Saturday, March 11, 2023

Bring It Back(List) - A FAERIE'S TALE, a Sensuous Fantasy Romance by Linda Mooney

Posted by: Linda Mooney

During the month of March, you can get the e-book of this Contemporary Fantasy Romance for just 99c! But only on my website! Just use Discount Code Word: FAIRY

A FAERIE'S TALE
Contemporary Fantasy Romance
by Linda Mooney
Word Count:  52.7K

$3.99 e / $9.99 p / $14.95 a


"Mommy, tell me a story.  A fairy story."

Jill has a very real fairy story to tell her daughter.  Actually she has two: the one she recites at bedtime and the one that is the truth.

Once upon a time there was a faerie whose life was contained in the forest lands of northern Maine. But when unscrupulous loggers began to cut down the trees which were the lifeblood of her people, she was ordered to take human form and find a way to stop them by using human means.

Caine York worked for the US Forestry Service. The last thing he needed was a tree rights activist like Jill Lattimer tagging along. Yet as the days went by he found himself unable to resist the woman's uninhibited spirit.

Unfortunately, Jill was also finding herself falling in love with the forest ranger. The human forest ranger. A man her people would never allow her to be with once they found out.

She would soon find herself fighting to stay with the man who had captured her heart, just as Caine would struggle to have the woman he cannot live without. Together they will fight to keep their beloved woods safe from deforestation, knowing that sooner or later one of them would have to lose everything they held dear.

Warning:  Contains horrendous weather, big bad humans, lightning from a stick, sex with wings, explosions, drone surveillance, barefoot nymphs, gunfire, a very recalcitrant child, and one man trying to come to grips with the fact that the woman he loves belongs in a mythic realm where he isn't allowed.

Excerpt and Buy Links

Thursday, March 9, 2023

Creative Procrastination

Posted by: PG Forte

When it comes to writing, I like to keep busy. There's a reason I always have several projects on deck...a baseball term that I'm possibly misusing (I thought it was pitchers it's not. It's batters--who knew?). Still, every time I finish one project, there's a shifting of gears as I pivot to slip into the next story. There's the slow slog through the outline, the endless questions (why would this character do what I need her to do for the sake of the story? What's her history? Her biggest fear? How do I make any of this make sense?). Right now, I'm going through that process with several stories at once (don't ask--it's not something I generally recommend). Anyway...sometimes I need a break from all the thinking. So, THIS WEEK, I've once again turned toward one of my favorite time wasters, creating covers. 

I LOVE making covers. And it's not NOT working on my writing, so it doesn't feel like wasting time, which is something I struggle with, at times, with other activities--even supposedly healthy ones.   

This week, since I'm really kind of caught up on covers for most of the future books I can imagine writing for the foreseeable future, I've been working on collections. And, because I'm trying to finish three new stories this year (actually in the next three months--gulp) in the Atlas Beach/Games We Play series, and already have covers for the individual stories, I decided to work on collecting those stories into collections.

The first one is already done and out there, but it got a little upgrade. The other two...well, I was holding out for two more trilogies, but then I decided that wasn't going to work out theme-wise. So...I've got a duology that I'll be releasing very soon (since the individual stories are already out there) and a quadrology. 

I'm pretty happy with the results. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are questions that need answering...



A quirky, family-owned resort on the Jersey Shore is the setting for this erotic, lightly paranormal series. Cousins Brenda, Luke and Gwyn are determined to turn their failing hotel business around. They have no time for love. They're in no mood for games. But it's not going to matter. Not when they're up against a handful of ghosts, a mischievous boggart, a family curse, and destinies written in stone.

The Games We Play trilogy. Three books that prove that holiday fun doesn't begin or end in December!


Available now!  https://books2read.com/u/4ENoKg



The Atlas Beach  Chamber of Commerce’s innovative mentoring program—partnering successful  business owners with some of the newer start-ups--had just what Food Truck Owner Carly Meyers and baker Stephanie Sands needed to get their businesses off the ground: The Delectable DiLuca Brothers. 


Available now! https://books2read.com/u/3GVqJP




The Coffee House Collection: four short stories set in and around Atlas Beach's most popular coffee house. Stop by for a quick bite, a small cup, a sweet treat...


Coming soon!https://www.pgforte.com/copy-of-games-we-play

Monday, March 6, 2023

HERE BE NEWS for Monday March 6, 2023

Posted by: PG Forte

 




 Monday March 6, 2023 

Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where each monday we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:



Thursday March 2, 2023: Author Nicole Luiken talks about the issues of writing books with double time lines.

Tuesday February 28, 2023: Linda Mooney treats us to a vignette Aquarius, Beasts of the Zodiac 

                  



During the month of March, you can get the e-book A Faerie's Tale (contemporary fantasy romance) for just 99 cents.




Thursday, March 2, 2023

Writing Novels with Two Timelines

Posted by: Nicole Luiken

 In a weird coincidence, I'm currently writing two books which have more than one timeline. Honestly, I usually write quite linearly, with only one or two brief flashbacks, so this is new ground for me.

Project One is a paranormal romance that I'm heavily revising called THE DISTANT BEATING OF WINGS. It has a traditional double timeline of the present day romance and events from 25 years before when the hero was kidnapped as a child. The kidnapping not only had a traumatic effect on both main characters, but one of the kidnappers was never apprehended and has come back for round two in the present timeline. The flashbacks are essential not only to understand the characters, but also to the investigation that the hero is making into the present day troubles.

However, this is far from the only way to do a double timeline. My Project Two works quite differently, employing a flashforward instead of a flashback.

Project Two is a Teen fairytale retelling of Cinderealla, working title THE REDEMPTION OF PRINCE CHARMING.  The bulk of the novel  tells the story of how Ellie and Prince Charming (its a nickname) meet and fall in love. However, the book actually starts with a flashforward section on the night of the ball. Afterward there are occasional brief scenes counting down until midnight at the ball when of course the magic wears off. Then the story continues from there.

I had a couple of reasons for doing it this way. First, to  orient the reader and reassure them that it is Cinderella by starting with a classic element, since the rest of my story diverges quite a lot from the traditional folktale. (In a good way, I hope!)  Second, there is a two year gap between the end of part one of the story and the part two on the night of the ball. The flashforward bits are a way to bridge that gap so that when the reader reaches that section instead of stopping dead at the sudden separation between the two main characters, they will be up to speed and ready to race onward to the exciting conclusion. It should, hopefully, save me from a ton of deadly slow summarization of what happened during those two years between.

Do you like books with double timelines? I recommend V.E. Schwab's Vicious which has a very good double timeline. Ever run into the flashforward double timeline before?



Tuesday, February 28, 2023

February Vignette - Aquarius the Zodian by Linda Mooney

Posted by: Linda Mooney

Aquarius

            Stick a fork in her. She was done. She was ready to quit. She couldn’t take it anymore. If it wasn’t the bank hounding her, or Trannon Weston badgering her to sell her property to him…

            Now this.

            Meomi stared at the old pump. The tears rising in her eyes quickly turned it into a watery haze. Sniffing, she swiped away the wetness at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

            She was tired. Tired of fighting. Of being hungry. Worse, she was thirsty. There’d be no crops this year, thanks to the busted pipes that fed water to the fields. Without a harvest, she’d have no money to pay her taxes on the farm. And now that the pump to the house had also gone on the fritz…

            “I can’t, Daddy. I can’t anymore,” she whispered. “I tried. Heaven knows I tried, but it’s too much. It’s…too m-much.”

            She knew she was on the verge of breaking down. Again.

            A hard gust of wind blasted her back. Shivering, she zipped up her down vest and turned to go back into the house. No sense staying out in this weather any longer than she had to. Besides, there wasn’t a thing she could do anymore.

            She’d almost reached the rear kitchen door when a movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. It took her a couple of seconds before she recognized the red pickup coming down the road. As if reading her mind, it turned onto the red clay trail leading up to her place.

            Quickly wiping her face again with her hands, she cleared her throat and forced a smile on her lips. It wasn’t until the truck pulled up behind her twelve-year-old Chevy that she walked over to greet her visitor.

            “Good morning, Meomi!” Cove Brodney greeted her as he climbed out of the cab.

            “Morning, Cove. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

            “Just doing the neighborly thing. Checking to see how my favorite neighbor’s doing after that hard freeze last night.” He flashed her a grin that was almost dazzling. If she wasn’t so down-hearted, she would have been delighted to see him. Today, she was touched he’d come by, but she was too ashamed to let him know just how dire her straits had become.

            “Cove, I’m your only neighbor down this stretch of road.”

            He parked his hands on his hips, and she could tell he was studying her. She reciprocated, once again appreciating his muscular stature. He wasn’t a tall man. Less than six feet. But he was well-proportioned, with a kind face that reminded her of the profiles on the busts of Greek gods.

            “Mind if I invite myself in for a cup of coffee?”

            She sighed. “I’m sorry. If I could, I would, but my pump’s froze up. I can’t get any water into the house.”

            “Oh?” He gestured toward the pump. “Mind if I take a look?”

            “Be my guest.”

            Going over to the device, he examined it. Even pulled a screwdriver out of the back pocket of his jeans to undo the screws bolting down the cover. She watched, arms crossed over her chest. He seemed to know what he was doing, but she knew it was a gallant if futile gesture. He finally verified it when he hung his head before looking up at her.

            “I think it’s fried.”

            “Thanks for checking anyway,” she told him.

            He got to his feet. “I don’t know if Eldridge’s will have the parts to fix it, but they can probably order them.”

            “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have the money to get it repaired anyway.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted saying them, and hung her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

            “Shouldn’t have what? Told me the truth?” He advanced toward her until he stood directly in front of her. “What’s going on, Meomi?” he softly demanded.

            She opened her mouth to say he was kind to ask, but that she’d rather not burden him with her problems when another hard gust of wind tried to knock them down.

            Cove reached over, placing a hand on her elbow. “Let’s get inside before we freeze out here.”

            Reluctantly, she led him inside so he could see the dirty dishes piled up in the sink. “Sorry. It’s the maid’s day off.”

            “Don’t worry about it. It happens if you can’t get any water from your well.” He glanced around. “Kind of chilly in here. How low do you have your thermostat set?”

            “I don’t,” she admitted. “When it gets too intolerable, I start a fire in the fireplace.”

            Before she could stop him, he strode into the adjacent living room where he’d see the rumpled blankets and pillow on the sofa and the remains of her meager breakfast on the coffee table.

            “You’re living in your living room?” he verified, giving her an odd look.

            Meomi gave a little shrug. “That’s why it’s called a living room.”

            She didn’t expect him to walk back over and stop right in front of her to stare into her face. There was true concern in his blue eyes.

            “How are you getting by, Meomi?”

            She started to say something flippant. Something that wouldn’t give her away. To her utter embarrassment, she broke into tears. More astonishing, he pulled her into his embrace.

            “Tell me all of it,” he gently demanded.

            She did, right down to the fact that she had less than ten bucks in the bank, which was why she’d had to turn off the heat. But she still owed the electric company sixty-one dollars or they’d cut that off, too, and then where would she be?

            “It doesn’t matter,” she finished. “I was about to call Trannon Weston to tell him I’m ready to sign those papers.”

            “Is that bastard still egging you to sell him this property?”

            She nodded in answer. “The well’s gone dry anyway. It can’t pump enough to irrigate the crops. Now, with the pump to the house burned out…”

            He was so warm. His chest was like a padded wall, all muscle and fragrant skin. She couldn’t identify what cologne or aftershave he used, if he used any, but it was pleasant. And comforting.

            He let out a heavy sigh. “Guess I’m just in time, then.” Holding her at arm’s length, he smiled. “The real reason I came over was to let you know the good news. I just had a surveyor confirm what I’ve been suspecting for some time.”

            “Please tell me you found a gold mine, and you’re willing to give low-interest loans to close friends and neighbors.” She returned the smile, which made his widen.

            “There. That’s the Meomi I’m used to seeing,” he teased. “Actually, it’s better than a gold mine.”

            She snorted. “What could be better than a gold mine?”

            “There’s a natural spring running under both our properties, and we can both tap into it to feed our crops and our homes.”

            Meomi gave him her best you-gotta-be-shitting-me look. “Under both our properties?”

            “Yep.” Cove nodded once. “It extends underneath my back forty and about two hundred yards under yours. Not only will you no longer have to rely on that well, or worry about having to dig another, but drawing from it won’t be that much of a headache.”

            She continued to stare at him in disbelief. “You’re willing…to share…property rights?”

            “Yeah. Why not?”

            She shook her head. “That’s so generous of you, but—”

            He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts. If you were the one with the spring, and you found it running under my land, you’d do the right thing and let me know, wouldn’t you?”

            “You know you could’ve kept this all to yourself,” she told him.

            “You’re right. I could have. If it had been anyone else but you…” His voice trailed off as he continued to stare at her. At that moment, she wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but she feared his reaction.

            Miraculously, he made that decision for her.

            It was too brief a kiss. Soft, warm, but too damn short. Almost like a friendship kiss.

            Almost.

When he pulled away, she waited for him to apologize. Or for her to. Neither of them did, and that felt right.

            “Okay. So that solves my irrigation problem. If I can get Joe Ackerman over here to start laying out lines, I just might have a cash crop ready in time for harvesting.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “I’ve already called him, and he and his crew’s set to arrive first thing Monday morning.”

            “But until then, there’s the matter of me getting water into the house.”

            He let her go and started for the back door. “I got just what the doctor ordered.”

            “What?”

            He didn’t respond. Instead, he strode out the back door. She followed him out into the yard, then stopped to watch as he went around to the bed of his pickup. Lowering the tailgate, he hefted what looked to be an old-fashioned clay jar onto his hip. She continued to watch in numb silence as he took it over to the pump where he set the jar on the ground beside it.

            “What are you doing?” she finally inquired.

            “Just wait.”

            He returned to his truck to retrieve a toolbox and took it over to the pump. There, he removed a small shovel from the kit and proceeded to dig into the frost-crusted ground. When he reached the depth he wanted, he placed the jar into the hole, then began digging in another spot about a foot away.

Eventually he reached what he was looking for and pulled up a length of the hose leading from the pump to the house. Unscrewing the hose from the pump, he blew on the end before inserting the hose into the jug. Several strips of electrical tape to secure the hose to the jug so it wouldn’t slip out, and he was finished.

“All right! You should have plenty of water now until you can have that pump fixed.” He dusted off his hands as he grinned at her.

She didn’t try to hide her look of disbelief. “Are you telling me that jar’s got enough water in it to last me for…for at least three or four months?”

“It could last you for as long as you want,” he answered solemnly. “Or rather, for as long as I want.”

She pointed to it. “But that looks like it can only hold maybe five gallons at the most!”

He walked up to her and, to her surprise, placed the tips of his fingers of one hand on her left cheek. “Meomi, listen very carefully. This is between just the two of us.”

She stared at him, waiting.

“What if I was to tell you I’m an Aquarian?”

“An Aquarian? You mean Aquarius? Like the zodiac symbol?” She narrowed her eyes. “What does your birth sign have to do with this?”

“A lot.” His lips pressed into a thin line before continuing. “Meomi, there’s not many of us, but we do exist. We have for over a thousand generations. You could say we’re the reason that zodiac symbol exists.”

Her first instinct was to write him off. Call him a quack and separate herself from him as quickly and as far away as possible…until the image of the pottery jar floated in her mind.

“You’re a water bearer?”

“Sort of. We have this ability to… Let’s just say water to us is our lifeblood. We always have access to it.”

“How?” She glanced back at the half-buried jug. “Are you telling me that container will never run dry?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “It’s a long story.” He pivoted around and went back to retrieve his toolbox, which he took over to the truck.

Fearing he was about to leave, Meomi called out to him. “Cove?”

He stopped by the passenger side door and glanced over at her.

“I…I’d like to hear more about Aquarians.” Throwing a thumb behind her, she gave him her warmest smile. “How about you tell me over a cup of coffee?”

He hesitated for a moment, then gave her a beaming smile of his own. “I’d really like that.”

She remained by the back door, holding it open so he’d enter first, then closed it behind her.

And sometime later during their discussion, her wish was granted when they exchanged their second kiss. It left her believing they would eventually share more in the coming days.

Linda's Website

Monday, February 27, 2023

HERE BE NEWS for Monday February 27, 2023

Posted by: PG Forte

 




 Monday February 27, 2023 

Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where each monday we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:



Tuesday February 21, 2023: Deborah Bailey discusses How to Stay Productive When You've Got the Winter Blues


        


 So I'm doing something a little different today. I was (and still am) deep in the midst of writing what I'd thought of as my first werewolf story, my first vampire-werewolf love story, actually, when it suddenly occurred to me that...yeah, it's really NOT my first.  About a gazillion years ago I co-wrote a parody romance with a group of authors I belonged to known as the Nine Naughty Novelists. And, yes, my contribution is a mere two chapters (and a few related blog posts, you can find the links on my webpage: https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn ) but it was and is (and probably always will be) the most fun I've ever had while writing. 

You can still buy it for a mere .99 (because we can't figure out how to take it down). Or you can download it for free from the link on my website. https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn


The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies

Theirs was a love that nature never intended. Bigger than Texas. Hotter than Hades. Weirder than…a lot of other things you might have read about up until now.

Self-made zillionaire Rock Fangsworthy is your typical Texas cowboy…well, sort of. Typical in that the only thing this lethally sexy lady-charmer with the hair trigger temper loves more than his horse is his ranch, The Double Fang. Or maybe his boots. Less typical in the fact he's also a four hundred year old vampire with a shocking secret—he can't stand the sight of blood.

Buffi Van Pelt is just your average girl-next-door winery owner…or is she? The spunky single mom to twin boys also happens to be a winsome werewolf with secrets and troubles of her own. The winery that the gutsy good-girl recently inherited from her grandmother is on the verge of ruin. If Buffi can't find a use for the mysteriously tainted wine before time and her pantry's limited supply of red meat runs out, she and her pups will be left homeless, destitute and very, very hungry. Worse yet, her baby-daddy is the same hunky, bad-boy vampire rancher who's out to steal The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck from under her paws.

Once upon a time their passion flamed hotter'n a summer's night in Dallas with three Cheerleaders and a side of habanero sauce. Tonight, love's lightning might just strike them twice…but only if the wine don't kill them first. 

***YES, it's a PARODY. Don't say you haven't been warned!***




Excerpt:It was a dark and stormy night in Bloodsuck, Texas—the kind of night vampire cowboy 

Rock Fangsworthy loved best. All except for the stormy part. Too much rain made the brim of his Stetson go limp. And if there was one thing Rock wasn’t, it was limp. He was rock hard, through and through, from the flinty gaze in his slate-blue eyes to the diamond-tipped spurs on his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots. In fact, Rock had only one soft spot, and that was for his ranch, the Double Fang. 

The ranch had been in his possession for several generations, ever since he’d fled Boston at the turn of the last-century-plus-one hoping to leave his family’s nest, his disgrace, and the truth about his shameful condition behind and start life anew in that paradise on Earth known as the Texas Hill Country. 

The Double Fang occupied some of the prettiest country in all of Texas, ergo the world. And as Rock rode across it tonight, he was filled to overflowing with feelings of contentment and self-satisfaction—even despite the rain and the currently questionable condition of his hat. He was master of all he surveyed. There was, in fact, only one thing marring his happiness; one burr beneath his saddle, so to speak; one blot on his otherwise blot-free horizon. 

The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck. 

Rock’s jaw clenched at the thought. A vein in his temple began to throb. “Grape farmers,” he growled, even though there was no one to hear him but his horse, Monk. “No good, double-crossing werewolf scum.” 

Rock had no use for wineries. After all, he didn’t drink...wine. He had no use for werewolves either, not since the day the Braveheart brothers, Butch and Barkley, had cheated him out of a prime parcel of land that should, by rights, have belonged to him. The pair had caught him napping during the day (an unfortunate necessity for those of his kind) and took the opportunity to mark their territory—not just in the manner of wolves, which would have been bad enough, but with stakes and flags and deed contracts—the kinds of thing the County Assessor’s Office put such child-like faith in. 

Rock had tried twice to right the terrible wrong that had been done him, but both times he’d failed. His last attempt had been made shortly after Barkley, the second of the brothers to die, was killed in a routine hunting accident. He’d approached the widow Braveheart with his offer to buy her out but had been rebuffed. Babs Braveheart might have been beautiful, but she had the brains to match her blonde good looks and was crazy to boot. She’d taken it into her head that Rock was at fault for her husband’s death. 

Like anyone could be reasonably expected to distinguish between one wolf and another at a distance of several feet! 

Babs had taken her revenge on Rock, sure enough. She’d made certain he didn’t get the only two things he’d ever wanted. But now the ding-dong bitch was dead, God rest her spiteful soul. Tonight, he would make his third and final offer for the winery. An offer the new owner, whoever he was, would not be able to refuse. 

Rock reined his horse to a stop in the winery’s front yard and dismounted. He tied Monk to a conveniently placed grape arbor, a landscape feature that evoked sweet memories of better times. The vein in his temple throbbed harder. That arbor would be the first thing he’d have dismantled once the winery was his. He smiled as he imagined herds of happy cows frolicking in the vineyards, trampling the grapes, the tender fruit turning to jelly beneath their hooves. 

His spurs jingle jangle jingled in a pleasantly menacing fashion as he strode confidently up to the front door. High pitched barking noises emanated from inside the house. Rock sneered at the sound. It pleased him to think the former werewolf home now housed a passel of pocketbook dogs, even though they’d shortly be gone as well.

Just as he was about to pound commandingly on the door, it was thrown open. 

Rock stiffened. His jaw clenched harder. His vein throbbed. Again. “Buffi Van Pelt. I should have known you’d be back.” But, really, how could he have known something like that? Who would ever have expected that Babs and Barkley Braveheart’s granddaughter would return to the scene of their crime of passion? An awful suspicion took hold in his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re the new owner of The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck?” 

“Well, of course I’m the new owner,” she answered in flustered tones. She seemed distracted by the two puppies gamboling about at her feet. “What did you expect?” 

Rock ignored her question—and the puppies. As his gaze roved over the lithe yet athletic form of the woman he’d once been foolish enough to think he might love, the years since he’d last seen her (five, at least, wasn’t it? he was almost certain it had been that long) melted away as though it had been no more than two years. Three years, tops. He took note of her strong calves, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin t-shirt she wore, her rosy cheeks, her red lips. 

Her eyes were still as blue as Texas bluebonnets. And her hair—oh, how he remembered that glossy, gold mane, so similar in color and texture to the coat of the golden retriever puppy he’d loved as a child. 

He’d named the puppy Rosebud. It had been his faithful companion for three-quarters of an afternoon. Until his cousin Viggo decided to eat him for a snack. Rock could still recall the sick horror he’d felt when he’d come upon them in the kitchen that day; Viggo’s mouth stained red with Rosebud’s blood, the puppy’s lifeless body hanging limp in his hands... 

A sharp tug on his ankle brought Rock’s mind back to the present. He looked down. Way down. Down to where the two puppies—wolf-hybrids obviously, not pocketbook dogs after all, nor Golden Retrievers either, more’s the pity—were viciously attacking one of his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots with the diamond-tipped spurs. 

“Shoo,” he said as, gently but with firmness, he kicked his foot in an effort to dislodge the pests. 

Buffi clapped her hands. “Vlad! Ivan! Stop that this minute!” she scolded. 

Rock stared at her in disbelief. She’d named her dogs after his father and grandfather? Oh, the fickle cruelty of women! Why did she not just stake him through the heart and have done with it? The vein in his temple throbbed its agreement. 

Saturday, February 25, 2023

Bring It Back(list)! The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies ~ PG Forte

Posted by: PG Forte

 So I'm doing something a little different today. I was (and still am) deep in the midst of writing what I'd thought of as my first werewolf story, my first vampire-werewolf love story, actually, when it suddenly occurred to me that...yeah, it's really NOT my first.  About a gazillion years ago I co-wrote a parody romance with a group of authors I belonged to known as the Nine Naughty Novelists. And, yes, my contribution is a mere two chapters (and a few related blog posts, you can find the links on my webpage: https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn ) but it was and is (and probably always will be) the most fun I've ever had while writing. 

You can still buy it for a mere .99 (because we can't figure out how to take it down). Or you can download it for free from the link on my website. https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn


The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies

Theirs was a love that nature never intended. Bigger than Texas. Hotter than Hades. Weirder than…a lot of other things you might have read about up until now.

Self-made zillionaire Rock Fangsworthy is your typical Texas cowboy…well, sort of. Typical in that the only thing this lethally sexy lady-charmer with the hair trigger temper loves more than his horse is his ranch, The Double Fang. Or maybe his boots. Less typical in the fact he's also a four hundred year old vampire with a shocking secret—he can't stand the sight of blood.

Buffi Van Pelt is just your average girl-next-door winery owner…or is she? The spunky single mom to twin boys also happens to be a winsome werewolf with secrets and troubles of her own. The winery that the gutsy good-girl recently inherited from her grandmother is on the verge of ruin. If Buffi can't find a use for the mysteriously tainted wine before time and her pantry's limited supply of red meat runs out, she and her pups will be left homeless, destitute and very, very hungry. Worse yet, her baby-daddy is the same hunky, bad-boy vampire rancher who's out to steal The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck from under her paws.

Once upon a time their passion flamed hotter'n a summer's night in Dallas with three Cheerleaders and a side of habanero sauce. Tonight, love's lightning might just strike them twice…but only if the wine don't kill them first. 

***YES, it's a PARODY. Don't say you haven't been warned!***




Excerpt:It was a dark and stormy night in Bloodsuck, Texas—the kind of night vampire cowboy 

Rock Fangsworthy loved best. All except for the stormy part. Too much rain made the brim of his Stetson go limp. And if there was one thing Rock wasn’t, it was limp. He was rock hard, through and through, from the flinty gaze in his slate-blue eyes to the diamond-tipped spurs on his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots. In fact, Rock had only one soft spot, and that was for his ranch, the Double Fang. 

The ranch had been in his possession for several generations, ever since he’d fled Boston at the turn of the last-century-plus-one hoping to leave his family’s nest, his disgrace, and the truth about his shameful condition behind and start life anew in that paradise on Earth known as the Texas Hill Country. 

The Double Fang occupied some of the prettiest country in all of Texas, ergo the world. And as Rock rode across it tonight, he was filled to overflowing with feelings of contentment and self-satisfaction—even despite the rain and the currently questionable condition of his hat. He was master of all he surveyed. There was, in fact, only one thing marring his happiness; one burr beneath his saddle, so to speak; one blot on his otherwise blot-free horizon. 

The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck. 

Rock’s jaw clenched at the thought. A vein in his temple began to throb. “Grape farmers,” he growled, even though there was no one to hear him but his horse, Monk. “No good, double-crossing werewolf scum.” 

Rock had no use for wineries. After all, he didn’t drink...wine. He had no use for werewolves either, not since the day the Braveheart brothers, Butch and Barkley, had cheated him out of a prime parcel of land that should, by rights, have belonged to him. The pair had caught him napping during the day (an unfortunate necessity for those of his kind) and took the opportunity to mark their territory—not just in the manner of wolves, which would have been bad enough, but with stakes and flags and deed contracts—the kinds of thing the County Assessor’s Office put such child-like faith in. 

Rock had tried twice to right the terrible wrong that had been done him, but both times he’d failed. His last attempt had been made shortly after Barkley, the second of the brothers to die, was killed in a routine hunting accident. He’d approached the widow Braveheart with his offer to buy her out but had been rebuffed. Babs Braveheart might have been beautiful, but she had the brains to match her blonde good looks and was crazy to boot. She’d taken it into her head that Rock was at fault for her husband’s death. 

Like anyone could be reasonably expected to distinguish between one wolf and another at a distance of several feet! 

Babs had taken her revenge on Rock, sure enough. She’d made certain he didn’t get the only two things he’d ever wanted. But now the ding-dong bitch was dead, God rest her spiteful soul. Tonight, he would make his third and final offer for the winery. An offer the new owner, whoever he was, would not be able to refuse. 

Rock reined his horse to a stop in the winery’s front yard and dismounted. He tied Monk to a conveniently placed grape arbor, a landscape feature that evoked sweet memories of better times. The vein in his temple throbbed harder. That arbor would be the first thing he’d have dismantled once the winery was his. He smiled as he imagined herds of happy cows frolicking in the vineyards, trampling the grapes, the tender fruit turning to jelly beneath their hooves. 

His spurs jingle jangle jingled in a pleasantly menacing fashion as he strode confidently up to the front door. High pitched barking noises emanated from inside the house. Rock sneered at the sound. It pleased him to think the former werewolf home now housed a passel of pocketbook dogs, even though they’d shortly be gone as well.

Just as he was about to pound commandingly on the door, it was thrown open. 

Rock stiffened. His jaw clenched harder. His vein throbbed. Again. “Buffi Van Pelt. I should have known you’d be back.” But, really, how could he have known something like that? Who would ever have expected that Babs and Barkley Braveheart’s granddaughter would return to the scene of their crime of passion? An awful suspicion took hold in his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re the new owner of The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck?” 

“Well, of course I’m the new owner,” she answered in flustered tones. She seemed distracted by the two puppies gamboling about at her feet. “What did you expect?” 

Rock ignored her question—and the puppies. As his gaze roved over the lithe yet athletic form of the woman he’d once been foolish enough to think he might love, the years since he’d last seen her (five, at least, wasn’t it? he was almost certain it had been that long) melted away as though it had been no more than two years. Three years, tops. He took note of her strong calves, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin t-shirt she wore, her rosy cheeks, her red lips. 

Her eyes were still as blue as Texas bluebonnets. And her hair—oh, how he remembered that glossy, gold mane, so similar in color and texture to the coat of the golden retriever puppy he’d loved as a child. 

He’d named the puppy Rosebud. It had been his faithful companion for three-quarters of an afternoon. Until his cousin Viggo decided to eat him for a snack. Rock could still recall the sick horror he’d felt when he’d come upon them in the kitchen that day; Viggo’s mouth stained red with Rosebud’s blood, the puppy’s lifeless body hanging limp in his hands... 

A sharp tug on his ankle brought Rock’s mind back to the present. He looked down. Way down. Down to where the two puppies—wolf-hybrids obviously, not pocketbook dogs after all, nor Golden Retrievers either, more’s the pity—were viciously attacking one of his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots with the diamond-tipped spurs. 

“Shoo,” he said as, gently but with firmness, he kicked his foot in an effort to dislodge the pests. 

Buffi clapped her hands. “Vlad! Ivan! Stop that this minute!” she scolded. 

Rock stared at her in disbelief. She’d named her dogs after his father and grandfather? Oh, the fickle cruelty of women! Why did she not just stake him through the heart and have done with it? The vein in his temple throbbed its agreement. 

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