Today we have another snippet
from Dear Jon. It`s our picture
prompt and the excerpt must reflect the image and be under 300 words. Don`t forget to visit the other talented
Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!
should have realized the only thing open between Betty`s bungalow and Hannity
Hills proper would be The Blue Hen Cafe, one of those mom and pop diners that
had changed hands during the depression. I parked beside a dark blue Ford
pickup. The rain was coming down so hard the diner was lost in the deluge.
Andrew got up onto his knees. His hair was a mess. I didn`t have a comb and I
didn`t think the kid would let me tidy it for him anyway.
buyed me soda here,” Andy whispered. My sight returned to the restaurant.
wonder if they still make those meat pies,” I said, the memory vividly resting
on my tongue. My stomach rumbled. Andrew looked down at my gut in admiration.
was loud,” he said. I nodded.
guess I`m hungry too. Want to make another run for it?” I inquired, placing my
wet, goose-pinched hat on his head to hide his hair. He nodded just as I knew
he would. Taking his sweaty hand in mine, I threw open my car door. It smacked
the blue Ford beside me. I grimaced at the sound then slammed the door shut and
ran, dragging a kid in my wake. Andrew managed to hit a few mud puddles as we
inside, I was greeted by so many smells, sounds, and aromas it was nearly
overwhelming. The diner was laid out real sharp. Someone had done some
renovations recently. The counter was brand new by the looks, dark blue with
white flecks. The tabletops matched the counter. Booths were lined up by the
front wall. Short blue curtains hung on the windows.
do you want to sit?” I asked taking note of the one man at the counter as we
peeled off our soaking wet jackets. Andrew dashed to the counter.
Hockey, hockey, hockey! It's back. Finally! This week the NHL regular season begins. And what better way to celebrate the return of pro hockey then to have hockey romance authors visiting? For the next several weeks, every Monday will be a different hockey romance author. Make sure to drop by weekly to see who it is. This week the delightful Jennifer Lazirus is here to tell us all about her upcoming book, Lucky Save - The Las Vegas Kingsnakes, Book #2.
Lucky Save - The Las Vegas Kingsnakes, Book #2 by Jennifer Lazaris
***Releases this October***
Lucky Save will be available at Amazon, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, and Apple for your reading pleasure. :-)
All Penelope Foster wanted was a vacation in Vegas to escape a family tragedy. But when her car breaks down in the middle of the desert, it seems her holiday is destined for disaster before it even begins.
Until he roars up.
Tall and tattooed West Keller is a famous hockey player and notorious playboy. Penelope isn’t the kind of girl who would normally catch his eye, but something about the cute, vulnerable blonde appeals to him. He offers her a ride into the city, with the expectation of never seeing her again. So what harm can one little lie really do?
Once Penelope steps into his truck, she’s swept up in the passion and excitement of their intense fling-a fling that’s quickly growing into something deeper as they discover they have way more in common than hot sex. But when the chips are down, Penelope discovers that not everything about West is what it seems.
She has to choose whether to walk away and cut her losses, or see it through and go all in with no fear. Can she beat the odds and find true love in Vegas?
Please check out my blog for a special sneak peek of chapter one!
Jennifer spent most of her twenties deflecting shots in front of a deck hockey net, writing stories, learning how to code and holding out for a hero.
Now, she spends her days hunched over the keyboard, combining her love of hockey and writing into romance novels.
A native of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Jennifer's a die-hard Penguins fan who lives in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. She takes her life in her hands every time she wears her Sidney Crosby jersey in the heart of Leafs Nation, but figures it's worth the risk to represent her beloved black and gold.
She found her very own hockey-obsessed Canadian hero ten years ago, and married him. Her days off are spent spoiling three ridiculously adorable cats, reading and obsessively watching hockey, Empire and Sons of Anarchy reruns.
Can you believe that it's the first week of October already? Where the heck did the time go!? I must confess that I do love autumn even though I know that winter is riding in on fall's coat tails. All around us the seasons are changing and those changes are showing up here on the hillside farm. I thought I would share a few sure signs that fall is indeed here in the Laurel Highlands.
One sure sign that autumn has arrived can be seen if you step out onto my front porch and take a peek at the mountain across the creek.
All those lovely leaves have started to tumble from the trees. Lucius is sharing the front porch with some of the latest arrivals.
A sure sign that the season has shifted from summer to fall is a full woodshed and an archery target set up and in heavy use.
And my poor chickens are in the last stages of their molt. The poor girl standing in front of the young Rouen drake still hasn't grown the feathers in on the back of her head. I may need to knit her a cap if she doesn't feather in soon!
What are some of the signs of fall that you see in your area?
Hello out there! It's the first day of October. That means that Halloween is not far off! We'll be enjoying a whole month of scary and snappy songs to celebrate the holiday. Let's kick off our spooky song fest with a snippet from one of my favorite shows of all time starring one of my favorite rock stars of all time, Mr. Alice Cooper.
Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be
under 1500 words so they're quick reads.
Our word prompt today is 'Glass'. This story contains mature language
and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto
another Tuesday Tales offering.
Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales
authors. Thanks for stopping by!
rather ashamed of how long it took me to walk into my sister`s bungalow. The
aroma of rose bushes blooming alongside the western side of the house nearly
broke me. Stepping gently onto a small porch that held an old trunk filled with
toys and a cracked pot with a petunia in it, I removed my goose-battered hat. A
small baseball mitt and a muddy hardball rested on the worn floorboards beside
the toy box.
thought about a smoke, but instead used my trembling fingers to open the door.
The sounds of Roy Rogers on the radio met me. Andrew was seated on the floor,
his steel trucks tossed aside in favor of cap guns riding low on his hips in
leather holsters. On the bruised table that held the white Firestone Air Chief
radio were four metal cowboys and one steel horse.
eyes moved from the radio to me for a moment. I smiled. Andrew returned to his
show, shutting me out. Fiddling with the brim of my hat, I gave the place a
fast look. A living room with a sofa, table, radio, and carpet which I now
stood in. Off to the left was a small kitchen. Directly ahead of me was a
bathroom. The walls were clean, although the paper was peeling and dingy. The
furniture had a fine coating of dust. Leaving Andy to moon over Roy and Dale, I
walked into the kitchen hoping to find a telephone. I was flat out of luck.
Guess I wasn`t in Greenwich anymore, eh, Toto?
stepped further into the kitchen. Again, as with the living room, things were
clean but shabby. I wondered how Betty had made ends meet. Had she been forced
to live out here in this rundown hovel? Of course she had. Being a soiled woman
in such a small town was nearly as taboo as being a faggot, or close to it. At
least a pregnant girl wouldn`t be castrated, beaten to death, and then thrown
in a diversion ditch. Something flopped in my stomach. The need to get the hell
out of this cesspool of hatred made my lungs feel tight.
sound of a small voice cheering on Roy and Trigger is the only thing that kept me from bolting that evening. Working to calm
myself, I looked out a small window over the chipped porcelain sink. My car
rested under the willow, the driver side door still opened. Inside the car was
that folder from Bartlett and inside that folder was a letter from Betty. A
missive from a fallen angel to a queer . . .
father must have been retching in his sanctimonious grave.
get `em, Roy,” I whispered, sight still on the folder flapping in a growing
wind. Mesmerized, I ambled through a weak screen-door in the kitchen, the
hinges squealing horridly. Rain was on the air. Glancing to the left, I spotted
the geese preening on the bank of a small creek. I dashed to the car, grabbed
the folder and my lone suitcase, and then jogged back to the kitchen, dancing
between the huge drops slapping the earth. No sooner was I inside when the
downpour hit. The geese let out a honk of celebratory joy. Wind whipped in the
open windows, bringing water with it. Getting the old windows with the grimy glass down took just a moment. There
were only four in the whole joint.
I asked Andrew as I passed by from the closet that was masquerading as a
bathroom. His head went up and down quietly as his lips moved with the Bromo
Seltzer ad now playing. “Where do you and your mom sleep?” I asked. It seemed a
pretty pertinent question since I had discovered that this little shack had a
bathroom, living room, and kitchen.
sleep on the sofa,” the lad replied, eying me as if I was something Captain
America ought to punch in the face.
we do,” I said under my breath.
the food excuse, I left the boy to enjoy the next show, Inner Sanctum, if the squeaking door and organ music were any clue.
Thank God for the radio. I couldn`t imagine a better way to keep a kid
entertained. There was a tiny table with two rickety chairs. I sat down
carefully but it held me up. The folder called to me. Knowing I should be
trying to come up with something edible, I instead grabbed the top paper in the
folder, rose, and walked out to stand under a leaky overhang to have a Pall
hung around my head, clinging to the small dry spot as if it too were reluctant
to get wet. Cupping the cigarette to keep it dry, I held up the already damp
sheet of paper. I saw that it wasn't a letter, it was something legal - crisp
letterhead - official and quite intimidating. I skimmed over the paper as the
rain beat down in a violent wave. Flicking my ash to the ground, I heard that
the geese were down in the creek beating their wings on the surface of the
Exhaling, my cheeks now damp from the moisture in the
air, I read over what was a bill from the nearby hospital.
“Holy shit,” I whistled, spying the whopper of a total.
Two-hundred and fifty-seven dollars! Was this the only one? Was there more of
them waiting for someone to pay them? I`d
have to dig in the folder to see if any life insurance was coming. It was
doubtful if Betty and the kid were living in a one-room shack by a stinking
creek in the boonies. The bill was months overdue and had been turned over to a
lawyer. It looked like a trip into town tomorrow was in order.
“I`m still hungry,” I heard behind me. Looking over my
shoulder, I saw a nose and lips pressed into a saggy screen. Flicking what was
left of my Pall Mall into the wet grass, I turned to step inside.
“Yeah, me too,” I said, walking into the kitchen. I
shoved the bill into the folder, and then ransacked the place. After fifteen
minutes, I shut the last cupboard to find my nephew still staring at me. “I
don`t know how to cook,” I confessed. Not that there was much in the pantry
anyway. Rice, some canned soup, three slices of dry bread, and a line of ants
working to haul off the rice kernel by kernel.
“I`m still hungry,” Andrew informed me. I pushed a hand
through my hair, my eyes never leaving his.
“Let`s go,” I said, grabbing my hat from the table. Out
to the car we ran, splashing through puddles in our best shoes. When we dove
into the front seat, I swore I saw a ghost of a smile on the kids face. “Mister, we got soaked!” I said, cranking the
old gal over. We`d find a roadside dive to eat in tonight. I`d worry about
tomorrow when it rolled into town.
“Mister, we got soaked,” I heard Andy whispering as we
backed out onto the road, windshield wipers beating a tune faster than Gene
Krupa, and rainwater dripping through the hole in the roof onto the floor
I love worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty books, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, Marvel comics and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) I share my life with my husband,my daughter, two dogs, two cats, three steers, and a flock of assorted domestic fowl.