited. From business associates to friends to lovers, the chemistry is there from day one and watching it grow is just one of the things that makes Spiritual Whispers such an enjoyable treat.
There are tendrils of drama in their journey which are wonderfully meshed within the fun side. Some authors will rely on those dramatic tendrils a little too heavily which is fine if the story needs them but when they aren't needed it can weigh down an otherwise enjoyable read. Locey pulls at those tendrils just enough to further weave an intriguingly fun web. I loved how the author balanced all the elements and emotions which made Spiritual Whispers such a delightful read.
Nick Williams Mystery #29
Wednesday, November 24, 1965
It's the day before Thanksgiving and Nick and Carter have been in Paris for nearly a month when an early-morning call brings the news they've both been dreading for three years: Louis Jones Richardson, Carter's mother, has passed away in her sleep. The funeral will be on Monday in her hometown of Albany, Georgia.
With that, Nick is determined to find a way to get into Georgia since, in 1953, he and Carter signed an agreement they wouldn't enter the state without permission. And, in spite of the sad circumstances, neither the district attorney in Albany nor the state's attorney general are inclined to let them in.
Help comes in the form of two of their operatives: Tom Jarrell and Ronnie Grisham.
Meeting up in Miami on Thanksgiving Day, the four of them make the trek north and surreptitiously cross the Georgia-Florida state line in the early morning hours of Friday.
At Belle Terre, a plantation-style house nestled between cotton fields and the banks of the Flint River south of Albany, Nick and Carter begin to play hosts to friends and family who come by to pay their respects, since neither man will be able to safely show their faces on the day of the funeral.
But then something unexpected happens that turns a time for grieving into a devastating tragedy...
Once again I jumped ahead as I was in search of Turkey Day stories(and there aren't many of them in any genre but especially LGBTQ) and this time the jump was about 10 years or so. I wasn't lost by any means but there were a few characters and a few tidbits of info that had occurred in Nick and Carter's universe that I had not discovered yet but there was a scene where some backstory was given to a new-to-me couple who had not been aware of all the little facts that transpired over the years relating to Georgia. It was this scene that helped fill in a few blanks as well as refresh my mind on a few things I had experienced but overall it made me hungry to learn those missing years in 2025, always nice to have something to look forward to.
Onto The Redemptive Riflemen.
I would say(of those I've read) this one had less on the mystery front but it wasn't lacking in moments of danger for the men and their found family. I don't want to give anything away so this review will be shorter than most. Nick and Carter are just as in love as ever and their circle continues to grow but it has also lost a member as they are trying to find a way to give Carter's mom a proper goodbye when they aren't allowed back in Georgia. Never fear, their found family pulls together and finds a way, though not quite as involved as I'm sure the men would like to be in the final send off but sometimes being close and surrounded by loved ones is all that's needed. Just so much love all around that it can't help but make your heart warm and what better holiday than Thanksgiving to help them, and the reader, feel the love and thankfulness.
One little personal sidenote: As with the other entries(the one's I've read anyways) involving Carter's Georgia history, there is mention of the Klan. It made me think of how this spring after watching something on TV my dad mentioned how he remembers his dad telling stories of the Klan being around when he was younger. This is not in the South, we're Wisconsinites and have been for several generations so it really struck me how far reaching hatred and bigotry reached even in my grandparents generation. With Frank W Butterfield's Nick and Carter universe he helps to show just how far we've come, granted we have a long way to go(and unfortunately in this country recent events have shown we may be in for a bit of setback in the coming 4 years) but as heart-hurting as N&C's experiences are they do give one hope by showing the contrast of yesteryear to today, and more specifically how far we had come just within the timeframe of their journey. This may not have been something the author set out to do and not every reader may find it but Nick and Carter's journey brings a layer of comfort to me and for that I have to say a huge "thank you" to Mr. Butterfield.
The Alpha's Cranberry-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Hal
The week before Thanksgiving brought more kids in since school started. With the almost-year-round school schedule giving them the entire week off, parents tried to schedule their cleanings and fillings and since we were only open three days, they all had to cram into that time frame. Not that we minded, but by Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Patrick Chen, my boss, his assistant, Suzi, and I were more than ready for some time off.
And while they were done working, I had my other job to do every night starting tonight at the Moonlight Lounge. Usually I only played piano there three or four times a week, but the other entertainer was heading for Hawaii and her family for the holiday, and we always filled in for one another.
Still, at this point, I’d welcome any environment that didn’t involve screaming toddlers and cranky parents who were making them scream because they were in a rush to get to the market to buy a turkey. Apparently, they’d just gotten the memo that they should serve that on Thanksgiving.
To make matters worse, the pre-Thanksgiving night crowd at the lounge was a crowd in name only. It seemed even half-price beer and wine wasn’t enough inducement to bring the folks in. Hell, they were probably home making pies. Tomorrow was going to be even worse. With the twenty or so people scattered around the maroon leather booths and seated at the bar, there was no chance of missing the one omega I’d hoped to see.
He’d been in a few times, either by himself or with a friend, and he wasn’t without a date because he had no offers. He’d sit on a barstool and have a glass of cab, leaning against the bar and watching me play. Alphas approached him every time, but he waved them off. I couldn’t figure out his game. He seemed to enjoy my music, but never came and joined the crowd around the piano. Never called out a request or approached me when I took a break.
And since lots of guys wanted to chat up the piano player, I never managed to get to him, either. Okay...and because I wasn’t sure if he’d want me to and didn’t want to be embarrassed. Cowardly.
But this weekend, no more cowardly lion. The guy looked like an ad for surfing the waves in on a California beach. His sun-bleached hair was a little long, like getting it cut wasn’t a priority. He had deep-brown eyes and full lips that revealed very white teeth when he laughed at something his friend said. His usual tight T-shirts showed admirable upper-body development. Not like a weight lifter, everything just as it should be. If you were a hot beach guy, that is. The bartenders didn’t know a thing about him—a total rarity for those nosy parkers—and I didn’t want to keep asking because they liked razzing me about it.
The night fizzled to a close with not much in the tip jar and only one slightly inebriated alpha requesting a lot of Black Sabbath. Not that I couldn’t accommodate him, but it wasn’t really lounge fare.
Maybe my surfer boy was out of town with his folks. He sure wasn’t born and bred here, and those who weren’t cooking dinner for twenty people tomorrow were attending a dinner for that number, so the manager made the decision to call an Uber for tipsy-Sabbath guy and shut down early.
A dreary, cold late fall weekend seemed in my future. Awesome.
But once I drove home and climbed into bed, the long day and night overwhelmed me and I fell asleep right away.
Thanksgiving dawned bright and clear. At least I think it did. I didn’t wake up until nearly eleven and then had to scramble to get showered and shaved and dressed for the Friendsgiving at Patrick and his omega, Damon’s house. I didn’t really know why I was going. It was just another day for single guys who didn’t have any local family and especially single guys who had to work afterward.
But they were so anxious to have me, Damon so worried about me being all alone, that I’d caved. With my tremendous lack of cooking abilities, I’d been assigned to bring assorted olives and “fancy” paper napkins. As usual. It didn’t bother me, much. Nobody wanted scorched pumpkin pie or half-raw mashed potatoes, both of which I’d managed to create in the past. With a fine plan in place to grab what I needed at the store then hit the coffeehouse on the way to Patrick and Damon’s house, I climbed in my convertible and zoomed down the street.
The grocery store was mobbed. I’d made fun of the patients’ parents who didn’t know they had to buy a turkey on Wednesday, but I’d had no idea how many would be buying them at noon on Thanksgiving Day. Even with my lack of skill in the kitchen, I knew it took a long time to cook one of those big birds. What time were they planning to eat?
I stood in line at the olive bar and when I got my turn, grabbed two plastic tubs and filled them with the varieties that looked tastiest. Then, swinging my plastic basket by the handles, I headed for the paper products where I spent fifteen minutes trying to determine what made paper napkins holiday worthy vs. not holiday worthy. Finally, an elderly lady took pity on me and showed me the ones on the top shelf that cost five times what the others did and actually were called “deluxe.” I also picked up a couple of bags of ice just to be extra helpful.
There. I had accomplished my Thanksgiving Day shopping and filled with a sense of accomplishment, added a box of cookies decorated like pumpkins and pilgrims to my purchases.
I ate half of them standing in line at the self-checkout, starving and pretty sure I was going to be late.
Turned out self-checkout was not a good choice on Thanksgiving. People were buying things they bought only on that holiday. Oddly shaped vegetables and strange-looking cheeses. Most either didn’t have barcodes, or they were so messed up, the readers couldn’t handle them. And, frankly, since I hadn’t had coffee yet, I couldn’t handle any of them. If I didn’t want to show up at a meal where everyone else had made something amazing with nothing in my hands, I’d have dumped my plastic basket and left.
But I persisted. As I shuffled forward, I became aware that the store was playing Christmas music. I had nothing against carols, but felt they were best after Thanksgiving. Or at least after coffee. Finally, after two hundred ten years or fifteen minutes, one or the other, I was in purchasing position. I lifted the napkins from the cart and slid them over the reader and froze.
“Oh my gods…” A guy was heading out the door, and not just any guy. I couldn’t be sure from the back, but the man exiting had that same sun-streaked hair, tight little butt, and was wearing a jacket I’d seen on the guy at the bar.
“Sir?” The high whining pitch of the self-checkout assistant cut through my stasis. “Are you having trouble?”
“I…” What to do? I shoved the three items over the reader, figuring if I moved fast enough, my quarry would still be heading for his car. I swear I finished in under twenty seconds and was racing for the door, chased by the assistant holding the game cards I’d earned and didn’t want for their holiday sweepstakes.
Outside, I stopped and looked around, and my heart sank into my stomach.
He was gone.
His Best Man by Elle Keaton
His sister had the refrigerator door propped open against her hip, hunting for a snack. Wasn’t it funny how you could eat until you thought you were going to pop and somehow manage to be hungry only a few hours later? Strangers often thought he and Abs were twins; Abigail was almost as tall as Travis and they had the same color hair and eyes. Travis was older, but Abigail constantly reminded him she was more mature.
“Abigail, where’s Rod? Have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.”
Abigail cocked her head over her shoulder to look over at him with an expression Travis couldn’t quite translate. He wasn’t always good at reading people. He needed them to tell him what they were thinking.
“He left. I saw his truck pull out of the driveway.” She pulled a plate of turkey out of the fridge and started to make herself a sandwich.
Travis was speechless for a minute. Rod had left? Where would he go? Why would he go?
“He left? When? The roads are going to be terrible! Why would he leave without saying goodbye?” There’d been warnings all week about a winter storm on its way that was going to bring snow east of the Cascades and rain and wind to the west side of the state.
“Gee, Trav, I don’t know, maybe because you forgot to mention to him that you were getting engaged?” Abagail let out a derisive scoff. “And to Lisa Harris, of all people.” She dumped a spoonful of cranberry sauce on the turkey before laying the second piece of bread across the meat.
“Don’t hold back, Abigail, tell me how you really feel. What’s wrong with Lisa? She’s nice, and we’ve known her forever.” Lisa wasn’t bad. She and Travis had been known each other since they were little.
“Lisa’s been obsessing over you forever, she used to try and pump me for information about you; what did you like who you liked…I just have a bad feeling.” shrug, “If I’m wrong I’ll buy you a beer. Don’t you think that’s a question you should have asked before you asked her to marry you?” She took a big bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing while she waited for his answer.
“Jeez, Abs.” She glowered at the use of her childhood nickname; “Abs” did not make her happy. “I’ve known her forever, and Mom and Dad—well, Mom seems to like her.” His mom was the only one who mattered; their dad tended to stay quiet during family discussions. “Besides, I didn’t really ask her. We kind of agreed together.”
“You are so stupid. God. How did you survive to adulthood? You know how? I’ll tell you how: Rod saved your ass time after time. You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him. I mean, seriously, if you are going to use the excuse; I’m sorry, ‘reason’”—she actually made air quotes—“that you asked Lisa to marry you because you’ve known her forever, why didn’t you ask Rod? You’ve known him longer.”
Texas Winter by RJ Scott
Chapter 1
"The phone," Jack mumbled. Blindly reaching past Riley and fumbling for the offending item, he managed to grab and check who was calling—unknown number. Irritation shot through him, but he wasn't sure if it was at the offending caller or that Riley's phone wasn't on silent for their precious two hours of sleep. He could just imagine it was a freaking reporter, still after interviews even after all this time. A whole year had passed since Jeff's shooting, and the tabloid press remained hungry for Campbell-Hayes stories.
"What?" Riley was about as lucid as Jack and raised his head with half-open eyes. His blond hair was sleep mussed, and probably, Jack considered, sex mussed. His hazel eyes looked bloodshot, and in a second, it wasn't irritation Jack felt for Riley's inability to turn off his cell, but affection and love.
"Go back to sleep," he ordered. Riley didn't argue, and he lay back down on the pillow and resumed the rhythmic heavy breathing Jack had become used to. Jack tried to sleep himself, but even though the instant panic he had felt at the call had subsided, his brain refused to stop thinking. Cautiously he edged out of the huge bed and snuck a quick look at the early morning outside their villa. The Caribbean Sea was a sparkling sapphire blue, and the beach to the shore line was empty of a single soul.
When Riley had presented Jack with tickets for what he enthusiastically called a honeymoon, Jack had every single excuse under the sun ready to go. The horses needed him. His mom was getting too friendly with the veterinarian they used. Emily had started to talk, and they didn't want to miss that. Josh was busy with the newest addition to his family, baby Sarah, and couldn't watch the D. The ranch itself, the Double D, needed new fencing, and Jack had to be the one to do the work. Riley listened to every one. In fact, the excuses filled a good ten minutes. Jack said it wasn't even that he didn't want to go. Hell, the thought of any time alone with Riley sounded good to him. It was just… Kicking back and doing nothing? It would be a first for Jack, and the thought of it didn't sit comfortably. Riley, the bastard, did what he was good at. He said nothing at all and simply allowed Jack to get it all off his chest. Then he just looked at Jack with soulful eyes and a pleading expression on his face.
"It's only ten days, and I need the time with you." It had been such a simple statement, but it had been enough to win Jack to Riley's way of thinking in an instant. The last year had been full of ups and downs, but Jack's worries were so small compared to everything Riley had been through. His brother dying, his sister-in-law being responsible for his murder, and his father taking the blame before succumbing to cancer himself. Then there was the whole parentage issue with Beth's baby. Riley worked hard, and he and Jack played hard, but so often Riley would get lost in everything that had happened and guilt tripped him up on his face. Added to this, Riley was hip deep in working on the auction for exploration rights of tens of millions of acres of undersea minerals in the western Gulf of Mexico. As young as he was, Riley's expertise, and his position on the board of Hayes Oil was enough for his fledgling consultancy in ethical exploration for oil to grow exponentially. There had been too many days apart, and Jack didn't like to think of himself as clingy, but jeez, at least one full weekend together would be good.
"Okay, we'll go," Jack had finally agreed. And thank God he had. Because this meant he was with Riley in this paradise and he could slip open the door, step onto the golden sands, and then run to the water. Diving into the cerulean sea would be a sharp cold slap in the face at this time of the morning, but there were only two better ways to wake up in Jack's opinion—either lying with Riley's arms wrapped around him or standing at the corral fence and watching the Texas dawn spread over his land. He unlocked the door and opened it quietly.
"Don't go."
Jack stopped at the words and looked back at the bed where he had left a comatose Riley, expecting to see his lover, his husband, awake but sleepy. Instead he got an eyeful of sheets pushed back to reveal six-four of tanned muscled naked Riley. Not only that, but Riley had a hand around a rather impressive morning erection and had the biggest, most suggestive grin on his face Jack had seen since yesterday morning's welcoming smile.
"I wanted a swim," Jack said.
"And I want you naked and draped over me." Riley arched up into his fist, and it was a beautiful sight—his husband naked and ready, acres of warm, toned skin available to touch.
"Is that supposed to make me stay, het-boy?" Jack belied the joking words as he locked the door and let the drapes fall back, the room moving from lighter to darker in an instant. It wasn't dark enough to hide the mouthwatering sight of Riley Campbell-Hayes running his hand up and down himself and arching his back into the motion. Riley reached out with his free hand and grabbed the nearly empty bottle of lube from the bedside cabinet. He aimed and then threw the lube at Jack, who caught it deftly.
"One of us is overdressed." Riley looked pointedly at the shorts Jack had pulled on to go for a swim. Jack pasted an innocent look on his face and pushed the shorts down his legs until they pooled on the floor. If he took a little extra time to do so, then sue him. Riley wasn't the only one who could tease.
"What do you want me to do with this?" Jack indicated the lube in his hand. He climbed as gracefully as he could onto the bed and straddled Riley's knees, taking his fill of the striking toned body laid out under him. From wide shoulders to narrow hips, broad chest to an impressive dick, Riley was perfection personified. Not to mention the slight scattering of dark blond hair on Riley's chest and two dark-tinted nipples there waiting to be sucked and bitten.
"It's my turn, cowboy," Riley said, "so I'm guessin' you need to be gettin' on with some fingers in your ass." Jack loved it when Riley was so turned on his accent slid from educated city boy to pure Texan cowboy in an instant.
"Your turn, huh?" Jack began seriously. He opened the lube and poured more than a generous amount on his fingers. They may well have made love last night and into the morning, but shit, Riley's dick was freaking huge, and he really needed to make sure he was stretched enough to be comfortable.
"Check the notches on my side of the headboard." Riley arched into his fist and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving a slide of glistening moisture. It was an invitation Jack couldn't refuse. Despite the hottest sex he had ever experienced in his life with a lover who didn't hold back, at the end of the day, it was the intimacy of kissing Jack ached to share. He leaned down and traced the path of Riley's tongue with his own, pulling at his husband's lower lip with his teeth and releasing the plump skin. The kisses deepened, and as they kissed, Jack was leaning on one hand and using the other to loosen and lubricate himself. His dick was ready, leaking and so freaking hard. Every so often it brushed Riley's in electric contact. His husband's hand snaked around Jack, joining Jack's fingers and stretching with him. With the feel of the digits inside him and the lube, Jack was panting his need into Riley's mouth way too fast. He pushed himself down on Riley's fingers then raised himself off, before shuffling higher up the bed and using his lubed hand to line Riley up. In seconds they were together, Riley buried so far inside, and the shock of pain and discomfort dissipating in the desperation of need and want. Jack set the rhythm, leaning in briefly for more kisses and then sitting up. Riley wrapped his hands around his dick, and he closed his eyes. The sight and sound of Riley arching and moaning and pleading was going to send him over the edge far too fast to stop.
"Open your eyes," Riley pleaded. All Jack could do was shake his head. "Please. Open them. See me when we come together." Jack's orgasm was building, and with thrust after thrust, completion came closer. Riley's hand on his dick became more erratic. This was a sure sign he was close, and finally, Jack opened his eyes. Riley's face was flushed red, his eyes wide, his mouth slack, and Jack let himself go. With a final move, a twist and the scrape of Riley's dick over his prostate, he lost it hot and wet over Riley's stomach. The tensing of his muscles sent Riley high and the feeling of being filled was exquisite.
"I love you, Jack."
"I love you too," Jack answered as he pulled off as gently as he could and slid boneless to one side of Riley. "God, I love you."
Laughing like kids, they grabbed swim shorts and suntan lotion and set off for the beach. Jack packed a bag with towels and books and a multitude of other vital beach stuff. Riley picked up his phone, but after a second's consideration, which Jack watched without making it obvious, he simply dropped it in the top drawer. They only had two more days here, and Jack was relieved Riley was finally letting go of the office.
They spent all day at the shoreline, talking, planning and discussing the family.
"He's a nice guy," Riley offered carefully. Jack shook his head in denial.
"He's twenty years younger than Mom," Jack had the age gap worked out to the nearest day in his head the minute his mom revealed she had affection for Neil Kendrick, the new veterinary at the horse practice they used.
"But he makes her happy."
"He's living in a one-room rental."
"He only moved there three months ago, give him a break."
"He's not what I want for her."
"It's her choice."
"It might be a money thing. Maybe I should get a PI to check him out."
"For God's sake, Jack, you can't get a PI to check out the vet just because your momma is sweet on him."
Jack subsided into silence as he couldn't think of what say. It wasn't that he didn't want his mom to be happy. He did. Beth and Josh had families, he had Riley, and she had spent so much time being there for her family she had left herself on her own. Neil seemed like a nice enough guy, so maybe he should listen to Riley or have a quiet word. Jeez. It was the age gap… that was all. He looked over at Riley who was face down on the towel. Every second Riley was out here he lost more of the office pallor he wore so well. He was turning brown as a nut.
"I'm not saying you're right," Jack offered grudgingly. "But he's a nice enough guy, good with horses. I'll…" When his voice trailed off, Riley looked up at him expectantly. "I'll try. Okay?"
Riley smiled his approval and then clambered to stand. "I'm hungry," he said, and patted his stomach to emphasize his words.
"You're always hungry," Jack muttered as he used Riley's offered hand to stand up. They hugged quickly, and Jack luxuriated in the expanse of Riley's warm skin. Hugging for no other reason than to feel was good. They finally pulled apart to pick up the items they'd bought with them
"Shower. Food. Nap. Sex." Riley counted off the options in order on his fingers, and slowly, hand in hand, they made their way back to the weathered villa at the tree line.
The shower was heaven, the food was delivered as they dried off, and they consumed it all with uncurbed enthusiasm. The nap was more cuddling and talking than actual sleeping and was only disturbed when Riley's phone sounded again from the drawer.
"I'm expecting a call from Travers and the consortium," Riley explained. With a wryly apologetic expression on his face he opened the drawer and pulled out the iPhone, glancing down at the screen and double-taking as he read. Jack read over his shoulder.
"Twelve missed calls and three voicemails?" Jack said. "Is this consortium thing a problem for you?" Riley hadn't said much about the latest consultation he was involved in apart from the usual. Setting up CH Consultancy had been tough on Riley on top of everything else. He was in the house office one hell of a lot, and his cell phone was his constant companion.
"Not really," Riley answered. "Thought it was done and dusted before we left for here." He thumbed to his voicemail. The list only had one name on it—Eden Hayes. Jack watched as Riley listened to his voicemails, watching his husband's reaction for any clues as to what the problem was. Riley just looked more and more confused each second that went past.
Then he went white. Literally every single element of color left his face, and he dropped the cell. It fell to the floor and bounced to a stop next to the mini fridge.
"Ri?" Jack said, shocked. Riley didn't say a thing. He just stared at Jack with a mixture of loss and utter shock. "What is it? Talk to me." Still no reply, and Jack was growing more scared. "Is it the family? Eden? Beth's baby? What?"
"It was Eden," Riley finally offered. His voice was dead flat with no emotion. "She's sending the jet. We have to go home." Riley stood and crossed to the suitcases, opening his and scooping clothes from the closet haphazardly into the space. Jack wasn't sure what to say, but actions spoke louder than words. He stopped Riley with a firm grip on muscled arms, and he pushed himself into Riley's space.
"What's wrong? Tell me what's happened." He shook Riley slightly to snap him out of whatever shock was driving the instinct to pack and not talk. Riley blinked his way back to this world, and sorrow filled his eyes. It was a heartbreaking expression, and Jack had seen it too many times since meeting Riley to not know something terrible must have happened. He put two and two together and came up with the only solution that would make sense in all of this. "Did they find out about what Lisa did?" No one outside of a few members of the family knew it had been Jeff's wife who had shot him, as Riley's father had taken the fall. If anyone found it out now, it would mean ruin for far too many people with secrets.
"No. It's me."
"You?"
"God. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Riley's face held so much grief.
"Ri, you're scaring me."
"Eden said…" Riley twisted his fingers into his short hair, closing his eyes.
"What!"
"A daughter." Riley opened his eyes, and his expression was anguished. "Fuck, Jack. I have a daughter."
"The phone," Jack mumbled. Blindly reaching past Riley and fumbling for the offending item, he managed to grab and check who was calling—unknown number. Irritation shot through him, but he wasn't sure if it was at the offending caller or that Riley's phone wasn't on silent for their precious two hours of sleep. He could just imagine it was a freaking reporter, still after interviews even after all this time. A whole year had passed since Jeff's shooting, and the tabloid press remained hungry for Campbell-Hayes stories.
"What?" Riley was about as lucid as Jack and raised his head with half-open eyes. His blond hair was sleep mussed, and probably, Jack considered, sex mussed. His hazel eyes looked bloodshot, and in a second, it wasn't irritation Jack felt for Riley's inability to turn off his cell, but affection and love.
"Go back to sleep," he ordered. Riley didn't argue, and he lay back down on the pillow and resumed the rhythmic heavy breathing Jack had become used to. Jack tried to sleep himself, but even though the instant panic he had felt at the call had subsided, his brain refused to stop thinking. Cautiously he edged out of the huge bed and snuck a quick look at the early morning outside their villa. The Caribbean Sea was a sparkling sapphire blue, and the beach to the shore line was empty of a single soul.
When Riley had presented Jack with tickets for what he enthusiastically called a honeymoon, Jack had every single excuse under the sun ready to go. The horses needed him. His mom was getting too friendly with the veterinarian they used. Emily had started to talk, and they didn't want to miss that. Josh was busy with the newest addition to his family, baby Sarah, and couldn't watch the D. The ranch itself, the Double D, needed new fencing, and Jack had to be the one to do the work. Riley listened to every one. In fact, the excuses filled a good ten minutes. Jack said it wasn't even that he didn't want to go. Hell, the thought of any time alone with Riley sounded good to him. It was just… Kicking back and doing nothing? It would be a first for Jack, and the thought of it didn't sit comfortably. Riley, the bastard, did what he was good at. He said nothing at all and simply allowed Jack to get it all off his chest. Then he just looked at Jack with soulful eyes and a pleading expression on his face.
"It's only ten days, and I need the time with you." It had been such a simple statement, but it had been enough to win Jack to Riley's way of thinking in an instant. The last year had been full of ups and downs, but Jack's worries were so small compared to everything Riley had been through. His brother dying, his sister-in-law being responsible for his murder, and his father taking the blame before succumbing to cancer himself. Then there was the whole parentage issue with Beth's baby. Riley worked hard, and he and Jack played hard, but so often Riley would get lost in everything that had happened and guilt tripped him up on his face. Added to this, Riley was hip deep in working on the auction for exploration rights of tens of millions of acres of undersea minerals in the western Gulf of Mexico. As young as he was, Riley's expertise, and his position on the board of Hayes Oil was enough for his fledgling consultancy in ethical exploration for oil to grow exponentially. There had been too many days apart, and Jack didn't like to think of himself as clingy, but jeez, at least one full weekend together would be good.
"Okay, we'll go," Jack had finally agreed. And thank God he had. Because this meant he was with Riley in this paradise and he could slip open the door, step onto the golden sands, and then run to the water. Diving into the cerulean sea would be a sharp cold slap in the face at this time of the morning, but there were only two better ways to wake up in Jack's opinion—either lying with Riley's arms wrapped around him or standing at the corral fence and watching the Texas dawn spread over his land. He unlocked the door and opened it quietly.
"Don't go."
Jack stopped at the words and looked back at the bed where he had left a comatose Riley, expecting to see his lover, his husband, awake but sleepy. Instead he got an eyeful of sheets pushed back to reveal six-four of tanned muscled naked Riley. Not only that, but Riley had a hand around a rather impressive morning erection and had the biggest, most suggestive grin on his face Jack had seen since yesterday morning's welcoming smile.
"I wanted a swim," Jack said.
"And I want you naked and draped over me." Riley arched up into his fist, and it was a beautiful sight—his husband naked and ready, acres of warm, toned skin available to touch.
"Is that supposed to make me stay, het-boy?" Jack belied the joking words as he locked the door and let the drapes fall back, the room moving from lighter to darker in an instant. It wasn't dark enough to hide the mouthwatering sight of Riley Campbell-Hayes running his hand up and down himself and arching his back into the motion. Riley reached out with his free hand and grabbed the nearly empty bottle of lube from the bedside cabinet. He aimed and then threw the lube at Jack, who caught it deftly.
"One of us is overdressed." Riley looked pointedly at the shorts Jack had pulled on to go for a swim. Jack pasted an innocent look on his face and pushed the shorts down his legs until they pooled on the floor. If he took a little extra time to do so, then sue him. Riley wasn't the only one who could tease.
"What do you want me to do with this?" Jack indicated the lube in his hand. He climbed as gracefully as he could onto the bed and straddled Riley's knees, taking his fill of the striking toned body laid out under him. From wide shoulders to narrow hips, broad chest to an impressive dick, Riley was perfection personified. Not to mention the slight scattering of dark blond hair on Riley's chest and two dark-tinted nipples there waiting to be sucked and bitten.
"It's my turn, cowboy," Riley said, "so I'm guessin' you need to be gettin' on with some fingers in your ass." Jack loved it when Riley was so turned on his accent slid from educated city boy to pure Texan cowboy in an instant.
"Your turn, huh?" Jack began seriously. He opened the lube and poured more than a generous amount on his fingers. They may well have made love last night and into the morning, but shit, Riley's dick was freaking huge, and he really needed to make sure he was stretched enough to be comfortable.
"Check the notches on my side of the headboard." Riley arched into his fist and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving a slide of glistening moisture. It was an invitation Jack couldn't refuse. Despite the hottest sex he had ever experienced in his life with a lover who didn't hold back, at the end of the day, it was the intimacy of kissing Jack ached to share. He leaned down and traced the path of Riley's tongue with his own, pulling at his husband's lower lip with his teeth and releasing the plump skin. The kisses deepened, and as they kissed, Jack was leaning on one hand and using the other to loosen and lubricate himself. His dick was ready, leaking and so freaking hard. Every so often it brushed Riley's in electric contact. His husband's hand snaked around Jack, joining Jack's fingers and stretching with him. With the feel of the digits inside him and the lube, Jack was panting his need into Riley's mouth way too fast. He pushed himself down on Riley's fingers then raised himself off, before shuffling higher up the bed and using his lubed hand to line Riley up. In seconds they were together, Riley buried so far inside, and the shock of pain and discomfort dissipating in the desperation of need and want. Jack set the rhythm, leaning in briefly for more kisses and then sitting up. Riley wrapped his hands around his dick, and he closed his eyes. The sight and sound of Riley arching and moaning and pleading was going to send him over the edge far too fast to stop.
"Open your eyes," Riley pleaded. All Jack could do was shake his head. "Please. Open them. See me when we come together." Jack's orgasm was building, and with thrust after thrust, completion came closer. Riley's hand on his dick became more erratic. This was a sure sign he was close, and finally, Jack opened his eyes. Riley's face was flushed red, his eyes wide, his mouth slack, and Jack let himself go. With a final move, a twist and the scrape of Riley's dick over his prostate, he lost it hot and wet over Riley's stomach. The tensing of his muscles sent Riley high and the feeling of being filled was exquisite.
"I love you, Jack."
"I love you too," Jack answered as he pulled off as gently as he could and slid boneless to one side of Riley. "God, I love you."
* * * * *
Laughing like kids, they grabbed swim shorts and suntan lotion and set off for the beach. Jack packed a bag with towels and books and a multitude of other vital beach stuff. Riley picked up his phone, but after a second's consideration, which Jack watched without making it obvious, he simply dropped it in the top drawer. They only had two more days here, and Jack was relieved Riley was finally letting go of the office.
They spent all day at the shoreline, talking, planning and discussing the family.
"He's a nice guy," Riley offered carefully. Jack shook his head in denial.
"He's twenty years younger than Mom," Jack had the age gap worked out to the nearest day in his head the minute his mom revealed she had affection for Neil Kendrick, the new veterinary at the horse practice they used.
"But he makes her happy."
"He's living in a one-room rental."
"He only moved there three months ago, give him a break."
"He's not what I want for her."
"It's her choice."
"It might be a money thing. Maybe I should get a PI to check him out."
"For God's sake, Jack, you can't get a PI to check out the vet just because your momma is sweet on him."
Jack subsided into silence as he couldn't think of what say. It wasn't that he didn't want his mom to be happy. He did. Beth and Josh had families, he had Riley, and she had spent so much time being there for her family she had left herself on her own. Neil seemed like a nice enough guy, so maybe he should listen to Riley or have a quiet word. Jeez. It was the age gap… that was all. He looked over at Riley who was face down on the towel. Every second Riley was out here he lost more of the office pallor he wore so well. He was turning brown as a nut.
"I'm not saying you're right," Jack offered grudgingly. "But he's a nice enough guy, good with horses. I'll…" When his voice trailed off, Riley looked up at him expectantly. "I'll try. Okay?"
Riley smiled his approval and then clambered to stand. "I'm hungry," he said, and patted his stomach to emphasize his words.
"You're always hungry," Jack muttered as he used Riley's offered hand to stand up. They hugged quickly, and Jack luxuriated in the expanse of Riley's warm skin. Hugging for no other reason than to feel was good. They finally pulled apart to pick up the items they'd bought with them
"Shower. Food. Nap. Sex." Riley counted off the options in order on his fingers, and slowly, hand in hand, they made their way back to the weathered villa at the tree line.
The shower was heaven, the food was delivered as they dried off, and they consumed it all with uncurbed enthusiasm. The nap was more cuddling and talking than actual sleeping and was only disturbed when Riley's phone sounded again from the drawer.
"I'm expecting a call from Travers and the consortium," Riley explained. With a wryly apologetic expression on his face he opened the drawer and pulled out the iPhone, glancing down at the screen and double-taking as he read. Jack read over his shoulder.
"Twelve missed calls and three voicemails?" Jack said. "Is this consortium thing a problem for you?" Riley hadn't said much about the latest consultation he was involved in apart from the usual. Setting up CH Consultancy had been tough on Riley on top of everything else. He was in the house office one hell of a lot, and his cell phone was his constant companion.
"Not really," Riley answered. "Thought it was done and dusted before we left for here." He thumbed to his voicemail. The list only had one name on it—Eden Hayes. Jack watched as Riley listened to his voicemails, watching his husband's reaction for any clues as to what the problem was. Riley just looked more and more confused each second that went past.
Then he went white. Literally every single element of color left his face, and he dropped the cell. It fell to the floor and bounced to a stop next to the mini fridge.
"Ri?" Jack said, shocked. Riley didn't say a thing. He just stared at Jack with a mixture of loss and utter shock. "What is it? Talk to me." Still no reply, and Jack was growing more scared. "Is it the family? Eden? Beth's baby? What?"
"It was Eden," Riley finally offered. His voice was dead flat with no emotion. "She's sending the jet. We have to go home." Riley stood and crossed to the suitcases, opening his and scooping clothes from the closet haphazardly into the space. Jack wasn't sure what to say, but actions spoke louder than words. He stopped Riley with a firm grip on muscled arms, and he pushed himself into Riley's space.
"What's wrong? Tell me what's happened." He shook Riley slightly to snap him out of whatever shock was driving the instinct to pack and not talk. Riley blinked his way back to this world, and sorrow filled his eyes. It was a heartbreaking expression, and Jack had seen it too many times since meeting Riley to not know something terrible must have happened. He put two and two together and came up with the only solution that would make sense in all of this. "Did they find out about what Lisa did?" No one outside of a few members of the family knew it had been Jeff's wife who had shot him, as Riley's father had taken the fall. If anyone found it out now, it would mean ruin for far too many people with secrets.
"No. It's me."
"You?"
"God. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Riley's face held so much grief.
"Ri, you're scaring me."
"Eden said…" Riley twisted his fingers into his short hair, closing his eyes.
"What!"
"A daughter." Riley opened his eyes, and his expression was anguished. "Fuck, Jack. I have a daughter."
Spiritual Whispers by VL Locey
Chapter One
Taliesin
I was pretty sure exactly what had spurred Winston to sit on my face.
Generally, three possibilities lead to having a cat butt in the face at the crack of dawn. My old, fat tiger cat was hungry. My old, fat tiger cat was hungry. And my old, fat tiger cat was hungry.
“Winston, honestly, it’s too early,” I groaned, pushing a furry ass off my forehead, then attempting to roll over. With the twenty-pound tom on the blanket, moving was difficult. I huffed and lay there, staring at the window of my bedroom, blinking blindly at the small electric alarm clock on my bedstand. The numbers were unreadable. Slapping at the stand for my glasses, I yawned, the sound of rain hitting the window finally reaching me through the thunderous purrs.
I lay there for another moment, Winston resting on my chest, whiskers tickling my scruffy chin as he watched me with his cross-eyed stare, and reminisced. Rainy fall days had always been Carmichael’s favorite. Autumn really made the man insanely happy. He’d bounce around the shop humming those silly old songs from the twenties that we played all day long at Afterlife Antiquities. He’d always said he’d been born in the wrong era. He had a passion for all things from the turn-of-the-century to the forties. The shop was packed full of delightfully different furnishings, knick-knacks, clothing up on the second floor, and various odd and disarming tidbits that tourists filing into Couton-on-the-River, Vermont, to leaf peep gobbled up.
With the pitter-patter of precipitation on the panes, I let my eyes close as the memory of Carmichael’s strong arms soothed the loneliness away. If only we’d known he would go so soon, we would have moved up the wedding. But fate was unkind that way. We’d dilly-dallied. We’d postponed several times so that his children could come to terms with their father falling in love with a much, much younger man.
Even though Carmichael had lost his wife Penelope to cancer years ago and then came out to his two grown children before leaving the UK, his two daughters loathed me. They felt that I’d been using my youthful charms to bewitch their father in some sort of internet gigolo scheme. As if I had any charms! And we’d not even met online. We’d met years after he’d settled in Vermont, far away from the painful memories in their Cotswold cottage. Charms. Pfft. It was preposterous. I was a beanpole ginger with wild curls and a wickedly terrible myopia. Oh, and there were my freckles and the fact that a good New England wind could blow me down the main street of Couton-on-the-River. Yep, I sure was beguiling. Not. The fact that Carmichael had left me this shop was still a source of contention with the girls, but there was nothing they could do legally. They’d tried, God knows, sapping me of most of my funds, which made buying new antiquities difficult. Guess they figured if the courts wouldn’t help them, they’d just keep burying me in legal fees until I had to sell. To them.
Winston patted my face with his paw. I blinked at him. “Right. Yep. I’m on it.”
He proceeded to walk down my middle, stepping on my full bladder and my left nut. So all in all, a typical Monday in Couton-on-the-River. I heard Winston patter across the floor and out to the living room to use his scratching post. Still suffering from the effects of another midnight tea, I snuggled under the covers, inhaling the smell of wisteria fabric softener on the beautiful white chenille bedspread Carmichael had so loved. Eighteen months ago it had smelled of him and me but now all traces of his scent were gone on the bedding. Sighing deeply, I willed away the melancholy, but the rain and wind blowing outdoors didn’t help. Without warning, the blanket was tugged from under my chin. I smiled at the ceiling as the faintest trace of that familiar sea-faring scent tickled my nose.
“Okay, I’m up. I’m up.” I kicked off the covers, let my feet fall to the smooth wooden floorboards, and rubbed my hands over my face. Knowing that would be the last I’d hear from the other side for the rest of the day, I blew out a breath and found my glasses. Once they rested on my nose, the rest of the world came into sharp view. The small bedroom piled with to-be restored or priced items, many of which had been here when Carmichael had died, the four-poster bed of dark walnut, the huge armoire that held our suits, the Cheval floor mirror in the corner, and the old window with the Queen’s lace scalloped topper. I moved to one of several throw rugs. My feet grew cold quickly and I ran a hand over the chilly pane as if I could swipe away the droplets magically. “Please rest. You expended too much corporeal energy last night,” I whispered to the empty room. If he heard me or not, I couldn’t say.
Winston reappeared, rubbing around my bare ankles. With a smile, I left the window and padded to the cramped bathroom to piss and wash my hands. I’d shower after breakfast to give the ancient water heater time to warm enough water to bathe in. I slid my feet into my slippers, pulled a smoking jacket on, and made the bed. That habit I’d picked up from Carmichael. For a man who lived among so much clutter, he insisted the bed was always to be made. Not wishing to disturb anything we’d shared, I simply did as he did.
Leaving the bathroom, I slippered my way into my living quarters. It was a congested area that doubled as a living room/dining nook/kitchen space that kicked off awkwardly from the rear of the shop. I sighed when I spied the pink rose Royal Albert tea set and pot sitting in the sink, still dirty from last night’s midnight tea.
“Sorry,” I said to the ether. Carmichael was rather fastidious about his tea sets. He would have never let a rare set like that sit overnight with tea in it. He claimed doing so would stain the fine porcelain. Given that he had spent nearly forty years in the antique business, I generally deferred to his vast knowledge. What I knew about Balmoral vanities, drop-leaf tables, and Blue Willow dishes could fit into one of the sterling silver thimbles that were on display in the main showroom. I was more of a button, bow tie, and hat man, but since losing my fiancé, I was learning fast. I had to. Antiquities were hot commodities, especially in a tourist town that sat about forty miles from Manchester, Vermont. There was a woman in Manchester who ran a huge shop that pulled in triple the sales that I did. Her name was Cruella. Not really. It was Davina Crook, and her last name suited her. She had oodles of cash and always outbid me at the sales we attended.
“I’m going to use electric today,” I mumbled to whoever was listening. I could picture him scowling at me as he always did when I took the lazy way out.
“One must make real tea properly,” he would say and then insist I use the kettle on the stove so I wouldn’t overboil the water, which would remove oxygen. He would add, “When you get to my age, my sweet, you learn that taking time to do things with love is the only proper way to live.” After, he would kiss me softly and supervise the tea making from the breakfast nook.
“It’ll be Earl Grey,” I offered to the silent little apartment, knowing that would placate him. “Hot,” I added, then winked. I’d often teased him about being my version of Captain Picard. They resembled each other greatly, from the suave British accent to the balding head to the love of history and antiquities. Carmichael would usually preen a bit after the comparison was made, and rightfully so. Sir Patrick Stewart was incredible.
Making a mental note to clean the teapot and cups before I opened the shop, I brewed a cup of Earl Grey, toasted a bagel, and then fed poor starving Winston. The old tom dove into the dry food in his dish as if he’d not eaten in months. Which was simply not true. His dish was empty because he was a piggy. Still, I adored the old man. Guess I really did have a thing for mature men, be they furred or balding.
Winston and I ate in companionable silence as a cold September rain beat on the windows. Afterward, I showered, shaved, and got dressed in a blue checkered suit with a white shirt and blue bow tie. I’d always loved skinny suits and bow ties. It was my esthetic. I raked my fingers through my wet curls—combing was impossible as I’d forgotten to condition the snarled mass of ringlets—and splashed on some sandalwood bourbon cologne. It stung a bit. I put on my wristwatch, checked the time, and entered Afterlife Antiquities via the woefully empty storeroom. I placed some bills and coins into the register and pulled up the playlist of songs from bygone eras on my phone and fed it through the stereo system via Bluetooth. That was one small concession I’d gotten Carmichael to make. He’d used cassettes for years for background music. I took pride in bringing computers and a small bit of tech to our store. It sure made bookkeeping easier.
Breathing in the smell of lemon furniture polish and fine wood, I made a quick sweep of the store to check for dead mice. Winston had a habit of leaving partially eaten rodents lying around, which skeeved out the customers. The ground floor held most of the antiques left in stock. We carried anything from a massive parlor organ and hand-crafted wardrobes to small trinkets and fine jewelry. Upstairs we had a small nook filled with antique clothing, ties, shoes, hats, and more hats. There was a small sitting area with two armchairs and a round table. In the corner was a maple stand that held a cathedral style radio circa 1931, the tubes on their last legs, but the teakwood veneer was still in perfect condition. I ran my fingers over the burnished knobs that controlled the volume, tone, and the lighted dial for seeking stations.
That was where we had midnight tea when the ether was conflux to supernatural communications. I’d found Carmichael here dead that day, sitting in the armchair on the left, reading one of the dusty old books that he loved so much, a cup of Earl Grey still steaming as it rested on its China saucer. He’d not been gone thirty minutes, citing his need for a break on that particularly busy early summer day. When I called him down for lunch, he’d never replied, so I went looking. Sometimes he would nap up there, but this time...well, this time he wasn’t asleep. The aneurysm had been painless, according to our local doctor. Which was a small blessing.
The rattling of the door pulled me from my memories. I patted the radio, straightened my bow tie, and hustled down the stairs to unlock the front door. I’d been expecting a slow morning due to the cold and rain. Peering around the sign that had our hours of operations on it, my gaze went up, up, up and locked on a woefully sodden man with a face of a battle god, scarred, yes, but masculine and beautiful. Dark hair plastered to his head and his shoulders drawn up by his ears.
The fine hairs on the nape of my neck rose as our eyes met through the wet glass.
“He’s so beautiful.” I sighed, my breath fogging the glass.
Mr. Handsome and Soggy jerked his wet hand at the door in a “Are you going to open the door or what?” gesture. I gasped at my rudeness, threw the deadbolt, and yanked open the door. A chilly wind whirled around me as rain blew into the shop.
“I’m so sorry, I—” I began. The door then flew out of my hand and slammed shut. My gaze flew around the shop. “What are you doing?!” I spat to the specter who had to be hovering nearby. Obviously, I got no reply. It wasn’t the proper time for communication across the void. Stunned by Carmichael’s behavior, I rattled the knob to no avail. “What on Earth?!” I growled, jerking on the knob with all my strength. It creaked open an inch. Mr. Handsome and Soggier said something that sounded rather snippy, and then the door crashed shut yet again. The deadbolt locked tightly a second later. “Why are you being such a temperamental turd?!” I shouted as I battled with the lock, to no avail.
Wasn’t this a fine way to start the day?
The Redemptive Rifleman by Frank W Butterfield
6, rue Catherine la Grande
Paris, France
Wednesday, November 24, 1965
4:04 p.m.
"Nick?"
"Good morning, Dr. Sylvester." Dr. Ernest Sylvester was a psychoanalyst I'd been seeing and talking to over the phone since the summer of '60, nearly five and a half years.
"Good morning. Or should I say, 'Good afternoon'?"
I chuckled.
"What can I help you with? I think this may be our first Wednesday appointment."
"Yeah." I took a deep breath and looked around. I was sitting in the library of our house in Paris, right under the kitchen and right above the Turkish bath. I had pulled the big, black phone over to the love seat and was curled up on it, something I rarely did.
"Nick? What's happened?"
"Well, first things first. Thanks for meeting with me so early. I wasn't sure if you'd be able to do so at 7 in the morning. And I'm sorry they called and woke you up in the middle of the night."
"I'm at home and, of course, will be billing you for this phone call."
I laughed. "Of course."
There was a crackling silence over the phone. I could hear the echo of another conversation happening. The callers were speaking French and, as usual, I understood none of it. That reminded me of something important I had to say. "Before we start, I wanna remind you about Uncle Chester." That was our code word which meant that it was likely someone was listening in on the call, probably the C.I.A., but it could have been anyone. When I'd picked up the ringing phone, I'd heard a subtle click, followed by two more in rapid succession. As far as I could tell, that was the clue that there was at least one extra pair of ears on the line.
"Ah, yes, dear old Uncle Chester. One of these days, I'd like to have him on the couch." I knew he was specifically talking about J. Edgar Hoover, the long-time head of the F.B.I.
I laughed. "That would be interesting."
"At a dollar or more a minute, Nick..."
I sighed. "I know and I'm sorry." I took a deep breath and then said, "Louise passed away last night your time." Louise Jones Richardson was the mother of Carter Jones who was my tall, muscular, ex-fireman of a husband.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Nick. How are you feeling?"
"To be honest, the main thing on my mind is that it seems like it was just a day or two ago when we first got the news she was sick."
"That was during your trial in 1962, correct?"
"It was a hearing, but, yeah." There was another long, crackling pause. The French couple were still at it. Finally, I said, "Ed called us at about 8 this morning, which was at 2, Eastern Time. Louise went to sleep and just stopped breathing."
"I am very sorry."
"She'd been doing so much better. She was here, you know. Just a couple of weeks ago."
"I remember your saying so."
"I feel hollow." That sounded like something I'd once read in a book, but it was also right on the money.
"That, of course, makes sense. You've suffered a loss. You feel the absence of Louise."
I sighed. "Yeah."
More crackling silence. The pair who'd been chatting in French hung up. I could hear the click. The crackling got a little louder and a hiss that I hadn't noticed started up.
"I sense there is something more you wish to tell me."
"Yeah. It's about Carter."
"How is he?"
"Pretty bad. He had already planned a day trip to Marseilles to check on a couple of his gyms down there. He decided to go and should be back in an hour or two, depending on traffic."
"And what have you done all day?"
"I've been out walking around. I popped into one of our hotels for lunch. But, mostly, I've been walking around."
"Where did you go?"
"Mostly up to Monkmarter. I love going up there. It reminds me of Uncle Paul and Joujou." My Great Uncle Paul Williams, who had passed away in 1932 and whom I had only met once when I was a kid, had spent a lot of time in the very house where I was sitting. That had been back during the Belle Époque. He had lived elsewhere and spent a goodly amount of time up on the hill above Paris.
"Monkmarter? Do you mean Montmartre?"
I laughed. "Yeah. You should know by now, doc, how bad my French is."
"I still believe that, if you tried..." He sighed. "I'm rather off the point, aren't I?" Before I could answer, he said, "My apologies. Please, go on."
"Before I had lunch, I called Carter at his gym in Marseilles. He could barely talk, he was crying so hard."
"That's quite understandable. How did you feel about that?"
"I don't know." I thought about that for a moment. "I think Carter is upset because he didn't get a chance to really say goodbye to his mother."
"How does that make you feel?"
I knew why he asked that question. Over and over and over again. It was a good question to ask. But, still, it irritated me. "Well, I'm ready to go any time, doc. You know because we've talked about it. There's no one in my life who doesn't know how I feel about them. I could pop off right now, and no one would be confused or surprised. Kenneth"—Kenneth Wilcox was our lawyer—"keeps my will in shape. I'm ready to die any time, doc."
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"Take a deep breath."
I did just that.
"Now, how does it make you feel that Carter is upset?"
I immediately knew the answer. It was the reason I'd begged Dr. Sylvester's answering service to call him at home. I took a deep breath and just said it, "I said goodbye to Louise when they were here earlier this month."
"Does Carter know that?"
"Yeah. I begged him to do the same thing and I think he tried, but I don't know."
"You don't know if he tried?"
"Right."
Dr. Sylvester paused and then asked, "What, if anything, do you think your job is here?"
That was a good question. "Well, I love Carter and I want him to know that and to feel that."
"You once told me about the first night you spent in that house. In the Turkish bath."
I grinned in spite of everything. "Yeah. That was quite a night."
"I believe you told me that was the only place in the house that was warm."
"Yeah."
"It seems to me, Nick, that Carter might respond to an action like that much better than to any words."
I nodded to myself, suddenly feeling like I had something I could do. "Thanks, doc. That's what I needed. Now I know what I can do."
"My pleasure, Nick. May I ask something?"
"Sure."
"Please don't offer to buy out the answering service the next time you need to reach me."
"Sorry about that."
"That's quite alright. Simply tell them you're a priority client. But use that word judiciously, Nick."
"I will. Thanks, doc."
"I have two more questions."
"Shoot."
"Where will the funeral service be?"
I took a deep breath. "Well, that's another part of what has Carter upset. It's gonna be in Albany, in Georgia, in his and his mother's hometown, on Monday."
"Does he wish to go?"
"It's hard to say. I think we should." I sighed. "We were both surprised that she wanted to be buried there instead of in Vermont. But, then again, maybe she was too much of a southerner to bear the thought of being buried with a bunch of Yankees."
I could hear Dr. Sylvester chuckle over the line.
I asked, "What was your second question?"
"Do you actually intend to buy the answering service?"
I laughed. "I will if you think I should. I know you're not supposed to tell me what to do as my analyst, but this is business."
He chuckled again. "I think you should. Margaret is getting on in years and could use the break. And the money, to be honest."
"It's a deal then."
"Good." He paused. "You know, of course, that means I'll have to hire another service."
"Why?"
"It's hardly fair to ask the girls who work there to say no to their boss."
I laughed. "You're right about that. Thanks, doc."
"You're welcome, Nick. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." I waited and listened as he hung up. Half a second later, there was a series of clicks. I put the receiver on the base and sighed deeply.
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 ;).
Do you love inclusive, swoony, and often suspenseful small-town romances featuring complex characters and a unique sense of place? I do too! My characters start out broken and, maybe, they’re still a tad banged up by the end, but they find the other half of their hearts and ALWAYS get their happily ever after.
In 2017 I pressed the Publish button for the first time and have never looked back—making this the longest period of time I've stuck with a job in my entire life.
Currently, there are over thirty Elle Keaton books available for you to read or listen to. I love cats and dogs. Star Wars and Star Trek. Pineapple on pizza, and have a cribbage habit my husband encourages.
Connecting with readers is very important to me. If you are so inclined, join The Highway to Elle newsletter, and keep up to date with everything Elle-related (or join my Ream page and get in on the novels early plus swag and extras). Random topics Include, but not limited to, ‘where are Elle's glasses?' and, ‘why are there cats?’. I can also be found on Facebook, Instagram, and occasionally TikTok.
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.
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.
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Elle Keaton
WEBSITE / BLUESKY / AUDIOBOOKS
EMAIL: elle@ellekeaton.com
The Alpha's Cranberry-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
His Best Man by Elle Keaton
Texas Winter by RJ Scott
Spiritual Whispers by VL Locey
The Redemptive Rifleman by Frank W Butterfield
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