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As my mother's 24/7 caregiver, November being National Family Caregivers Month has always been important to me. Not because I want personal recognition for what I do but to help show people that caregiving is more than just medical assistance, it can also be emotional, physical, psychological, that it effects every aspects of a person's life, it can be temporary, short term, long term, chronic,. I would give anything to make it so my mother did not need the assistance but that isn't possible so I do this so she can have the best quality of life and still live in her own home. So I realized that there are stories out there that have caregivers and whether it's a big or small part of the plot doesn't matter, they help show people what caregivers provide all within very entertaining romances and reading experiences.
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Blade by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:
Boston Rebels #5
Love doesn’t have a formula. It’s messy, unpredictable, and impossible to control for the autistic billionaire inventor and the hockey player who believes he’s lost everything.
Moral “Dunny” Dunkirk has a passion for life. A robust outdoorsman, lover of life, and one of the Boston Rebels fan favorites, Dunny has always embraced excitement and the drive to try new things. During his inaugural flight behind the controls of a small plane, the fates decide to test his mettle in a way that he had never envisioned. When everything crashes down around him, he’s lost in depression and alone in his cabin, facing an existence that is nothing like the one he previously led. Desperate to find some hope, Dunny reaches out to The Harvey Foundation who might be able to help, and he soon finds himself being lifted out of the pit of darkness he’d fallen into one shy uplifting smile at a time.
Accidental billionaire and inventor Cooper Harvey is only happy in the seclusion of his lab, creating new and wonderful things he is sure will make the world a better place. Being on the spectrum, he knows being autistic means he's different to others, but it's in a good way, and it only makes him better at what he does. Other than being blackmailed into spending every fourth Sunday at his PA’s house for dinner, he avoids the chaos of the world, and if that means no social life, then he’s okay with that. In the most splendid isolation money can buy, he escapes the complicated and difficult emotions surrounding attraction, and his single-minded focus means that sex and love have never appeared on his list. When his latest invention reaches the testing stage, he would normally hand it over to his development team, but a chance meeting with the test subject makes him rethink. Something about the hockey player who’d lost it all makes him think life isn’t all about measured chemical reactions, and sometimes it’s just about the craziness of love.
Original Review April Book of the Month 2023:
Even with the recent release of the 30th book in their hockey universe I still don't know for sure which author writes which character, truth is it doesn't matter because Scott & Locey create so fluently their individual writing skills and talents each bring to their collaborations mesh perfectly.
There is just so much I love about Blade. The characters obviously but also the adversities they face. This isn't the first time injuries have been addressed in Scott & Locey's Hockey Universe, this may be the most severe example but not the first. Let's face it, injuries and sports are a no-brainer going to happen at some point scenario.
How much is from pure research or personal experiences, I can't speak to but whichever it is they have an amazing realistic angle(for lack of a better word) when it comes to health issues. Be it full-on health conditions or from injuries suffered on or off the ice, they are spot on with the emotions of both the survivor and support system. I say "survivor" because for those who don't know me, my mother has had health issues that have left her disabled for 30 years and her dad had MS and was in a wheelchair by the time I came along and I see neither as a victim, patient, or handicapped. I know not everyone who uses those terms mean it in a negative light but some do and so again I prefer the term "survivor". I would never wish health issues or injuries on anyone but too often those who don't have personal experience don't realize how damaging and hurtful being stared at can be as well as the flipside and turning away. It can be a thin line to toggle over but for those who experience it, that line can make the difference between a great day and devastating day.
I mentioned the above statement because in Blade, it is this very feeling that both Moral and Cooper, for different reasons but still both, have faced more than they should have to. That battle becomes both barrier and bridge between the two. Cooper living with autism and genius, Moral surviving the plane crash that took his leg and robbed him of the hockey future he always planned on leaves both of them in the public eye in ways neither want and wish to escape from. I want nothing more than to reassure both it's what they feel and see inside that is important, not what others project but I also know from experience we can only do so much to protect our loved ones, they have to come to some of those revelations themselves. It can be a very hard scale to balance but Scott & Locey portray that balance expertly.
Perhaps I've said more about my personal experiences than the book but in my opinion having a romantic fictional story speak to the reader so deeply says more to my love of said story than any plot-detailed review. Thank you, RJ Scott & VL Locey for this brilliantly written tale of survival, growth, friendship, and love. If it wasn't my love for Ten, Jared, and the whole Railers gang(which to be honest stems more from being first to burrow into my heart than superior content), Blade may actually be my favorite so far.
Shore Leave #2
Winning and losing are subject to sexy interpretation…
Navy chief Calder Euler loves to win big. His latest score? A remote mountain cabin. Checking it out is supposed to be a quick trip, but Calder’s luck abruptly turns when a freak injury and a freakier snowstorm leave him stranded.
Oh, and the cabin isn’t empty. A silver fox caring for two young girls claims that the property is his, but Calder’s paperwork says otherwise.
Felix Sigurd is on a losing streak, and his ex-husband risking the cabin in a reckless bet is only the latest in a series of misfortunes. He’ll tolerate the handsome stranger for a couple nights--even care for his injuries—but that’s it.
Calder doesn’t know a damn thing about kids, but making pancakes for Felix’s girls is a surprising delight. Trapped in the cabin, the four of them slip easily into the rhythms of a family. But when the ice melts, they’ll have to decide if a future together is in the cards.
Blade by RJ Scott & VL Locey
“Moral. Moral!” Strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook gently, snapping the hold the memory had on me. My eyes, which are now seeing my brother’s worried face, instead of the Canadian wilderness hurtling up to meet me, skitter around the room. Sweat runs down the back of my neck as my lungs stop seizing. Yes, yes, we are in Boston. At the tall tower that holds what my brother, my physical therapist, and my mental health counselor all believe to be my return to being able-bodied. “Moral, are you here with me now?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Sorry. I just…” I chanced a look at the skyline. The jet, now long gone, probably landed safely at Logan as hundreds of thousands of planes do every year. Millions perhaps. My shoulder aches. Wincing at the pressure on the reconstructed shoulder joint, I let out a shaky breath. “I saw a plane in the sky. Stupid I know.”
He leaned in to kiss my damp brow. We’ve always been affectionate like that. Mama and Papa were that way. Always hugging and kissing—me and my younger brother, each other, the dogs, the cats, friends, strangers. They were incredibly demonstrative. I missed them both so much.
“It is not stupid. It’s PTSD, which is very normal after a traumatic experience. Your counselor told you so many times.” I shrugged my good arm, moving around in my seat to ensure I can’t see the damn window anymore. “It will pass as time goes by. Once you’re back on your feet.” His eyes flared. “I mean when you’re recovered. I’m sorry. That was—”
“It was fine. A saying. Someday, yes, I will be back on my foot.” My sight touched on my lower half, the left leg so strong and thick, powerful from skating. Then the right, gone below the knee, my trouser leg pinned up neatly by my brother just this morning. Philippe wasn’t amused. “It was a joke. I’m a joker, right?”
“You don’t have to pretend, Moral,” he said before patting my cheek and returning to his seat. “And you will return to your life fully within a year or two, with lots of therapy and this new prosthetic alloy that Dr. Harvey is creating. When you’re sad, be sad. When you’re happy, be happy. I’m not the little boy who lost his parents and had to rely on you and Aunt Celeste to care for him. I’m twenty-six now.”
“Yes, and now you’re taking care of me. Isn’t life funny?” I asked, but there was no humor in the question. “We should just go home. I don’t think this experimental bullshit is for me, Philippe. I have too much therapy to get through…”
He was about to argue, as he did, the stubborn ass, when the door opened and the older woman returned with the reluctant looking man who had bolted what seemed like hours ago. A glance at my watch showed it had only been five minutes since the brilliant inventor with the wide brown eyes had left in such a hurry. I nudged Philippe and jerked my scruffy chin at my crutches. He hurried to comply, passing the crutches over, then reaching to help me out of the chair. I shot him a scowl. My brother lowered his hands to let me struggle upward. It didn’t go well with a healing shoulder and only one leg. Embarrassed at my weakness, I grunted at my brother in French, a quick request for aid. He whispered something back in our native tongue that was not complimentary as he levered me up to my feet. The doctor looked up at me as I wobbled around on my crutches, his dark eyes growing even wider behind his glasses as I got to my full height. Balanced now, I offered him my hand.
He seemed reluctant to take it, but after a slight poke from Miss Brianna, he clasped my fingers, gave them a quick pump, and then dropped them.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Harvey. Thank you for seeing us,” Philippe said jovially, the greeting obviously forced. There was nothing cheerful about this meeting. “My brother, Moral, and I are thrilled to have this time with you. Your personal assistant assured us that you would love to hear my brother’s story. That it would help in your creation of this new metal for athletic prosthetics. Were we not understanding the reply to our email?”
“Your email,” I muttered in French. Philippe shot me a glare.
Sink or Swim by Annabeth Albert
Chapter One
Calder
“You seriously won a whole house? Man, you are the luckiest fucker I know.” Max’s voice crackled over my car speaker. My signal kept fading in and out the farther outside Seattle I drove, but his skepticism came through loud and clear.
“Cabin. And yeah, it’s probably my biggest score yet.” I couldn’t help doing a little bragging as I navigated a curve on the country highway that kept advising travelers of their elevation and the distance to Mount Rainier. “I lucked into the invite for this high-stakes poker party, and this one jackass kept going all-in. Totally out of his league. But he wasn’t drunk or otherwise impaired, so his loss is totally my gain.”
“Hell, yeah. So when do we get to come for a ski weekend?” Max sounded predictably eager to get away from base. “Cards and ski bunnies sound pretty damn good right now. Not that you have anything left to play for.”
“There’s always something to play for.” I had to slow for an RV plodding along. I was relying on some sketchy directions and my GPS to get me to this place. Now that I’d left the suburbs behind, the terrain had turned decidedly mountainous, little towns with folksy names fewer and farther between long stretches of evergreen trees marching up and down scenic vistas. “You can come soon, but I need to check the place out first. For all I know it’s a shack inhabited by a family of elk. This guy wasn’t especially high on the place, but I figured what the hell. Even if it turns out that calling the place a ski chalet is pushing it, property is property.”
“Yup. And knowing you, you weren’t about to walk away from the table with a winning hand either.” Max snorted.
“Too true.” I wouldn’t take bets I couldn’t win, but I also wasn’t one to back down from a challenge either. A passing lane finally opened up, and I seized the chance to pass the RV. “If the cabin is too much of a dump, I’ll unload it in a quick sale as soon as I get the paperwork straightened out. But in the meantime, having my own getaway sounds pretty sweet.”
“Sure does. And hell, the way Seattle real estate prices are going, some sucker’s gonna be willing to buy it to attempt the long-ass commute.”
“Exactly.” Those same ridiculous prices were a big reason why I kept living in the barracks. As a chief I had options, but in the Seattle area all those options required more bread than I was willing to part with. For all that I loved the thrill of winning a bet, I was also notoriously tight with my money. My brothers liked to joke that getting a loan out of me required three signatures and collateral, and they weren’t that far from the truth. Saving cash by staying in the barracks made sense, but all the regulations, cramped spaces, and constant drama of other sailors got damn old. Having a place to escape to and bring my buddies was going to be awesome.
As long as the place wasn’t falling down. Even I wasn’t enough of a risk-taker to bring the crew to a cabin that wasn’t structurally sound. I’d take this weekend, inspect everything, make it as clean as possible, and draft some to-do and to-buy lists. Then I could set a date for the weekend away I’d been promising my crew. Traveling alone wasn’t usually my style and my car had felt too quiet until I’d dialed Max, but I didn’t want anyone around to laugh if it turned out I’d been had and the key didn’t even work.
“So, how’s the new duty assignment going?” Max asked, voice too careful to pass off as totally casual. Fuck. Maybe calling him hadn’t been so smart after all.
“Awesome,” I lied. “Shouldn’t be too much longer before I’m out from behind a desk.”
“Good to hear it. Couldn’t pay me to get chained to an office.” Max was a crane operator at the pier and possibly even more outdoorsy than me. Another reason to not have him along. If there were things I had to figure out, like lighting a tricky woodstove or something, I preferred to get it right before I had an audience eager to swoop in and help.
“Quit reminding me how much I wanna be back out there,” I grumbled right as the phone crackled again. “Damn it. Signal’s dropping again.”
“No worries. I should probably run anyway. I’ve got a date tonight. Maybe you’re not the only one with some recent luck.” Max’s warm laugh made me a little less grumbly. “This hottie swiped right and slid into my DMs with some killer pics.”
“Have a good time. Hope they’re not actually some pimple-faced kid.” I kept my tone light, the sort of ribbing we gave each other all day.
“Hey, that only happened one time.” The static increased, garbling whatever else he was trying to say until the call dropped completely. For once though I wasn’t cursing the trees and lack of cell towers. Max had been wandering into territory I didn’t want to think about, so I cranked the stereo rather than attempt a call back.
Without passengers I could indulge the musical tastes my brother the composer called hopelessly basic. Whatever. I liked what I liked, but I’d barely gotten two songs in before the GPS bleated that it was time to turn onto an even smaller side road and then another, each road more narrow and less maintained than the last. They’d been plowed at least, but not well. My sports car had all-wheel drive and was rated decent for winter, but I was still glad the forecast called for only a light dusting this weekend.
A rogue flake danced across my windshield. Probably an escapee from a nearby snowbank and not an omen. Here’s hoping. Finally, the GPS led me up a gravel drive to a red mailbox beside a large carved wooden bear holding a cheery sign that read Dutch Bear’s Hideaway. Hmm. Hideaway could be anything from a shed to a tree house, and a weird Christmas-morning-level excitement gathered in my gut as I made the turn. The house wasn’t immediately visible from the road, and when the driveway turned to reveal a red Swiss-style cottage with white trim hidden among the trees, I couldn’t help grinning.
This I could work with. It was older, sure, probably fifty years at least, and humble, but it looked sound, no saggy roof or missing windows. Its footprint was a basic rectangle with deep eaves, and a little white balcony indicated there was a second story tucked under the sloping roof. I followed the drive around back to where it ended at a little outbuilding painted the same red as the house. Tim, the guy at the poker party, had made it sound way shabbier than this.
True, it was remote, with no neighbors that I could see, but as long as that chimney worked and we had something resembling electricity, this could be a nice bro hangout. Like the little clubhouse we’d had in the backyard at one of Dad’s duty stations. Man, I’d loved that place. Maybe I’d change the sign to something more me. Keep the bear. He was cute and homey, kind of like the place itself.
After I parked, I started exploring on foot. A little fire circle with carved wooden benches and an ancient hot tub on a deck lurked behind the house. The hot tub might have to be replaced, but there was plenty of firewood in the little outbuilding, and lo and behold, one of my keys opened the white door to reveal snow shovels and other winter supplies. Not a bad start.
When I ducked back out of the outbuilding, a few more snowflakes fluttered over my face. Luckily I wasn’t planning on going anywhere before morning, and I’d have wood and the food and supplies I’d brought if nothing else. The rear patio door next to the hot tub didn’t take the first key I tried or the second or the same one as the outbuilding either. But then I went back to the first key, jiggled the knob a little, and the lock turned.
“Who’s got the magic touch?” I crowed to the empty woods before opening the door. It let out a loud creak but would be an easy fix to put on my list. The door opened into a hallway with a neat row of hooks for coats and a mat for shoes and boots. Taking the hint, I took a second to take off my boots so I wouldn’t track mud and snow all over the house. I left my coat on until I could assess the heat situation. The hallway led me past a modest bedroom with what looked to be a queen and bedding already on. Score.
A breaker box hung on the wall between the bedroom and bathroom. The electric was already on, so I tested the light in the bathroom. Worked. The bath was cramped with a cracked vanity, but I’d done multiple submarine tours. The tub/shower combo was practically palatial compared with the head on a sub. And after a brief pause with a gasp and sputter, the sink turned on. A little hard to turn and the water was rusty. However, I could let it run later, and I’d brought bottled for drinking, anyway.
“Running water! We’re in business now.” Happy, I hummed to myself as I continued down the hall, which opened into a U-shaped kitchen. Old appliances, but neat and tidy. Like the bath, it was cramped, but it opened to a living area, making it appear bigger. I could already picture games of cards at the built-in eating nook. It’d be a tight fit for my build, but I could always pull up a chair.
The living area was dominated by a stone fireplace and woodstove. I’d come back to that in a moment, but first the stairs beckoned me. I felt like some storybook character exploring a fairy-tale cottage. So far, everything was just right.
“Come on, Goldilocks. Let’s see what’s upstairs.” Talking to myself was helping me feel less alone, especially when the third stair creaked like in a horror movie. I’d brought a portable speaker for my phone. Maybe I could play some music while I messed with the woodstove.
The upstairs had a sleeping loft with three twin beds all in a row made up with identical quilts. “Wow. This really is some fairy-tale shit.”
My nieces and nephews would go nuts for this space. My adult-sized pals were gonna be a tight fit in those beds, but it beat making them bunk down on the floor, and there was also a small room with crowded bookshelves, a rocking chair, and a small desk next to a teeny half bath tucked into the eaves.
“Nice.” Giving the space one last look, I turned to head back downstairs. For a second, I thought I heard the echo of children’s voices. Damn. All this aloneness really was getting to me. Click. I heard another sound, but the noise didn’t repeat. Still, I hastened my trek down the stairs.
Whoosh. A rush of cold air made my whole body tense, every sense on red alert as the front door burst open.
“What the—” Whatever curse I’d been about to bellow was cut off by an ear-piercing shriek as a young girl appeared in the door. If I’d tried to conjure up an actual Goldilocks, I couldn’t have done much better than her pale blond curls, pink cheeks, old-fashioned wool coat, and startled expression.
“There’s someone here!” Her alarmed shout echoed off the wood walls.
“Wait,” I called out right as my sock slid against the stair step. “Whoa!”
I thrust an arm out, but it was already too late and I was tumbling down the last three steps, landing on my ass in a heap at the bottom. Ouch. Trying to figure out what I’d injured, I was still catching my breath when another form appeared in the front doorway, this one adult, male, and mad as a grizzly.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my cabin?”
Writing 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.
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
RJ Scott
VL Locey
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
Blade by RJ Scott & VL Locey
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Sink or Swim by Annabeth Albert
