Showing posts with label turkey day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label turkey day. Show all posts

Sunday, June 21, 2026

🌈🌻🌼Sunday's Short Stack(Father's Day Edition)🌼🌻🌈: Kick Start by Josh Lanyon



Summary:
Dangerous Ground #5
Be careful what you wish for...

Financial pressures and a brutal workload are not quite what former DSS Agents Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister signed on for when they decided to open their own security consulting business.

When they bump into an old adversary while undercover, and the job goes south, Will braces himself and suggests they head up to Oregon to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday with his family.

Unfortunately, not every member of the Brandt clan loves Taylor the way Will does. Then again, not everyone loves the Brandts. In fact, someone has a score to settle--and too bad for any former feds who get in the way when the bullets start to fly.






Original Review December 2013:
Another great entry in the series. Loved seeing Will in his hometown family element, even with the ups and downs. I truly enjoyed the build-up for the next entry, whenever that will be. I haven't been disappointed yet by this author.


Overall Series Re-Read Review June 2020:
As I said previously, Dangerous Ground was the second Josh Lanyon reading after her Adrien English series and I absolutely loved Will and Taylor.  Equals, friends, partners, lovers.  They truly are everything to each other, throw in the job and the cases(mysteries as they tend to find trouble even on vacation) and it's just all around brilliant storytelling.  I may not re-read this series as often as my annual revisit of her Adrien English series, I will never tire of Will & Taylor.  They are captivating, mesmerizing, intriguing, and just plain wonderfully fun even when the danger is high and they aren't necessarily on the same page they still have each other in mind.  As I said, I will never tire of Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister and their brilliant journey.

RATING:





Taylor yanked the wheel, pulling over to the side of the road. The car bumped over rough ground onto the narrow shoulder, and rolled to a stop. He cut the engine and turned to Grant who, even in the enveloping woodland darkness, he could feel watching him warily.

Taylor said, “You have something you want to say to me?”

“No, sir.” Funny how disrespectful “sir” could sound, depending on the tone and the expression.

“Sure you do,” Taylor said easily. “Let’s hear it.”

Grant unsnapped his seatbelt, shoved open his door and got out. “I’ll walk back,” he said, and slammed shut the door with all his force.

“Shit.” Taylor undid his seatbelt and opened the driver’s door. The night air was very cold and rich with the spicy scent of pine and earth.

He followed Grant who was moving fast, fueled by rage, and already several yards away. Grant’s compact silhouette stomped up the steep incline. Taylor loped after him.

“Do I really scare you that much?”

Grant rounded on him. “You don’t scare me at all.”

“Then why are you running away?”

“Because Will won’t like it when I kick your skinny ass from here to Portland.”

Taylor chuckled.

“You think that’s funny?”

He did, yeah. And the offended note in Grant’s voice struck him as even funnier, but Taylor didn’t want to escalate this any higher than necessary.

“Kind of. Don’t you? What are we really fighting about?”

“We’re not fighting. And we won’t fight so long as you stay the fuck away from me.”

“Only the problem is, we’re family now. So I can only stay so far the fuck away from you.”

“You’re not family! You’re just Will’s…friend. He’s not going to—you’re not going to be here forever.”

Ouch. Would it have been different for David Bradley? Taylor had to wonder. Bradley’s military background, even his size and looks, would probably have been more palatable to Grant.

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Why don’t you just tell me what the problem is.”

He could feel anger and frustration coming off Grant in waves. “You know what the problem is.”

“Sure. I have a pretty good idea, but why don’t we get it out in the open.” Taylor gestured at the towering trees and moonlit mountains. “It doesn’t get more open than this, right?”

He could feel Grant’s inward struggle. At last, Grant spat out, “You’re a queer.”

“I don’t like that word, but yep. I’m gay. And you have a problem with that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you are,” Grant said. “I don’t care about you. I care about Will.”

“I understand that. But Will is who he is. He didn’t become gay for me. I didn’t make him gay.” Taylor’s sense of humor sparked back into life—did Grant think he’d forced Will to watch musicals? Eat quiche?—but he squelched it. This was serious because this angry young man was Will’s little brother and his feelings and opinions mattered to Will. Therefore they needed to matter to Taylor.

“He was never queer before.”

“He’s been queer for as long as I’ve known him.”

Grant made a sound of fury and launched himself at Taylor.

Taylor was ready. Mostly. He had known from the minute he forced Grant to go with him, this was probably going to happen. In fact, he had been pushing Grant into it. Even so, he’d had a long and exhausting day, and as Grant piled into him like a young bull charging a red cape, he felt a flicker of alarm.

He had underestimated his own weariness and stiffness. He had also underestimated Grant, who had been taught to fight by Will.

Grant tackled him low, burying his head in Taylor’s gut, wrapping his arms around Taylor’s knees, and Taylor, who relied on kicks and footwork to avoid getting thrown to the ground where his lack of weight was a dangerous liability, couldn’t maneuver. The wind was knocked out of him and he went down hard in the damp earth with Grant on top.

Worst case scenario. Thirty seconds in and he was about to be pinned in a double leg takedown his own sister could have avoided.

Instinct and adrenaline saved him. That and Grant’s unsportsmanlike attempt to knee him in the balls. Possibly a subconscious wish to neuter him, or maybe not subconscious, but Grant’s shift allowed Taylor to twist and bring his own knees up. He used his left forearm to trap both of Grant’s in an arm bar. That left his right hand free. Taylor swiveled, grappling under Grant’s legs, and throwing his left leg behind Grant’s neck. He was trying to pin Grant face down, but Grant knew that move and yanked out, rolling away to his knees.

Taylor let his own momentum carry him to his feet, and he scrambled ungracefully up. Standing, he was no longer vulnerable. He faced Grant who was upright again as well.

He needed to prevail here. It was that simple. Partly because he would not be able to live down the embarrassment of pushing for a fight he couldn’t win. Partly because with a young guy like Grant, winning was nine-tenths of the law. The law that said Might Makes Right. But he had to do it without seriously hurting Grant—and without letting Grant seriously hurt him. Because Will wouldn’t forgive either of them for seriously harming the other.

Now aware of his own limitations, Taylor waited, breathing hard, for Grant to charge back in—which he did, still too angry to be cautious, throwing a powerful right punch that would have taken out a rib or a lung had it connected. Yeah, that power strike was straight out of the Will Brandt book of hand-to-hand combat. Taylor deflected, grabbed Grant’s lapel and hauled him sideways while delivering a hard kick to the inner knee area of Grant’s weight bearing leg. He was careful not to take out Grant’s knee, but even so the strength and speed of that blow should have brought Grant down.

No such luck.






Josh Lanyon
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.


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EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net



Kick Start #5
B&N  /  AUDIBLE  /  iTUNES AUDIO
iTUNES  /  GOOGLE PLAY  /  BOOKBUB
  /  
Dangerous Ground Series
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO


Sunday, January 11, 2026

⛄πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ’—πŸŽ…πŸŽ„⛄Holiday Season Hi-Jinx 2025 at a Glance⛄πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ’—πŸŽ…πŸŽ„⛄



⛄πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ’—πŸŽ…πŸŽ„⛄
As the New Year continues and the holiday season ends, I've posted links to all the holiday themed posts that have been here at Padme's Library since Thanksgiving.  It's never too late nor too early to enjoy the magic of the holidays.  As we begin 2026, we say goodbye to yet another challenging year & once again perhaps now more than ever, we need to enjoy and experience tales that will spark the holiday spirit within us each and every day.  Hope you had a happy, healthy, and safe holiday season and here's to an amazing and peaceful 2026. πŸ»πŸΉπŸΈπŸ·πŸ»

⛄πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ’—πŸŽ…πŸŽ„⛄





Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4
Part 5  /  Part 6  /  Part 7  /  Part 8
Part 9  /  Part 10  /  Part 11  /  Part 12


















































Monday, December 1, 2025

πŸ¦ƒSunday's Short StackπŸ¦ƒ: A Guy's Thanksgiving by Skylar M Cates




Summary:

The Guy #3.5
Two proposals. One giant dog. Reunited lovers.

Welcome to Glamour, Arizona, where the holidays are never dull. Glamour may be a small town, but the surprises keep coming.

Everybody’s looking forward to Thanksgiving. Only Mac Sharma is a reluctant guest. Even as Anthony and Dean make him feel welcome at the Carrino table, Mac feels awkward among the close-knit group of friends. Life gets even more complicated when Conor Harvey shows up in town.

Mac has been in love with Conor since his university days. Too bad Conor broke his heart—right before he fled to his hometown in Ireland without explanation. Conor’s still a wild artist and as sexy as Mac remembers. But they’re no longer kids. This Thanksgiving, Mac must decide if he can give Conor a second chance.

NOTE: This book was previously published under the same title. The new edition has been reformatted, with new front and back matter, but the overall story is the same.


Original Review November 2015:
First off I just want to say I loved that the author centered this holiday tale around Thanksgiving instead of Christmas.  Don't get me wrong I love Christmas tales but it's refreshing to see Turkey Day get a story.  I loved seeing everyone from the first 3 books come together and in doing so we get to see how each couple is doing and a peek at their future.  I enjoyed getting a closer look at Max but I do wish his and Conor's story would have been a little longer but the story as a whole is engaging, loving, and plain fun.

RATING: 



Chapter One
MAC DIDN’T really want to go, but he had little choice. He’d made a promise to a friend. White bleached the sky, the few small trees on his block stripped and vulnerable looking. He was late because it was freezing cold in New York that November, and he’d gone back to his apartment for a warmer scarf and his cashmere gloves, and after that his taxi hit traffic on the way to LaGuardia. Just how many people traveled the week before Thanksgiving, anyway?

Too many. Mac’s face soured as the taxi slowed to a crawl. It was another fifteen minutes before the airport came into view.

“Seventy-five dollars, mister.”

“Here you go. Keep the change.”

“Awright. You want help with your bags?”

“No, I’ll manage.”

It was only the one bag, after all. Mac made it a point to travel light and pack smart.

The moment he saw him, Mac was sorry he was late. Jesse was in full-blown panic mode. Jesse’s face was a mottled red, his eyes huge and darting all around, his skin pale. With a soft curse, Mac began to move through the check-in hall, tugging at the buttons on his winter coat and wheeling his carry-on behind him.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go?” Jesse gasped, without any hellos. “I can skip it. And the weather is so cold. What if the plane ices? Let’s forget it. And where were you?” He tapped his watch. “We need at least forty-five minutes to go through security.”

Mac waited until he was done with his litany. He had come to expect this with Jesse when air travel was involved.

“No, we’re going. You’re fine. The plane is fine.” He unbuttoned the rest of his coat. The airport’s heat warmed him. “Do you have a good outfit?” Mac eyed Jesse’s usual wardrobe and shuddered. Jesse favored sloppy T-shirts, and his blond hair was often unkempt, wild. Mac, on the other hand, preferred to always be well-groomed. Together he and Jesse must look like quite the mismatched pair. “You did pack something clean?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “People will be looking at my art—”

“And you. People will be looking at you. They like to know the artist. You have to sell yourself. We go over this every single time, Jesse.”

“And I hate it every single time. But yes, I packed something nice and clean to impress everybody.”

“Thank God.”

“Snob.”

“Slob.”

“Fuck you.” But Jesse’s mouth lifted at the corners.

Mac cracked a smile.


TWO WEEKS ago, Jesse had asked Mac to his cabin for dinner. Except for his boyfriend, Aaron, who lived with him, Jesse was a recluse. He rarely left his property. He was also a first-rate sculptor, so Mac, being his agent, assumed Jesse wanted to chat about his latest sales, but that was not the case. Jesse had bigger plans.

He was smart about it. He fed Mac, who rarely cooked, a delicious dinner first. Jesse lulled Mac into contentment with his pasta primavera and a good Merlot. The wine was perfection on Mac’s tongue, with the essence of raspberries and the texture of satin, and Mac was having a second glass by the fireplace when Jesse finally got to his reason for having Mac visit.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You agreed before you even know?”

Mac shrugged. It was no secret he was a sucker for his friends. “What d’you need?”

“You. On an airplane with me.”

“Oh shit. Are we talking about the Southwestern Art Expo? The one in Arizona? And more importantly, are you going to be medicated?”

“Yes, I have my prescription all set. Unfortunately Aaron can’t fly out until a few days later—he’s in the city to test a new game he designed—but I need to be there by the start of the show. You did arrange it for me.”

“I’ll check my calendar. It’s right before Thanksgiving, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And after the show, you get to stay a few extra days. Aaron and I will be going to Glamour. It’s just outside of Phoenix. You can stay there for the holiday and meet our friends Anthony and Dean.”

“I’m sure they’re fabulous—” Mac paused and his mouth thinned. The thought of celebrating Thanksgiving with a bunch of happy gay couples while he was the only single guy didn’t thrill him. “—but I’ll fly back here after the expo.”

“No, you can’t!” Jesse clutched his arm. “You have to stay!”

“Why? I get why you need me for the flight there, but what does it matter if I stay for the holiday?”

“Because….” Jesse’s voice faltered.

“Because?”

Jesse looked at him shyly. “I’m planning to surprise Aaron and propose on Thanksgiving weekend. And I really want my best friend to be with me out there for some moral support. Okay? You may need to pick me up off the floor if Aaron says no.”

“He’ll say yes. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you’ll stay?”

Mac sighed. “Fine….” He let the word be dragged out of him. “I’ll stay through Thanksgiving.”

So here he was in an overcrowded airport when he’d much rather be home. Mac tried to keep Jesse busy. They ate sandwiches and bought the latest thrillers from the convenience store. When none of that relaxed Jesse, Mac tried discussing work as Jesse stared anxiously out the window.

“It’ll be fine,” Mac said reassuringly. “A smooth flight.”

“Look.” Jesse held out his buzzing phone.

Aaron had texted a picture. In it, he was making a goofy face and giving two thumbs up.

“Cute.”

“Isn’t it? And look at this other one he sent me.” Jesse’s two dogs, Superman and Dolly, held up a sign that read: “You Can Do It! We Believe in You.”

Aaron ended his texts with the message: And I’ll see you in a few more days XXOO.

“God, I’m lucky.” Jesse beamed at his phone and then pressed it to his chest. “I can’t wait for the show to be all done and Aaron to meet me in Glamour at the dinner.”

“Oh, come on. Think of how your work is being displayed at the expo. You’re a top draw there. That means something.”

Jesse made a face. “That means I gotta make small talk with more people. Nope, I’ll be happy it’s over.”

“No part of it interests you? Like, I don’t know… selling your sculptures? Making money?”

“That’s what interests you, Mac.”

“True, and as I always tell you, nothing wrong with profiting from your art. People come to this expo from all over the world. They come to spend.”

“The only part of the show I’m excited for is judging the debut sculptor category. It’ll be cool to see what new talent is up-and-coming.”

“Up-and-coming talent,” Mac scoffed. “There’s no money to be made in them.”

“You took a chance on me when I was up and coming.” Jesse smiled, and Mac ignored him.

They boarded the plane a few minutes later. Mac toed off his Italian loafers, flexed his feet, and began to flip through a magazine while his eyes grew heavy. What seemed only a short time later, he woke abruptly. His ears filled and popped and he realized they were going to land. Next to him, Jesse had a stranglehold on his armrest.

“Please, please, please,” Jesse moaned softly.

Poor Jesse. It must be hard to battle your inner demons. Mac gave him credit for making the flight and not giving in to his anxiety. Jesse was one of the best artists Mac had ever met. Mac was a first-class agent. He could spot talent. Jesse’s ability had blown him away.

His mind started to wander to other great artists he’d met. Only one man was as talented as Jesse, and that was Conor Harvey.

Conor. Jesus. Mac hadn’t thought about him in forever. An unwanted image of Conor came into Mac’s mind. He was so wickedly handsome, with that roguish grin, square jaw, and those sparkling blue eyes that hinted of something just a little naughty. Mac could practically hear the gorgeous Irish lilt of Conor’s voice. He shuddered. Everyone in their art class had wanted Conor. Mac had spent weeks trying to hide how much he wanted him too. He’d never felt that way before. Growing up, he had been a late bloomer. But one look and his raging hormones spiraled out of control. When Conor noticed him and asked him out, Mac could barely believe it. He’d agonized over their first date, praying he wouldn’t look foolish.

Mac gritted his teeth. It must be Jesse and all his love and marriage talk affecting Mac’s brain today. He’d spent the past decade getting over Conor, but today his emotions cornered him.

Thank goodness Conor, wherever he was, couldn’t still be the same sexy youth who had crushed his heart.

Jesse groaned again and Mac reached out to rub his shoulder.

“Remember how scared you were to have Aaron around again? How you’d loved him since you were a snot-nosed kid following him around, and then later you were his pen pal while he was in the Army? That all worked out for you, Jesse. This will be fine too. I have no doubt. Think of good things. Think of Aaron….”

Jesse was pale and tight-lipped, but Mac continued to talk. “Who’re you looking forward to seeing in Arizona the most?”

“Anthony and Dean, of course. Dean’s Aaron’s best friend from the Army. He’s a great guy.”

“Why did Dean leave the Night Stalkers? I know Aaron left because of his heart—”

“His niece, Nicki. Her mother died and Dean needed to go stateside and become her legal guardian.”

“That’s tough.”

Jesse nodded. “But he found Anthony, so it was all meant to be.”

“Such a romantic.” Mac snorted.

“And proud of it.” Jesse grinned. “And you remind me of Locke, the way you said that. You’ll like him and Henry.”

“Who’s Locke?” Mac asked, mostly to keep Jesse’s mind on other things as the plane descended.

“He’s a sheriff in Glamour, and he worked with Anthony’s dad. I met them at Dean and Anthony’s wedding. Don’t know him that well, but Locke seemed like he hated everyone and everything at that reception, especially poor Henry. But then they disappeared at the wedding, and the next thing I heard, they were living together.”

Mac asked a few more questions about Glamour and tried to put happy thoughts in Jesse’s mind. He didn’t stop chatting until the plane touched ground.

“Welcome to Phoenix,” the captain said after they landed. “The local time is one o’clock and the temperature is ninety-two degrees.”

“Jesus,” Mac grumbled as they disembarked from the plane. “This is going to be one hot Thanksgiving.”

Jesse didn’t reply. He was busy mouthing “Thank you” to the powers that be. Then he looked at Mac. “And thank you.”

“Did I help?”

“Absolutely.”

Mac smiled. He was glad for Jesse. Any twinges of loneliness he pushed firmly away. He was Makarand Sharma, who had defied his traditional parents and stormed into the art world at the age of twenty-two full of piss and vinegar. And he’d become a huge success. He didn’t need anything else.

“I can’t wait for Aaron to arrive!” Jesse’s face lit up. “This will be the trip of a lifetime.”






Skylar M Cates
Emotional, Roller-Coaster Romance

Skylar M. Cates loves a good, heartfelt romance, especially ones that are both steamy and emotionally satisfying. She is quite happy to drink some coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Her novels feature strong, passionate characters who care about their friends and family. Skylar loves to craft stories where people are challenged by vulnerable situations. Although lately the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe. Contact her on Twitter, Facebook, or through her newsletter.





A Guy's Thanksgiving #3.5


πŸ¦ƒSaturday's Series SpotlightπŸ¦ƒ: Nick Williams & Carter Jones Universe(Thanksgiving Edition) by Frank W Butterfield



Thanksgiving, 1947
Summary:
Nick & Carter Holiday #20
Thursday, November 27, 1947

It's Thanksgiving and Nick is cooking a veritable feast!

Roast turkey, sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, an assortment of vegetables, and even Nick's first attempt at an apple pie are all on the menu.

Nick and Carter have been dating for just over three months and it's their first holiday together.

It's also an opportunity for Nick to introduce Carter to all his friends.

However...

Jeffery is out of town... Mack is in one of his moods... Janet isn't returning Nick's phone calls...

Oh, well...

At least Mike is available to join Carter and Henry for dinner at Nick's new apartment on Jones Street.

There's certainly plenty of food!

So, won't you join in on all the food, the fun, and the festivities?

What can go wrong when two new lovers bring their old flames to dinner and everyone gets a chance to meet?

More turkey, anyone?

Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is the twentieth in a series of short stories and novellas all centered around specific holidays.

Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.







The Redemptive Rifleman
Summary:
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...







Thanksgiving, 1947
Original Review November 2022:
Yet another winner in the Nick and Carter Holiday series.  I'm really loving this novella/short story series as it hits so many holidays not spoken of nearly enough in literature of any genre but especially LGBT stories.  I do have to say that of all the shorts in this collection I've read, Thanksgiving, 1947 probably left me with the most blanks/gaps in character references and relationship elements having not read the original Nick and Carter series.  Were these gaps wide enough to take away enjoying?  Not at all.  I was never lost, if anything it just furthered the steps up on my TBR list for the originals.  Hopefully in 2023 the clock will allow me to jump into them.

Not going to spoil anything(like you didn't know that was coming) but once again a glimpse into the couple's early days together is lovely done and definitely leaves a smile on your face.  I will say that two points that really stood out for me was Nick listening to The Guiding Light on the radio and him making sausage stuffing.  My parents bought me a cassette of an episode of Fibber McGee & Molly for my 10th birthday and I fell in love with it and have collected hundreds of hours of Old Radio Shows over the years, even got a subscription to Sirius XM just to listen to the old radio shows network in the car so including listening to Guiding Light was a welcomed moment.  As for the sausage stuffing?  That's the only kind of stuffing we've ever had in our family and yet it is so rarely used in fiction.  Honestly there are so many odd recipes out there for stuffing/dressing that are used more that I personally wouldn't want to even touch let alone taste so Nick going old school(and yes I know it's set in 1947 so of course it's going to be old school/old fashioned) for stuffing was another welcomed touch.



The Redemptive Rifleman
Original Review November 2024:
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.

RATING:






Thanksgiving, 1947
550 Jones Street, Apartment 3-C
San Francisco, Cal.
Thursday, November 27, 1947
Just before 11 in the morning 
Nick was listening to a conversation between Ned and Julie as they discussed the possibility of having a baby. The Guiding Light was on the radio. 

"It ain't worth it, Julie," was his only comment as she began to tell Ned she was worried about how her mother would feel. 

He was peeling and scoring a pound of Brussels sprouts in the kitchen when he heard someone knock on the door. Drying his wet hands on the towel resting on his shoulder, he walked through the living room, stopping to switch off the R.C.A. table radio. 

He then opened the door to reveal Mike Robertson, his best friend and first lover, standing there with a couple of grocery bags in his arms. 

"What's that?" asked Nick. 

Mike looked into one of the bags. "The makings of fruit salad." 

Nick rolled his eyes and sighed. "I thought I told you to make the stuff before you came over."

Being 6'5" and a cop, Mike ignored Nick and pushed his way inside. "I'm gonna make it here. I don't have a bowl to put it all in." 

Shutting the door, Nick replied, "Well, neither do I. That's why I wanted you to make it before you came over." 

Mike put the bags down on the dining table that was just outside the kitchen and then turned to take a look at the place. "So, this is your new home, huh?" 

"Yeah. Whaddaya think?" 

Crossing his arms, Mike nodded and offered Nick a friendly smile. "I like it. How much is the rent?" 

"The landlord's a real ass, but I pay him eighty bucks a month." 

"Eighty! You're being robbed." Mike walked over and got close. Looking down, he said, "You're a rotten landlord, Nick. You outta give the poor sucker who lives here a break. I wouldn't pay sixty-five bucks for a dump like this." He kissed Nick on the forehead and then made his way to the bay window. "And all you get is a view of Jones Street and that fleabag hotel across the street." 

"Well, whatcha gonna do? Want some coffee?" 

"Sounds good." 

Nick walked into the kitchen, grabbed a cup from the little shelf on the wall, and poured some Joe out of the electric percolator that was sitting on top of the icebox. 

"Fancy," said Mike as he took the cup from Nick. 

"What?" 

"All new furniture, from the looks of things. New stove, new icebox, and an electric percolator." He took a sip. "Must be nice to be the wealthiest guy in town. Not only do you own the building, you get all the newest appliances."

"There's an opening here if you want it." 

"Nah. I like my place South of the Slot." 

"Which I've never seen the inside of," said Nick as he went back to peeling and scoring his mound of Brussels sprouts. 

"So, what's on the menu? Somethin' smells good." 

"Before I tell you, don't forget what I said." 

Mike put his fingers to his mouth and made a motion that looked like he was turning a key. "My lips are sealed. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a Navy vet who's an orderly at City Hospital who dumps out bedpans for a living." He grinned a little. "I promise not to mention you could buy City Hospital several times over if it ever caught your fancy." 

"Mike..." 

Holding up his hands in a motion of surrender. "Don't worry. I won't say a word." He took a sip of his coffee. "Now, what smells so good?" 

"That's the turkey. Twelve pounds. I put it in the oven at 8:30. It should be ready by noon." 

"What time are we eatin'?" 

"As soon as Carter gets here, which should be about 12:45 or so. He gets off at noon and then he'll take a quick shower and then they'll head over. They only live a few blocks away." 

Mike leaned against the doorframe. "They?" 

"I told you. He lives with his ex-boyfriend, Henry. He's coming, too." 

"So that makes four of us." 

Nick nodded and finished with last of the sprouts. He put them all in the colander and then ran the water so he could rinse them off.

"What about Jeffery?" 

"He's down in L.A. for the holiday weekend. Some guy he met." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. The guy—I think his name is Ralph." Nick thought for a moment. "Or maybe Ralph is the other one. This one, maybe, is Robert. Anyway, Ralph and/or Robert lives in Hollywood and works for Metro, according to Jeffery." He turned off the water and then looked over at Mike. "They met when the cops raided La Vie Parisian right before Halloween. Jeffery got his charges dropped along with all the others who were arrested." 

Frowning (an act that turned his otherwise handsome face into something closer to the monster in Frankenstein), Mike crossed his arms. "Yeah. I managed to miss that one. But I did help Jeffery out as much as I could." 

"He told me. How's your promotion to lieutenant coming along?" 

Mike shrugged. "It could be next week, next month, next year... Who knows?" 

He started smiling again and Nick melted just a little, like he had when they first met in the summer of '39. 

"But La Vie seems to be a good place for love to bloom." 

Nick laughed. "Yeah. Worked for Carter and me." 

"What about Janet? Is she coming?" 

"I think she's mad at me although I don't know why. I called to invite her, but she never answered." 

"How's she doing?" 

"Fine, as far as I know." Nick didn't really want to talk about his sister, to be honest. He hoped Mike got the hint.

After looking at the floor for a long moment, Mike turned and walked over to the table. "You have something I can use? These apples and bananas and fruit and say aren't gonna cut and peel themselves." 

Nick pulled open a drawer and grabbed a knife. Then he stopped. "Well, wait a minute." 

"What?" asked Mike as he unloaded smaller sacks out of the larger bags. 

"Lemme think." 

"Don't blow a fuse there." 

"Ha, ha." Nick looked at the stove and then at all the things on the counter. "So, I've got deviled eggs that I made this morning. A pickle and olive tray that I'll put together after the turkey comes out of the oven. Then there's the stuffing that's cooking with the turkey along with come sliced carrots." 

"What kind of stuffing?" 

"Sausage." Nick realized he was still holding the knife, so he put it on the counter. 

"Where from?" 

"A new market I like. Kessler's, down Geary between Hyde and Larkin. Why?" 

"Just curious. Now that you're a free man, I thought maybe you might have gone to whoever that gal who cooks for your old man might go to." 

Nick snorted. "I'm not gonna get anywhere close to that big pile of rocks up on Nob Hill just for groceries and meat. And what, exactly, do you mean by me being a free man?" 

"Free of Jeffery." 

Nick sighed. "Yeah. I still feel a little bit bad about all that." 

"Don't. I wish I would've never let him convince me to track you down at the Mark Hopkins last summer like I did."

"You seemed pretty convinced we should stay together when you tackled me to the floor that morning." 

Mike rolled his eyes and glanced at the stove. "So, turkey, stuffing, carrots. What else?" "Mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, creamed broccoli au gratin, and, of course, bread and butter." 

"Not oleo?" 

"You know I hate that stuff." 

Mike laughed. "I do. What about dessert?" 

Reaching behind the percolator, Nick pulled out a towel-covered tin tray. "I tried my hand at making an apple pie." 

Mike jumped up and wandered over to inspect the finished product. He lifted the towel. "That looks almost too good to eat." He stared at Nick with his electric blue eyes. "Why didn't you ever make me a pie?" 

"In that kitchen?" Nick put the pie back. "There was barely enough room to make a pot of beans." 

"True," said Mike, sounding a little wistful. 

"You miss those days?" asked Nick. 

"Sometimes." 

Looking up at his friend, Nick quietly asked, "You're gonna be nice to Carter, right?" 

Mike pressed his lips together as he nodded. "I'll try." 

Getting up on his toes, Nick kissed the big man on the cheek. "Thanks." 

With a resigned sigh, Mike replied, "You're welcome."






The Redemptive Rifleman
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 Γ‰poque. 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.



Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.

Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.

Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.

Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.

Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.

The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.

Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.

Saturday Series Spotlights
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.

From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.





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.


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Thanksgiving, 1947

The Redemptive Rifleman

Nick Williams Mystery Series
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Nick & Carter Holiday Series