Devney Perry's Blog, page 4
November 1, 2017
Excerpt: The Outpost
The Outpost, the fourth book in the Jamison Valley series, is coming November 7th! This is Beau and Sabrina’s story and can be read as a standalone. Enjoy this excerpt from The Outpost
PROLOGUE
“Ms. MacKenzie? They’re ready for you.”
I nodded at the woman who had come to fetch me from my dressing room, then slid off my tall director’s chair. As I followed the woman through the labyrinth of hallways in the studio, I studied her clothes. Her all-black ensemble made me jealous and even more irritated with my colorless outfit. With my stark-white blouse and beige pencil skirt, the only color I had on was the fire-engine-red soles of my patent white Louboutin heels.
My stylist was getting an email the second I was done for the day. No more light colors for public outings. Or anything, really. The bright clothing contrasted too much with my mood.
Black.
We needed to incorporate more black.
“Can I get you anything?” my escort asked over her shoulder.
“Water, please.”
She smiled before taking a sharp right turn, leading me out onto the television set where I’d be spending the next two hours taping an interview. I winced and held up a hand to shade my eyes as they adjusted to the beaming spotlights overhead. Why did they always keep these sets so hot? Ten seconds and sweat was already dripping down my sides.
My escort left me with another woman, a pretty brunette, as she went to fetch my water.
“Sabrina MacKenzie,” the brunette said. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Bryce Ryan.”
“Oh, uh, hi,” I stammered, reaching out to shake my interviewer’s hand.
She grinned. “You were expecting a man, weren’t you?”
“Guilty.” My exaggerated frown made her laugh.
She turned, and I followed her to a pair of seats staged opposite one another and sat down. “It happens all the time. I’ve grown to enjoy the shock on people’s faces when they realize I’m a woman.”
That was a bit twisted, but I just smiled and left that comment hanging. My escort returned with my water and I sipped it while Bryce thumbed through her interview cards. I was reserving judgment on Bryce’s journalistic skills until after the interview, but I had a feeling those cards contained nothing but predictable questions.
How does it feel to have taken down a criminal empire?
Were you surprised when you were nominated for the award?
Are you actually considering giving up your career as an investigative journalist to keep writing smut?
Eleven interviews and no one had bothered asking me anything unique. I’d been praised for my investigative journalism and judged for my fiction. Heaven forbid I author something that women might actually enjoy reading. And to include descriptive sex scenes? Scandalous.
“Romance novels?” Bryce asked.
Oh, boy. Here we go.
I smiled sweetly. “I do love a good romance novel. Especially if there’s a little erotica mixed in too.”
She grinned. “Sounds like I’ll be buying your novel tonight.”
Maybe being interviewed by Bryce wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Bryce,” the producer called from behind the row of cameras. “We’re all set.”
“Thanks.” She waved over the hair and makeup team. My blond hair got fluffed and placed while her skin was dusted and blushed. With both of our lips recolored, we settled in for the interview. The cameraman gave us his countdown and then Bryce did her introduction before turning to me.
“You’ve had quite the year, Sabrina. Just a little over one year ago, you wrote an article for The Seattle Times that shut down the biggest gun-smuggling operation on the upper West Coast. Then you disappeared for six months, only to reemerge as a best-selling romance novelist. You’ve just won a Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting and I’ve heard that there are talks of making your book into a blockbuster. How does it feel to have reached such success in your career?”
“Thank you. It’s been wonderful, albeit very busy.” I smiled and glanced at my lap to hide the flash of pain that crashed through my heart. Nothing about my successes gave me joy. Talking about my accomplishments just reminded me of how much I had lost.
“You’ve made some major achievements since you came back to Seattle,” Bryce said. “Most journalists, including this one, would kill to be in your position. How does it feel?”
I gave her my rehearsed answer. “It’s been incredible. Surreal, really. I’m still in shock at how much has happened over the last year.”
“I can imagine.” She flipped to a new note card. “Let’s talk more about the article.”
My cheerful face belied my true feelings. I was miserable on this television set. I was exhausted from talking about that damn article. I was done having people fuss over its success.
Everyone thought it was the article that had changed my life.
It wasn’t.
It had been the six months I’d spent in Montana.
It had been the six months I’d spent with him.
PROLOGUE
“Ms. MacKenzie? They’re ready for you.”
I nodded at the woman who had come to fetch me from my dressing room, then slid off my tall director’s chair. As I followed the woman through the labyrinth of hallways in the studio, I studied her clothes. Her all-black ensemble made me jealous and even more irritated with my colorless outfit. With my stark-white blouse and beige pencil skirt, the only color I had on was the fire-engine-red soles of my patent white Louboutin heels.
My stylist was getting an email the second I was done for the day. No more light colors for public outings. Or anything, really. The bright clothing contrasted too much with my mood.
Black.
We needed to incorporate more black.
“Can I get you anything?” my escort asked over her shoulder.
“Water, please.”
She smiled before taking a sharp right turn, leading me out onto the television set where I’d be spending the next two hours taping an interview. I winced and held up a hand to shade my eyes as they adjusted to the beaming spotlights overhead. Why did they always keep these sets so hot? Ten seconds and sweat was already dripping down my sides.
My escort left me with another woman, a pretty brunette, as she went to fetch my water.
“Sabrina MacKenzie,” the brunette said. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Bryce Ryan.”
“Oh, uh, hi,” I stammered, reaching out to shake my interviewer’s hand.
She grinned. “You were expecting a man, weren’t you?”
“Guilty.” My exaggerated frown made her laugh.
She turned, and I followed her to a pair of seats staged opposite one another and sat down. “It happens all the time. I’ve grown to enjoy the shock on people’s faces when they realize I’m a woman.”
That was a bit twisted, but I just smiled and left that comment hanging. My escort returned with my water and I sipped it while Bryce thumbed through her interview cards. I was reserving judgment on Bryce’s journalistic skills until after the interview, but I had a feeling those cards contained nothing but predictable questions.
How does it feel to have taken down a criminal empire?
Were you surprised when you were nominated for the award?
Are you actually considering giving up your career as an investigative journalist to keep writing smut?
Eleven interviews and no one had bothered asking me anything unique. I’d been praised for my investigative journalism and judged for my fiction. Heaven forbid I author something that women might actually enjoy reading. And to include descriptive sex scenes? Scandalous.
“Romance novels?” Bryce asked.
Oh, boy. Here we go.
I smiled sweetly. “I do love a good romance novel. Especially if there’s a little erotica mixed in too.”
She grinned. “Sounds like I’ll be buying your novel tonight.”
Maybe being interviewed by Bryce wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Bryce,” the producer called from behind the row of cameras. “We’re all set.”
“Thanks.” She waved over the hair and makeup team. My blond hair got fluffed and placed while her skin was dusted and blushed. With both of our lips recolored, we settled in for the interview. The cameraman gave us his countdown and then Bryce did her introduction before turning to me.
“You’ve had quite the year, Sabrina. Just a little over one year ago, you wrote an article for The Seattle Times that shut down the biggest gun-smuggling operation on the upper West Coast. Then you disappeared for six months, only to reemerge as a best-selling romance novelist. You’ve just won a Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting and I’ve heard that there are talks of making your book into a blockbuster. How does it feel to have reached such success in your career?”
“Thank you. It’s been wonderful, albeit very busy.” I smiled and glanced at my lap to hide the flash of pain that crashed through my heart. Nothing about my successes gave me joy. Talking about my accomplishments just reminded me of how much I had lost.
“You’ve made some major achievements since you came back to Seattle,” Bryce said. “Most journalists, including this one, would kill to be in your position. How does it feel?”
I gave her my rehearsed answer. “It’s been incredible. Surreal, really. I’m still in shock at how much has happened over the last year.”
“I can imagine.” She flipped to a new note card. “Let’s talk more about the article.”
My cheerful face belied my true feelings. I was miserable on this television set. I was exhausted from talking about that damn article. I was done having people fuss over its success.
Everyone thought it was the article that had changed my life.
It wasn’t.
It had been the six months I’d spent in Montana.
It had been the six months I’d spent with him.
July 30, 2017
Excerpt: The Lucky Heart
The third book in the Jamison Valley series, The Lucky Heart, is coming soon! Releasing August 15th, 2017, this is Silas and Felicity's story. Enjoy this excerpt from the first chapter in The Lucky Heart.
“Uh, thanks.”
“Thanks?” I asked. He said it like I’d just opened the door for him or let him cut in front of me at the bank.
“Yeah, thanks. That was, uh, nice.” Silas was buttoning up his shirt like he couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Nice? How could he say that? It had been incredible. Phenomenal even. It ranked in my top five best sexual experiences, even beating our hookup after Wes’s funeral two years ago. Top five was not nice. And I knew that he’d enjoyed it. He couldn’t fake that level of satisfaction to save his horse’s life.
I slid out of bed and pulled the sheet around my naked body. Moments ago, I had been enjoying some post-coital relaxation. Now I was getting angry.
The last thing I wanted was for any man, especially this man, to think that I was an easy lay. Is that why he’d come over? Had he been expecting me to put out?
I certainly hadn’t planned on having sex with him tonight, but when I’d opened the door, one thing had led to another and, well, Silas Grant was hard to resist. That chiseled jaw. Those brown eyes the color of warm maple syrup. A body perfectly sculpted from honest work. What had started as an awkward hug had soon turned electric and neither one of us had been able to stop after that first kiss.
“Is that why you came over tonight? For something ‘nice’?”
Please say no.
“No,” he said, buckling his belt. My shoulders sagged for the briefest second until he kept talking. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not sure why I came over but it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Every muscle in my face tightened.
“Yeah. A mistake.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re leaving.”
He shook his head. “There she is.”
“What does that mean?”
He sat on the bed and pulled on his brown cowboy boots. “Just surprised it took over an hour for that attitude of yours to finally show.”
My lip curled. “Get. Out.”
He stood from the bed and pulled on his baseball hat, trapping his dark blond hair beneath. Just minutes ago, I’d been running my fingers through those silky strands. Now I wanted to yank some of them out.
“Welcome home, Felicity,” he clipped before walking out the door and slamming it behind him.
I let the sheet fall from my body as I snagged a pillow from the floor. With all the force I could summon, I threw it at the closed door. My breath was coming in angry pants as I stomped to my suitcase and tugged on a sleep shirt and panties.
“That man!” I pulled my long, honey-blond hair into a ponytail.
Silas could ignite my fiery spirit like no one else. In bed, it was amazing. Elsewhere, things could get dicey. We were either perfectly in sync or at each other’s throats.
I picked up the sheet off the floor and shook it out over the bed. Then I did the same with the white down comforter. The clock on the nightstand read 12:09 a.m. I’d been in town less than twelve hours and had already managed to piss someone off.
I had hoped that by moving home I could repair some of the relationships I had broken when I’d left sixteen years ago. That I could get to know my niece and nephew better and strengthen my relationships with my family. That maybe, just maybe, Silas and I could put the past behind us and start over.
“If you wanted to start over, maybe you shouldn’t have had sex with him. Brilliant move as ever, Felicity. Next time, keep your damn clothes on.”
The empty room didn’t have a response.
Felicity’s Journey Home, as I had deemed this new chapter in my life, wasn’t just about relocating back to my small hometown of Prescott, Montana. It was about making amends. It was about setting aside my mask and revealing the real me. For too long, I had hidden behind layers of false confidence and snide comments. I had disguised my vulnerabilities and insecurities with “attitude.”
It was time to do better. Be nicer. It was time to show people that I had changed.
I wasn’t the immature girl that had left Prescott after high school. Time and age had softened my rough edges. So had the love of my best friend, Sabrina. She had always seen through my sharp exterior, and thanks to her encouragement over the last sixteen years, my forked tongue came out less and less.
This new journey was about finding the courage to let others discover the version of myself that she had always seen. The version of myself that might, for once, be able to have a healthy long-term relationship.
I let out a dry laugh. “So far, you’re off to a great start.”
I walked to the door and picked up my pillow. Pressing it against my face, I let it muffle a frustrated scream.
Why had I snapped at Silas and told him to get out? He hadn’t meant to be a jerk, it wasn’t his style. He was probably just as confused about me as I was about him and hadn’t known what to say. But instead of being honest about my feelings, I’d let my armor snap back in place and released the snark.
I tossed the pillow against the headboard before curling into a ball beneath my covers. With my nose pressed into the sheet, I inhaled a deep breath. Silas’s rich and soothing scent still lingered on the cotton.
God, that smell. I drew in a few more breaths, memorizing the new leather smell, because I doubted I’d ever have it on my sheets again.
Okay. New rule. No more sex with Silas.
In the last two years, Silas and I had hooked up each time I’d visited Prescott. First, at Wes’s funeral, then again at my brother’s wedding, and every time after that except for last summer because I’d been dating someone in Seattle.
The casual sex had worked because, after each tryst, I could run back to Washington and hide. But now that I was living here, we couldn’t continue with the hookups. Here, I couldn’t have secret sex with Silas and pretend I didn’t want more.
Decision made. “No more sex with Silas.”
And no more attitude.
The next time I saw him, I would apologize for my behavior and tell him I’d like to build a friendship. We could put tonight, and all the other nights, behind us and move forward.
As friends.
Because this crazy idea that he’d ever love me back was just that.
Crazy.
“Uh, thanks.”
“Thanks?” I asked. He said it like I’d just opened the door for him or let him cut in front of me at the bank.
“Yeah, thanks. That was, uh, nice.” Silas was buttoning up his shirt like he couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Nice? How could he say that? It had been incredible. Phenomenal even. It ranked in my top five best sexual experiences, even beating our hookup after Wes’s funeral two years ago. Top five was not nice. And I knew that he’d enjoyed it. He couldn’t fake that level of satisfaction to save his horse’s life.
I slid out of bed and pulled the sheet around my naked body. Moments ago, I had been enjoying some post-coital relaxation. Now I was getting angry.
The last thing I wanted was for any man, especially this man, to think that I was an easy lay. Is that why he’d come over? Had he been expecting me to put out?
I certainly hadn’t planned on having sex with him tonight, but when I’d opened the door, one thing had led to another and, well, Silas Grant was hard to resist. That chiseled jaw. Those brown eyes the color of warm maple syrup. A body perfectly sculpted from honest work. What had started as an awkward hug had soon turned electric and neither one of us had been able to stop after that first kiss.
“Is that why you came over tonight? For something ‘nice’?”
Please say no.
“No,” he said, buckling his belt. My shoulders sagged for the briefest second until he kept talking. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not sure why I came over but it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Every muscle in my face tightened.
“Yeah. A mistake.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re leaving.”
He shook his head. “There she is.”
“What does that mean?”
He sat on the bed and pulled on his brown cowboy boots. “Just surprised it took over an hour for that attitude of yours to finally show.”
My lip curled. “Get. Out.”
He stood from the bed and pulled on his baseball hat, trapping his dark blond hair beneath. Just minutes ago, I’d been running my fingers through those silky strands. Now I wanted to yank some of them out.
“Welcome home, Felicity,” he clipped before walking out the door and slamming it behind him.
I let the sheet fall from my body as I snagged a pillow from the floor. With all the force I could summon, I threw it at the closed door. My breath was coming in angry pants as I stomped to my suitcase and tugged on a sleep shirt and panties.
“That man!” I pulled my long, honey-blond hair into a ponytail.
Silas could ignite my fiery spirit like no one else. In bed, it was amazing. Elsewhere, things could get dicey. We were either perfectly in sync or at each other’s throats.
I picked up the sheet off the floor and shook it out over the bed. Then I did the same with the white down comforter. The clock on the nightstand read 12:09 a.m. I’d been in town less than twelve hours and had already managed to piss someone off.
I had hoped that by moving home I could repair some of the relationships I had broken when I’d left sixteen years ago. That I could get to know my niece and nephew better and strengthen my relationships with my family. That maybe, just maybe, Silas and I could put the past behind us and start over.
“If you wanted to start over, maybe you shouldn’t have had sex with him. Brilliant move as ever, Felicity. Next time, keep your damn clothes on.”
The empty room didn’t have a response.
Felicity’s Journey Home, as I had deemed this new chapter in my life, wasn’t just about relocating back to my small hometown of Prescott, Montana. It was about making amends. It was about setting aside my mask and revealing the real me. For too long, I had hidden behind layers of false confidence and snide comments. I had disguised my vulnerabilities and insecurities with “attitude.”
It was time to do better. Be nicer. It was time to show people that I had changed.
I wasn’t the immature girl that had left Prescott after high school. Time and age had softened my rough edges. So had the love of my best friend, Sabrina. She had always seen through my sharp exterior, and thanks to her encouragement over the last sixteen years, my forked tongue came out less and less.
This new journey was about finding the courage to let others discover the version of myself that she had always seen. The version of myself that might, for once, be able to have a healthy long-term relationship.
I let out a dry laugh. “So far, you’re off to a great start.”
I walked to the door and picked up my pillow. Pressing it against my face, I let it muffle a frustrated scream.
Why had I snapped at Silas and told him to get out? He hadn’t meant to be a jerk, it wasn’t his style. He was probably just as confused about me as I was about him and hadn’t known what to say. But instead of being honest about my feelings, I’d let my armor snap back in place and released the snark.
I tossed the pillow against the headboard before curling into a ball beneath my covers. With my nose pressed into the sheet, I inhaled a deep breath. Silas’s rich and soothing scent still lingered on the cotton.
God, that smell. I drew in a few more breaths, memorizing the new leather smell, because I doubted I’d ever have it on my sheets again.
Okay. New rule. No more sex with Silas.
In the last two years, Silas and I had hooked up each time I’d visited Prescott. First, at Wes’s funeral, then again at my brother’s wedding, and every time after that except for last summer because I’d been dating someone in Seattle.
The casual sex had worked because, after each tryst, I could run back to Washington and hide. But now that I was living here, we couldn’t continue with the hookups. Here, I couldn’t have secret sex with Silas and pretend I didn’t want more.
Decision made. “No more sex with Silas.”
And no more attitude.
The next time I saw him, I would apologize for my behavior and tell him I’d like to build a friendship. We could put tonight, and all the other nights, behind us and move forward.
As friends.
Because this crazy idea that he’d ever love me back was just that.
Crazy.
March 19, 2017
Prescott, Montana: Established 2017
While I was brainstorming ideas for The Coppersmith Farmhouse and the Jamison Valley series, one thing I knew I wanted was to write the story’s setting in small-town Montana. Born and raised in Montana, I’ve always had a deep love for my state and its rugged beauty.
But which town to pick? As the fourth largest state, Montana spans a lot of miles and, though it’s vast, the population is one of the smallest in the country, topping just over a million people. That equates to just about seven people per square mile. The largest county in Montana is as big as the entire state of Connecticut. So, as you can imagine, I had a lot of small-town inspiration to pull from!
In the end, I decided to create the fictional town of Prescott in the Jamison Valley, also fictional. Although Prescott is just a figment, its image was heavily influenced by the real-life town of Ennis.
Ennis, my dad’s hometown, was the focal point for many of my childhood memories. Our family took mountain hikes to pick wildflowers. I learned how to row a canoe on Ennis Lake. In the summers, my parents spoiled me with an enormous Oreo milkshake and double bacon cheeseburger at the old-fashioned soda fountain café.
Those places and experiences stuck with me so clearly that, when I started writing, I knew they had to be a part of my fictional town. Thus, Prescott was born.
Now, if you’ve read The Coppersmith Farmhouse, you may be questioning some of the scene settings. Would a town so small really have a pawn shop? A police station? A hospital? Really? I promise I haven’t gone off my rocker. Towns like Prescott do exist.
Depending on location, small towns in Montana provide a lot of local services for the townsfolk and outlying residents. The nearest “city” can be hours and hundreds of miles away, so places like Ennis (and fictional Prescott) have a lot to offer.
The beauty of this distance between metropolises—and I use that term loosely—is it gives nurses and sexy sheriffs the opportunity to settle in a small town and share in the community bond. Plus, it gives me lots of inspiration for story settings! In the second Jamison Valley book, The Clover Chapel, I’ll introduce you to a one-room theater and a good ole Montana steakhouse.
You’ll see a lot of my favorite Ennis-inspired places pop up throughout all five novels in the Jamison Valley series, but The Coppersmith Farmhouse definitely gives you a good feel for the small-town Montana life that I’ve always admired.
Remember, Prescott is fictional and I’ve conjured up some places you won’t find anywhere except the Jamison Valley. But if you’re ever planning a trip to Montana, be sure to add Ennis to your itinerary. You won’t regret the stop!
But which town to pick? As the fourth largest state, Montana spans a lot of miles and, though it’s vast, the population is one of the smallest in the country, topping just over a million people. That equates to just about seven people per square mile. The largest county in Montana is as big as the entire state of Connecticut. So, as you can imagine, I had a lot of small-town inspiration to pull from!
In the end, I decided to create the fictional town of Prescott in the Jamison Valley, also fictional. Although Prescott is just a figment, its image was heavily influenced by the real-life town of Ennis.
Ennis, my dad’s hometown, was the focal point for many of my childhood memories. Our family took mountain hikes to pick wildflowers. I learned how to row a canoe on Ennis Lake. In the summers, my parents spoiled me with an enormous Oreo milkshake and double bacon cheeseburger at the old-fashioned soda fountain café.
Those places and experiences stuck with me so clearly that, when I started writing, I knew they had to be a part of my fictional town. Thus, Prescott was born.
Now, if you’ve read The Coppersmith Farmhouse, you may be questioning some of the scene settings. Would a town so small really have a pawn shop? A police station? A hospital? Really? I promise I haven’t gone off my rocker. Towns like Prescott do exist.
Depending on location, small towns in Montana provide a lot of local services for the townsfolk and outlying residents. The nearest “city” can be hours and hundreds of miles away, so places like Ennis (and fictional Prescott) have a lot to offer.
The beauty of this distance between metropolises—and I use that term loosely—is it gives nurses and sexy sheriffs the opportunity to settle in a small town and share in the community bond. Plus, it gives me lots of inspiration for story settings! In the second Jamison Valley book, The Clover Chapel, I’ll introduce you to a one-room theater and a good ole Montana steakhouse.
You’ll see a lot of my favorite Ennis-inspired places pop up throughout all five novels in the Jamison Valley series, but The Coppersmith Farmhouse definitely gives you a good feel for the small-town Montana life that I’ve always admired.
Remember, Prescott is fictional and I’ve conjured up some places you won’t find anywhere except the Jamison Valley. But if you’re ever planning a trip to Montana, be sure to add Ennis to your itinerary. You won’t regret the stop!
