V.L. Locey's Blog, page 105
November 4, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Abrupt
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll begin sharing excerpts from my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law – The Gnarled Oak. Laco Law is an M/M historical western romance, set in the fictional county of Laco, Texas in 1867. Today we`ll get to know my leading man, Clayton Moore, a bit better.
This week our word prompt is ‘Abrupt’. As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Laco Law
The Gnarled Oak
*~**~
What I wouldn`t give to be back home, sprawled out under a stand of mossy cypress trees, listening to pig frogs as the moon splashed white on the bayou`s surface. This wasn`t Louisiana though, it was Texas; land of cactus, coyotes, and fugitives. Sweat burned my eyes and stung the bite on the back of my gritty neck.
There was no shade to be found unless we backtracked over the furrows we had plowed up. The horse, not caring if he had to re-do a good two acres of sandy soil, tried to head to the small creek that bordered this patch of land. Land that would grow corn if my sister had her way. And Rebecca Reynolds always got her way. I smiled at the mental image of Becky as I worked at unhitching the horse from the plow. Another fly landed on my forearm.
Rebecca was as stubborn as Pete, and twice as nasty when she didn`t get her own way. How she ever talked Jeph Reynolds into marrying her is beyond me. Maybe it was because we grew up with Jeph and he always did have a sweet spot for my sister. Whatever the reason, he married her, went off to fight the Yankees at my side, and then took a musket ball to his heart mere months after enlisting.
I led Pete to the creek carefully. My boots sent up clouds of dust. Life in southwestern Texas was proving to be tough. Pete tugged hard, the smell of the muddy Laco tributary urging him to speeds that a man in spurs could never attain. Even I could taste the refreshment in my mind. We hit the creek at a jog. I released the reins. The rings on Pete`s bit collar jangled as he trotted out into the skinny river. Spring thaws further north had given the Laco a bit of a header as it ran out to sea. I dropped to one knee, my brown work trousers caked with dust and sweat. I cupped my hands then dipped into the water. It was warmer than a man would like, but beggars and choosers as they say. Me and Pete drank our fill. I sat back on my calf, my left arm hanging over my left knee.
Texas had its own beauty, I supposed. It was surely big enough for a man with a shady past to get lost in. I stared at the vista as Pete slopped across the creek searching for some forage. The wind was strong today. It carried a tint of something drastic on it. Something nasty like a thunderhead that would roll over this arid land like one of those steam locomotives that were starting to lay track towards the town of Laco. I untied the bandanna from my neck, dipped it into the water, and then laid it tenderly on my face. I could smell my sweat.
Closing my eyes I let the buzzing flies and soft sounds of Pete grazing the bank lift me away from here. The memory of Harland popped up unbidden. I let myself enjoy the mental image of a young man with green eyes, away from home just like me, scared to death of dying yet more scared to leave his brothers in grey behind. He died alongside Jeph. When we pulled out of Manassas by moonlight, I retreated and kept going. I ran right home to gather up Becky and her baby boy. Sometimes, like right now, I can pull up the sight of Harland as we stole precious moments away from our confederate brothers. It`s so strong at times that I can almost taste his kisses. Almost . . .
The wind cooled material was so pleasant I had half a mind to do it again. Pete whinnied. I knew it was folly to think such things. A man of twenty like me didn`t have time to be daydreaming, not when he had a sister and her boy depending on him. Pushing to my well-worn boots I retied my bandanna around my neck. The sound of a gun shot rang out. It was shockingly abruptand so out of place that I had a moment of uncertainty about what I had truly heard.
Then the white hot agony of a bullet to the belly ripped through me. I stumbled back, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. Pete screamed and tried to run. He collapsed in the river.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
This week our word prompt is ‘Abrupt’. As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Laco Law
The Gnarled Oak
*~**~
What I wouldn`t give to be back home, sprawled out under a stand of mossy cypress trees, listening to pig frogs as the moon splashed white on the bayou`s surface. This wasn`t Louisiana though, it was Texas; land of cactus, coyotes, and fugitives. Sweat burned my eyes and stung the bite on the back of my gritty neck.
There was no shade to be found unless we backtracked over the furrows we had plowed up. The horse, not caring if he had to re-do a good two acres of sandy soil, tried to head to the small creek that bordered this patch of land. Land that would grow corn if my sister had her way. And Rebecca Reynolds always got her way. I smiled at the mental image of Becky as I worked at unhitching the horse from the plow. Another fly landed on my forearm.
Rebecca was as stubborn as Pete, and twice as nasty when she didn`t get her own way. How she ever talked Jeph Reynolds into marrying her is beyond me. Maybe it was because we grew up with Jeph and he always did have a sweet spot for my sister. Whatever the reason, he married her, went off to fight the Yankees at my side, and then took a musket ball to his heart mere months after enlisting.
I led Pete to the creek carefully. My boots sent up clouds of dust. Life in southwestern Texas was proving to be tough. Pete tugged hard, the smell of the muddy Laco tributary urging him to speeds that a man in spurs could never attain. Even I could taste the refreshment in my mind. We hit the creek at a jog. I released the reins. The rings on Pete`s bit collar jangled as he trotted out into the skinny river. Spring thaws further north had given the Laco a bit of a header as it ran out to sea. I dropped to one knee, my brown work trousers caked with dust and sweat. I cupped my hands then dipped into the water. It was warmer than a man would like, but beggars and choosers as they say. Me and Pete drank our fill. I sat back on my calf, my left arm hanging over my left knee.
Texas had its own beauty, I supposed. It was surely big enough for a man with a shady past to get lost in. I stared at the vista as Pete slopped across the creek searching for some forage. The wind was strong today. It carried a tint of something drastic on it. Something nasty like a thunderhead that would roll over this arid land like one of those steam locomotives that were starting to lay track towards the town of Laco. I untied the bandanna from my neck, dipped it into the water, and then laid it tenderly on my face. I could smell my sweat.
Closing my eyes I let the buzzing flies and soft sounds of Pete grazing the bank lift me away from here. The memory of Harland popped up unbidden. I let myself enjoy the mental image of a young man with green eyes, away from home just like me, scared to death of dying yet more scared to leave his brothers in grey behind. He died alongside Jeph. When we pulled out of Manassas by moonlight, I retreated and kept going. I ran right home to gather up Becky and her baby boy. Sometimes, like right now, I can pull up the sight of Harland as we stole precious moments away from our confederate brothers. It`s so strong at times that I can almost taste his kisses. Almost . . .
The wind cooled material was so pleasant I had half a mind to do it again. Pete whinnied. I knew it was folly to think such things. A man of twenty like me didn`t have time to be daydreaming, not when he had a sister and her boy depending on him. Pushing to my well-worn boots I retied my bandanna around my neck. The sound of a gun shot rang out. It was shockingly abruptand so out of place that I had a moment of uncertainty about what I had truly heard.
Then the white hot agony of a bullet to the belly ripped through me. I stumbled back, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. Pete screamed and tried to run. He collapsed in the river.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
November 1, 2013
Dear Jon - Chapter # 14
The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.
I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.
Storytime Trysts
October 30, 2013
An Erie Halloween Release Day!
I have always had a thing for shifters and those of similar persuasion. I clearly recall being a child (And I may date myself terribly with this but so what?) sitting in front of the TV eagerly anticipating watching Dr. Shock`s Mad Theater, which aired in the Philadelphia area from 1968 through the 70`s. Dr. Shock showed tons of B horror movies, and I was simultaneously terrified and engrossed in each old black-and-white flick presented to me. It was while watching Dr. Shock that I first saw Lon Chaney Jr. as The Wolf Man.
Sure, there were scores of other horror movie classic monsters: Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, but there was something about The Wolf Man that spoke to me. I`m sure it was Chaney`s wonderful performance as the tortured Larry Talbot that grabbed my young heart and mind so strongly.
Over the years I`ve grown less afraid of were-folk, and have read about shifters of various kinds. There are as many breeds of shapeshifter as there are fans that read the enormously popular genre. Today we have wolves, bruins, big cats, seals (Selkies), and every animal under the sun, it seems. Nine times out of ten the shifters are sexy men or women who then turn into powerful, attractive, sexual animals. I thought I wanted to do something just a wee bit different with An Erie Halloween.
Enter Templeton Reed, a man who lives and works in a hidden community of magical folks along the shores of Lake Erie. Templeton isn`t proud of his beastly other side and goes to enormous lengths to never shift. Being one of a few rare musteloidea shifters in the United States, Templeton isn`t a gorgeous lycan, or a sexy, sleek jaguar, or even a big, loveable bruin shifter. Templeton is a mild-mannered office worker that tries his best to avoid trouble, lest his inner polecat comes to the surface.
Yes, my leading man in An Erie Halloween is a skunk shifter. How much fun is that?! I certainly put Templeton through some harrowing adventures in his debut novella! But, as much as I have tormented my favorite striped shifter, I have also given him a hunk of lycan man that wants to get to know this feisty little scrapper much better. Let`s just say that Templeton and Mikel Lupei, the alpha of the Lake Erie pack, get along quite well despite a few odor related shifting problems.
Much like Larry Talbot, Templeton is cursed with changing into something he is ashamed of. Fortunately skunks don`t prowl the moors looking for human prey as many incarnations of werewolves do. But they do have their own offensive defense system that puts them on the outside looking in, even among their own kind. Thankfully, my courageous- if slightly near-sighted- hero ends up in a better place then poor Lon Chaney Jr. did at the end of The Wolf Man.
Did you have a favorite horror movie monster as a child? I`d love to hear about who scared the black-and-white bejeebers out of you when you were a kid.
*~*
How about an excerpt from An Erie Halloween?
As I walked, I rolled odd change around inside my coat pockets. The streets were busy as last minute shoppers ran to get their candy and costumes for the big night tomorrow. Head down and mind running a mile a minute, I never saw the brick wall disguised as a man I ran into. Face into the wind, I never smelled him either. The amber eyes and brindle hair were all that stopped me from either screaming or shifting. Mikel pulled me into a small bookstore. I went along because I really had no choice, but once inside the quaint bookery, I jerked my arm from his grasp. Several patrons glanced at us. Mikel muscled me into a row holding non-fiction and historical. He grabbed a book and opened it, his sharp gaze flitting between me and a fascinating how-to grow-your-own-beets book.
“Is there a reason you abducted me from the street?” I asked, moving back slightly when his big body pressed closer to allow a woman to pass behind him. His proximity was beyond distressing. It was arousing. Now that he had me cornered, there was no getting away from the heady scent that he exuded: Part sin, part warm fur, part earthy pine, wholly distracting.
“I've been trying to contact you for days. Why didn't you return my calls?” he whispered, keeping his big chest plastered to my left arm. My spine was firmly against a book shelf.
“There are several reasons,” I replied trying to sound snooty but sounding meagerly twitterpated.” One is that our classes don't mix. . .”
“That's a paltry reason, Templeton,” Mikel said gruffly, snapping his beet book closed.
“Well, it may be for you,but when one's boss tells one to keep his distance and – hey!” I grabbed for my glasses when he plucked them off the bridge of my nose. Folding my arms over my pea coat, I glowered at the oaf. There would be no leaping up and down. Those days ended when I left high school. The touch of his fingers on my chin brought out an age-old response. I jerked back hard. The bookcase behind me wobbled dangerously. Mikel dropped his book to steady the shelving unit. My heart was trying to explode through my chest like an alien baby. The lycan inhaled several times then gave me a dark look.
“Calm yourself, Templeton, your odor is growing stronger.”
“Sorry, it's just this is all too – too much,” I gasped, working to calm myself before the tingling at the base of my spine began. The bells over the front door tinkled melodiously. Soft conversation bounced off the spines of books. Mikel tipped my head back and kissed me. Right there in the middle of the non-fiction. His lips were soft. Sinfully soft. It took my lashes a moment after his mouth left mine to flutter upward. Squinting skyward, I tried to read his face but it was a blur. My glasses were placed back onto my face, albeit crookedly, and then I could see the glow of golden eyes. Oh my . . .
***
If you`re interested in grabbing a copy of An Erie Halloween, you can find it on the Torquere Press site here:
http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=96&products_id=4050
I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/VL-Locey/124405447678452
Twitter- https://twitter.com/vllocey
Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5807700.V_L_Locey
Sure, there were scores of other horror movie classic monsters: Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, but there was something about The Wolf Man that spoke to me. I`m sure it was Chaney`s wonderful performance as the tortured Larry Talbot that grabbed my young heart and mind so strongly.
Over the years I`ve grown less afraid of were-folk, and have read about shifters of various kinds. There are as many breeds of shapeshifter as there are fans that read the enormously popular genre. Today we have wolves, bruins, big cats, seals (Selkies), and every animal under the sun, it seems. Nine times out of ten the shifters are sexy men or women who then turn into powerful, attractive, sexual animals. I thought I wanted to do something just a wee bit different with An Erie Halloween.
Enter Templeton Reed, a man who lives and works in a hidden community of magical folks along the shores of Lake Erie. Templeton isn`t proud of his beastly other side and goes to enormous lengths to never shift. Being one of a few rare musteloidea shifters in the United States, Templeton isn`t a gorgeous lycan, or a sexy, sleek jaguar, or even a big, loveable bruin shifter. Templeton is a mild-mannered office worker that tries his best to avoid trouble, lest his inner polecat comes to the surface.
Yes, my leading man in An Erie Halloween is a skunk shifter. How much fun is that?! I certainly put Templeton through some harrowing adventures in his debut novella! But, as much as I have tormented my favorite striped shifter, I have also given him a hunk of lycan man that wants to get to know this feisty little scrapper much better. Let`s just say that Templeton and Mikel Lupei, the alpha of the Lake Erie pack, get along quite well despite a few odor related shifting problems.
Much like Larry Talbot, Templeton is cursed with changing into something he is ashamed of. Fortunately skunks don`t prowl the moors looking for human prey as many incarnations of werewolves do. But they do have their own offensive defense system that puts them on the outside looking in, even among their own kind. Thankfully, my courageous- if slightly near-sighted- hero ends up in a better place then poor Lon Chaney Jr. did at the end of The Wolf Man.
Did you have a favorite horror movie monster as a child? I`d love to hear about who scared the black-and-white bejeebers out of you when you were a kid.
*~*
How about an excerpt from An Erie Halloween?
As I walked, I rolled odd change around inside my coat pockets. The streets were busy as last minute shoppers ran to get their candy and costumes for the big night tomorrow. Head down and mind running a mile a minute, I never saw the brick wall disguised as a man I ran into. Face into the wind, I never smelled him either. The amber eyes and brindle hair were all that stopped me from either screaming or shifting. Mikel pulled me into a small bookstore. I went along because I really had no choice, but once inside the quaint bookery, I jerked my arm from his grasp. Several patrons glanced at us. Mikel muscled me into a row holding non-fiction and historical. He grabbed a book and opened it, his sharp gaze flitting between me and a fascinating how-to grow-your-own-beets book.
“Is there a reason you abducted me from the street?” I asked, moving back slightly when his big body pressed closer to allow a woman to pass behind him. His proximity was beyond distressing. It was arousing. Now that he had me cornered, there was no getting away from the heady scent that he exuded: Part sin, part warm fur, part earthy pine, wholly distracting.
“I've been trying to contact you for days. Why didn't you return my calls?” he whispered, keeping his big chest plastered to my left arm. My spine was firmly against a book shelf.
“There are several reasons,” I replied trying to sound snooty but sounding meagerly twitterpated.” One is that our classes don't mix. . .”
“That's a paltry reason, Templeton,” Mikel said gruffly, snapping his beet book closed.
“Well, it may be for you,but when one's boss tells one to keep his distance and – hey!” I grabbed for my glasses when he plucked them off the bridge of my nose. Folding my arms over my pea coat, I glowered at the oaf. There would be no leaping up and down. Those days ended when I left high school. The touch of his fingers on my chin brought out an age-old response. I jerked back hard. The bookcase behind me wobbled dangerously. Mikel dropped his book to steady the shelving unit. My heart was trying to explode through my chest like an alien baby. The lycan inhaled several times then gave me a dark look.
“Calm yourself, Templeton, your odor is growing stronger.”
“Sorry, it's just this is all too – too much,” I gasped, working to calm myself before the tingling at the base of my spine began. The bells over the front door tinkled melodiously. Soft conversation bounced off the spines of books. Mikel tipped my head back and kissed me. Right there in the middle of the non-fiction. His lips were soft. Sinfully soft. It took my lashes a moment after his mouth left mine to flutter upward. Squinting skyward, I tried to read his face but it was a blur. My glasses were placed back onto my face, albeit crookedly, and then I could see the glow of golden eyes. Oh my . . .
***
If you`re interested in grabbing a copy of An Erie Halloween, you can find it on the Torquere Press site here:
http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=96&products_id=4050
I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/VL-Locey/124405447678452
Twitter- https://twitter.com/vllocey
Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5807700.V_L_Locey
October 28, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Sweet
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. We`re back to wrap up my PNR mini-series, Anastasia`s Locket. Last week Maggie and Gerard had their first real taste of an angry spirit and goodness me was it a sour one!
This week our word prompt is ‘Sweet’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.
Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Anastasia`s Locket
Chapter Four*~*~*
Gerard pushed me aside and leaped to his feet. The man moved like greased lightning. I could only imagine how fast he must have been on the gridiron field before his injury. He dove into the pond. I scuttled over on my hands and knees to fetch the camera. The light wavered and bounced terribly. My hands were shaking strongly. I got up then staggered to the white lady covering her lovely face with one hand as if weeping silently. The water broke. Someone inhaled deeply. I moved the beam of light to the far side of the pond. Gerard was exiting the water; his hair covered his face as water rushed from his sodden clothes. Mrs. Gundy was limp in his arms.
I hurried around to where Gerard was. He flipped his hair off his face then scowled at the bright light in his eyes. I saw bloody gouges in his cheek and gasped.
“She fought me tooth and nail,” he said, dropping to his butt roughly to avoid sitting on his bad leg. I didn`t dare ask who had fought him so. The old woman was whimpering softly. So softly, in fact, that had I not been seated beside her, I wouldn’t have heard her. The sound was gut-wrenching. It was like the call of a broken-hearted dove.
Gerard relieved me of the camera. The surface of the water was smooth as glass I noticed. Mrs. Gundy coughed weakly. I shook off the shock and helped the old woman to sit up. She began mumbling. I peeled off my jacket and placed it over her shoulders. Both she and Gerard were shivering.
“Mrs. Gundy, we need to get you inside,” I whispered then looked at Gerard. “You as well,” I added as his teeth began to clatter.
“I`m not going to argue that suggestion,” he said. We all drew back when Anastasia`s head broke through the dark surface of the pond. Mrs. Gundy wept harshly into her gnarled hands. I pulled the old dear closer to my breasts. The spirit gazed at us for several seconds. Then she gracefully sunk back under the water. We watched until the ripples disappeared.
“She won`t come back anymore,” Mrs. Gundy coughed. Her voice got us moving. We moved into the old farm house, closing and locking the door soundly. I helped Mrs. Gundy to her room, one arm around her slim waist as we scaled the stairs to the second floor slowly.
“What was so special about that locket?” I asked as we climbed.
“It had the picture of her son. I didn`t think – didn`t want her to be reminded of him, of giving him up, so I took the locket . . . kept it from her,” the old woman wheezed. I feared she would be dead come morning after that dunk in the pond. “She was only fifteen. It was not acceptable for young ladies to be having bastard children. Plus,” she glanced over her shoulder at Gerard. A look of reluctance moved over her wrinkled face. “The man that got that boy on her was a Negro.” The last part was whispered to me.
Gerard made a rasping sound in the back of his throat but said nothing. I remained quiet as well for a moment.
“What made you finally give her the locket back?” I asked as we neared the top riser.
“She was going to hurt you or your friend. I couldn`t let her do that.”
“Why didn’t you just give the girl her locket when she started haunting you?” Gerard asked. He was much gruffer than usual. Mrs. Gundy shook her head.
“That child was half-Negro. I was doing Anastasia a good, but she never recognized it as that."
And that, as it turned out, was all the reason Mrs. Gundy felt she needed for taking away the child, turning it over to an adoption agency, and barring her daughter from ever seeing or mentioning her son again. If Anastasia`s drowning was an accident or a suicide, we would never know for sure. Mrs. Gundy refused to speak about it – or anything else - come the first rays of sunlight. I strongly suspected the girl had taken her own life, but that, as well as a pregnancy outside of marriage, was simply something one did not talk about. Or so we were semi-politely told as we had coffee before leaving as quickly as possible. The rapid departure was mutual, rest assured.
The ride back to New York was an uncomfortable one. Gerard had withdrawn into himself and with good reason. As night came and we had a couple more hours to go due to my need to stop at every antique store we passed, I insisted we stop in a lovely inn just this side of the New York/Pennsylvania border. We tried to replay the tape made beside the pond, but some sort of replay doohickey button had broken off during the chaos. We made a call to Eddie and sent the unseen video to him over the internet. Then we disconnected from the world. I lit a few candles. Gerard filled the Jacuzzi in the richly appointed bath. Champagne was delivered. We stripped in the candlelight and slipped into the bubbles, our eyes never leaving each other.
Gerard pulled me to him the moment I stepped into the water. My skin slid over his as he settled me where he wanted me. I leaned closer. He cupped a bare breast and a buttock. My mouth moved over his in the same mind-altering way that his body was moving inside mine. The water bubbled and frothed. I arched upward. His mouth latched onto a breast. We moved as one, our wet bodies churning the already foaming water faster and faster until we both found release. He held me close to ensure he stayed sheathed as the convulsions rippled through him. I held onto his biceps, my nails leaving half-moons in his gorgeous dark skin. His lips moving over my cheek brought me down from the clouds.
“You know, years ago what we just did --”
I cut him off before he could go down a road of past hatred.
“What we just did was wonderful, sensual, natural, and sinfully addicting,” I whispered over his lips. He smiled. I kissed him once more. “Times have changed, thank God.”
“Yeah, but still. . . ” he said wistfully, his fingers massaging that right breast he seemed so fond of. I curled into his chest, my legs slipping over his thighs as I moved to get a comfy side-saddle seat. Jets of warm water rushed over my calves and rumbled over my breasts. My damp head dropped to a strong shoulder. His arms held me close as steam scented with honeysuckle tickled my nose.
“But still nothing,” I purred across his thumping jugular. “We have each other so screw the outside world.” I kissed the side of his neck. His low rumble of laughter moved through me and the water. It was arousing to say the least. As was the way his fingertips were trailing lightly over the inside of my thigh. “We`ve got the makings of something special here, Gerard.”
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he said, his Bogart utter perfection.
As was the sweet kiss that followed.
The End
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*
That was fun. And downright scary in places! Sometimes the secrets and hate that we bury comes back to haunt us. Hopefully we can continue to grow as a country and a world in our acceptance of love, no matter the color or gender.
Next week I`ll be able to start sharing excerpts from my NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law. This is my first crack at writing a western and I am quite excited about it. I have my soundtrack all picked out and my two leading men are patiently waiting to be given free rein!
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
This week our word prompt is ‘Sweet’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.
Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Anastasia`s Locket
Chapter Four*~*~*
Gerard pushed me aside and leaped to his feet. The man moved like greased lightning. I could only imagine how fast he must have been on the gridiron field before his injury. He dove into the pond. I scuttled over on my hands and knees to fetch the camera. The light wavered and bounced terribly. My hands were shaking strongly. I got up then staggered to the white lady covering her lovely face with one hand as if weeping silently. The water broke. Someone inhaled deeply. I moved the beam of light to the far side of the pond. Gerard was exiting the water; his hair covered his face as water rushed from his sodden clothes. Mrs. Gundy was limp in his arms.
I hurried around to where Gerard was. He flipped his hair off his face then scowled at the bright light in his eyes. I saw bloody gouges in his cheek and gasped.
“She fought me tooth and nail,” he said, dropping to his butt roughly to avoid sitting on his bad leg. I didn`t dare ask who had fought him so. The old woman was whimpering softly. So softly, in fact, that had I not been seated beside her, I wouldn’t have heard her. The sound was gut-wrenching. It was like the call of a broken-hearted dove.
Gerard relieved me of the camera. The surface of the water was smooth as glass I noticed. Mrs. Gundy coughed weakly. I shook off the shock and helped the old woman to sit up. She began mumbling. I peeled off my jacket and placed it over her shoulders. Both she and Gerard were shivering.
“Mrs. Gundy, we need to get you inside,” I whispered then looked at Gerard. “You as well,” I added as his teeth began to clatter.
“I`m not going to argue that suggestion,” he said. We all drew back when Anastasia`s head broke through the dark surface of the pond. Mrs. Gundy wept harshly into her gnarled hands. I pulled the old dear closer to my breasts. The spirit gazed at us for several seconds. Then she gracefully sunk back under the water. We watched until the ripples disappeared.
“She won`t come back anymore,” Mrs. Gundy coughed. Her voice got us moving. We moved into the old farm house, closing and locking the door soundly. I helped Mrs. Gundy to her room, one arm around her slim waist as we scaled the stairs to the second floor slowly.
“What was so special about that locket?” I asked as we climbed.
“It had the picture of her son. I didn`t think – didn`t want her to be reminded of him, of giving him up, so I took the locket . . . kept it from her,” the old woman wheezed. I feared she would be dead come morning after that dunk in the pond. “She was only fifteen. It was not acceptable for young ladies to be having bastard children. Plus,” she glanced over her shoulder at Gerard. A look of reluctance moved over her wrinkled face. “The man that got that boy on her was a Negro.” The last part was whispered to me.
Gerard made a rasping sound in the back of his throat but said nothing. I remained quiet as well for a moment.
“What made you finally give her the locket back?” I asked as we neared the top riser.
“She was going to hurt you or your friend. I couldn`t let her do that.”
“Why didn’t you just give the girl her locket when she started haunting you?” Gerard asked. He was much gruffer than usual. Mrs. Gundy shook her head.
“That child was half-Negro. I was doing Anastasia a good, but she never recognized it as that."
And that, as it turned out, was all the reason Mrs. Gundy felt she needed for taking away the child, turning it over to an adoption agency, and barring her daughter from ever seeing or mentioning her son again. If Anastasia`s drowning was an accident or a suicide, we would never know for sure. Mrs. Gundy refused to speak about it – or anything else - come the first rays of sunlight. I strongly suspected the girl had taken her own life, but that, as well as a pregnancy outside of marriage, was simply something one did not talk about. Or so we were semi-politely told as we had coffee before leaving as quickly as possible. The rapid departure was mutual, rest assured.
The ride back to New York was an uncomfortable one. Gerard had withdrawn into himself and with good reason. As night came and we had a couple more hours to go due to my need to stop at every antique store we passed, I insisted we stop in a lovely inn just this side of the New York/Pennsylvania border. We tried to replay the tape made beside the pond, but some sort of replay doohickey button had broken off during the chaos. We made a call to Eddie and sent the unseen video to him over the internet. Then we disconnected from the world. I lit a few candles. Gerard filled the Jacuzzi in the richly appointed bath. Champagne was delivered. We stripped in the candlelight and slipped into the bubbles, our eyes never leaving each other.
Gerard pulled me to him the moment I stepped into the water. My skin slid over his as he settled me where he wanted me. I leaned closer. He cupped a bare breast and a buttock. My mouth moved over his in the same mind-altering way that his body was moving inside mine. The water bubbled and frothed. I arched upward. His mouth latched onto a breast. We moved as one, our wet bodies churning the already foaming water faster and faster until we both found release. He held me close to ensure he stayed sheathed as the convulsions rippled through him. I held onto his biceps, my nails leaving half-moons in his gorgeous dark skin. His lips moving over my cheek brought me down from the clouds.
“You know, years ago what we just did --”
I cut him off before he could go down a road of past hatred.
“What we just did was wonderful, sensual, natural, and sinfully addicting,” I whispered over his lips. He smiled. I kissed him once more. “Times have changed, thank God.”
“Yeah, but still. . . ” he said wistfully, his fingers massaging that right breast he seemed so fond of. I curled into his chest, my legs slipping over his thighs as I moved to get a comfy side-saddle seat. Jets of warm water rushed over my calves and rumbled over my breasts. My damp head dropped to a strong shoulder. His arms held me close as steam scented with honeysuckle tickled my nose.
“But still nothing,” I purred across his thumping jugular. “We have each other so screw the outside world.” I kissed the side of his neck. His low rumble of laughter moved through me and the water. It was arousing to say the least. As was the way his fingertips were trailing lightly over the inside of my thigh. “We`ve got the makings of something special here, Gerard.”
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he said, his Bogart utter perfection.
As was the sweet kiss that followed.
The End
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*
That was fun. And downright scary in places! Sometimes the secrets and hate that we bury comes back to haunt us. Hopefully we can continue to grow as a country and a world in our acceptance of love, no matter the color or gender.
Next week I`ll be able to start sharing excerpts from my NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law. This is my first crack at writing a western and I am quite excited about it. I have my soundtrack all picked out and my two leading men are patiently waiting to be given free rein!
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
October 27, 2013
And Then Something Like This Happens . . .
There are times that we authors get into funks. I`m pretty sure it happens to all artists. We sit in our house, alone with our work, and feel blue about one thing or another. These type of thoughts rumble through our heads:
“I`m not selling as many books as Stephen King.”
“I should be writing something about (insert hot book genre here) so I can cash in on the (insert hot book genre here) craze.”
“Why am I doing this?!”
“Is anyone even reading my work?!”
“Does anything I do make a difference?!”
So when we artist-type folks get into these pits of Woe-Is-Me, we tend to look at our work with an even stronger critical eye. That was where I was on Saturday morning as I attended a local book fest. The event had over fifteen local author tables and a huge used book sale.
The attendance was brisk for the used books but slow for the authors. My helper (aka Miss Yodeling) had grown bored after about ninety minutes, so I sent her off to run some errands. I had been reading a hockey romance, watching for anyone who might want to come up and chat when two young ladies approached my table.
They were no older than sixteen. Adorable things they were and so shy! I smiled and beckoned them to come closer. One stepped forward, the other young woman staying at her side but back a half-step. I was prepared to launch into my ‘Hi, I`m Vicki Locey and this is my rural romance series, and these over here are LGBT romance’ pitch. She beat me to the punch by saying this-
“I just wanted to say that you are the only author that I`ve seen in this county that not only writes LGBT books, but is proud to say that they do.”
(I had this printout framed and sitting on my table at the time-)
“I`m bisexual,” she continued, “And it makes me so happy to see that someone local is displaying the gay pride flag. Can I get a hug?”
Once I swallowed down the ball of emotion, she and I embraced each other. She grabbed a copy of a zombie romance anthology and returned to her friends and life.
Thank you, my dear, for showing me that what I write can make a difference. Anytime you need a hug, my arms are open.
October 26, 2013
Dear Jon - Chapter # 13
The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.
I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.
Storytime Trysts
October 23, 2013
Anna Bayes Drops In To Visit!
Today the lovely and talented Anna Bayes drops by to chat about writing, book cover design, and her newest release. Take it away, Anna!
**~**
Thank you so much for having me here today, Vicki!
I’m Anna Bayes. I’ve begun writing erotic short stories in November, 2012 and got my first story published with Torquere Press in January, 2013. After three ebooks, I had decided that I preferred to publish on my own. There is a lot to learn, and much more promotional work to do, but it’s been a fun process, and I love the control I have over everything: the precise minute I get my ebook out, the book cover and the places I like to have it advertised on.
The idea of designing my own book cover was daunting at first, but after going through sites that sell pre-made ebook covers (here is a nice one: http://www.goonwrite.com) I realized that all I needed was to choose a good stock photo, add effects to it, change the background color or texture, add my book’s title and my name, play around with the fonts and sizes, and that’s it. It turned out to be an extra outlet for creativity, which was satisfying on its own.
For those of you who want to try it out on your own, here’s an article that shows you step by step how to manipulate images on a Word document. Yes. Before you buy Photoshop or try out other softwares, why not use Word just to get a feel for it? Here’s the article: http://www.creativindie.com/how-to-make-your-own-free-ebook-cover-in-ms-word-that-will-blow-people-away/
I’m a bit less frightened about being an Indie today. There’s actually quite a nice ring to that word now that I label myself that.
Here’s my first self-published ebook, Snug Fit: a sweet, contemporary M/F erotic romance. Hope you enjoy it!
Title: Snug Fit
Category:contemporary, M/F erotic romance
Format: ebook
Pages: 12
Blurb: Friday night, 7:52pm. Kate's dress feels too tight, the restaurant seems too fancy, and her date is running late. She has decided that tonight is a bad idea after all, until a stranger two seats away begins talking to her.
Excerpt:
I feel lighter already peeling myself out of that dress, letting my hair down and skipping into the shower.
The sound of water splashing onto the tiles pleases me so. I lather myself up, smelling of peaches. I giggle as I remember how Mike said I could be dry and strong, but sweet like apples too. I can be more: sugary and juicy like peaches. I intend to let him find out.
I cup my breasts over the rich foam, and then flick my thumbs lightly over my nipples, sending an electric current down my spine directly between my legs.
Damn.
Just the thought of Mike is giving me the shivers.
I continue working on my nipples with my thumbs, pressing down and rubbing them in a circle, feeling how hard and sensitive they are, enjoying the tension building up in my core.
My legs part and I lean my whole body against the wall, the pink tiles kissing my skin and escalating the heat inside me. I let the water rain on my back as my fingers move down.
I am drenched; my clit is throbbing, begging for attention. I moisten my fingers with my own juice, and then glide up to envelope my protruding knob. It is Mike’s eyes, the changing colors of his pupils, that are branding their fervor in my head. I covet his large, comforting hands; wishing it is his thick, warm fingers concentrating on my clit, driving me into delirium.
Fuck, I want him.
I push two fingers from my left hand in my gaping pussy while envisioning his cock entering me, pounding away and claiming me as his.
My hips buck into my hands, my knees shake as I rock myself to the image of Mike gripping my ass and ramming into me like a starved madman.
I bite my lower lip so hard it bleeds as I hold my breath and ride my lust; the world fades as the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy and dims my sight. I almost black out before I let out a long and guttural scream.
Intense? That was more of a near-death experience.
I am making him mine.
Buy links:
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FOH0QAS
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00FOH0QAS
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/366319
* *
Author Bio
Anna writes contemporary, paranormal, BDSM and LGBT erotic romances. She is herself a bisexual submissive, and finds writing the perfect outlet for her wild ideas.
In real life, Anna is an introverted bookworm, looks sweet and kind of innocent, but don't let her brown eyes fool you.
Find and follow Anna everywhere!
About.me http://about.me/annabayes
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/author/annabayesBlog http://annabayes.wordpress.comFacebook http://www.facebook.com/anna.bayes.authorGoodreads http://www.goodreads.com/annabayesSmashwords https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/annabayesTwitter (@anna_bayes) http://www.twitter.com/anna_bayes
**~**
Thank you so much for having me here today, Vicki!
I’m Anna Bayes. I’ve begun writing erotic short stories in November, 2012 and got my first story published with Torquere Press in January, 2013. After three ebooks, I had decided that I preferred to publish on my own. There is a lot to learn, and much more promotional work to do, but it’s been a fun process, and I love the control I have over everything: the precise minute I get my ebook out, the book cover and the places I like to have it advertised on.
The idea of designing my own book cover was daunting at first, but after going through sites that sell pre-made ebook covers (here is a nice one: http://www.goonwrite.com) I realized that all I needed was to choose a good stock photo, add effects to it, change the background color or texture, add my book’s title and my name, play around with the fonts and sizes, and that’s it. It turned out to be an extra outlet for creativity, which was satisfying on its own.
For those of you who want to try it out on your own, here’s an article that shows you step by step how to manipulate images on a Word document. Yes. Before you buy Photoshop or try out other softwares, why not use Word just to get a feel for it? Here’s the article: http://www.creativindie.com/how-to-make-your-own-free-ebook-cover-in-ms-word-that-will-blow-people-away/
I’m a bit less frightened about being an Indie today. There’s actually quite a nice ring to that word now that I label myself that.
Here’s my first self-published ebook, Snug Fit: a sweet, contemporary M/F erotic romance. Hope you enjoy it!
Title: Snug Fit
Category:contemporary, M/F erotic romance
Format: ebook
Pages: 12
Blurb: Friday night, 7:52pm. Kate's dress feels too tight, the restaurant seems too fancy, and her date is running late. She has decided that tonight is a bad idea after all, until a stranger two seats away begins talking to her.
Excerpt:
I feel lighter already peeling myself out of that dress, letting my hair down and skipping into the shower.
The sound of water splashing onto the tiles pleases me so. I lather myself up, smelling of peaches. I giggle as I remember how Mike said I could be dry and strong, but sweet like apples too. I can be more: sugary and juicy like peaches. I intend to let him find out.
I cup my breasts over the rich foam, and then flick my thumbs lightly over my nipples, sending an electric current down my spine directly between my legs.
Damn.
Just the thought of Mike is giving me the shivers.
I continue working on my nipples with my thumbs, pressing down and rubbing them in a circle, feeling how hard and sensitive they are, enjoying the tension building up in my core.
My legs part and I lean my whole body against the wall, the pink tiles kissing my skin and escalating the heat inside me. I let the water rain on my back as my fingers move down.
I am drenched; my clit is throbbing, begging for attention. I moisten my fingers with my own juice, and then glide up to envelope my protruding knob. It is Mike’s eyes, the changing colors of his pupils, that are branding their fervor in my head. I covet his large, comforting hands; wishing it is his thick, warm fingers concentrating on my clit, driving me into delirium.
Fuck, I want him.
I push two fingers from my left hand in my gaping pussy while envisioning his cock entering me, pounding away and claiming me as his.
My hips buck into my hands, my knees shake as I rock myself to the image of Mike gripping my ass and ramming into me like a starved madman.
I bite my lower lip so hard it bleeds as I hold my breath and ride my lust; the world fades as the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy and dims my sight. I almost black out before I let out a long and guttural scream.
Intense? That was more of a near-death experience.
I am making him mine.
Buy links:
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FOH0QAS
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00FOH0QAS
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/366319
* *
Author Bio
Anna writes contemporary, paranormal, BDSM and LGBT erotic romances. She is herself a bisexual submissive, and finds writing the perfect outlet for her wild ideas.
In real life, Anna is an introverted bookworm, looks sweet and kind of innocent, but don't let her brown eyes fool you.
Find and follow Anna everywhere!
About.me http://about.me/annabayes
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/author/annabayesBlog http://annabayes.wordpress.comFacebook http://www.facebook.com/anna.bayes.authorGoodreads http://www.goodreads.com/annabayesSmashwords https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/annabayesTwitter (@anna_bayes) http://www.twitter.com/anna_bayes
October 21, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Railing
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. We`re back with a new chapter for my paranormal romance written exclusively for Tuesday Tales! Sorry to have missed last week. Two final proofs with identical deadlines for the 18th had me doing a lively dance. But, those are attended to and we can now get back to Maggie and Gerard who, if memory serves, were about to have a close encounter of the ghostly kind.
This week our word prompt is ‘Railing’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.
Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Anastasia`s Locket
Chapter Three*~*~*
Have you ever had an otherworldly entity pass through your body? It`s not pleasant. It feels as if someone is running an icy finger over your marrow. My knees folded. I dropped to the wet grass, gasping ineffectually. Hands splayed, I dug my fingernails into the chilly soil as the ghostly horror left my body`s core. My forehead touched the grass. My skin bristled. I wept in fear. Gerard`s camera hit the ground with a heavy thud. Something broke off and bounced off into the dark. The light flickered but stayed lit.
I skittered to the side, falling to my ass. There was no sign of Anastasia. Gerard was out cold, his huge body convulsing as if it were trying to expel something. I whimpered then reached for the man, the camera totally forgotten as it lay on its side in the grass. My fingers latched onto Gerard`s forearm. I drew it back with a hiss. He was cold. Ice cold. Cold as the dead. I whispered his name. His large frame bucked. Water bubbled from between his lips.
My stunned brain had me moving before I realized what was happening. I straddled his hips, placed one hand over the other on his sternum, and pushed with all my might. A gush of brackish pond water erupted out of his mouth and nose.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on!” I chanted with each forceful shove I made. How the hell did his lungs get filled with water?! I was crying and cussing and working to get that horrid cold pond out of him when his fingers closed around my throat without warning. My hands left his chest. I dug and clawed at his hand as it tightened. Sight blurred with tears I saw his eyes fly open. I tried to scream, but my air passage was now cut off. His eyes were completely white.
“Tell mother I want her,” Gerard said but it wasn`t Gerard at all. The deep, humorous, loving voice of my soon-to-be paramour was now that of a young woman long dead. He threw me aside as if I weighed nothing, and that is far from the case. I landed painfully on my side. I lay there spellbound with terror as Gerard rose to his feet like a tree being lifted from its top by invisible ropes. His head turned until he found me. I didn`t need to be told twice. Up to my feet I went, wheezing terribly all the while I stumbled back to the house. My foot slid as I neared the back door. My ribs slammed into the railing. I cried out in pain.
“Tell mother I want her!” Anastasia shrieked. “Tell her I want her! Tell her I WANT HER!”
I barreled into the door only to find it locked. My eyes grew round as plates. I rattled the doorknob violently. I began hammering on the old door, screaming to be let in. My voice was nonexistent from being nearly throttled. There was no reply from inside. I beat harder. I kicked. The ghostly cries were growing closer. I shouted for Anastasia`s mother to come outside but my raspy pleas were nothing compared to the keening screeches that Anastasia was producing.
Then the back door flew open. I tumbled inside, my knees taking the brunt of the fall. Mrs. Gundy, sweater hanging over her shoulders like a shroud, stepped over me and into the night, a silver chain dangling from her wrinkled hand. I tried to warn the old dear, but my strangled voice was too weak to be heard. Using the doorframe I pulled myself to my feet to witness Anastasia leaving Gerard, thank God, to slam into her mother.
Gerard fell to the lawn like an unwanted ragdoll. I threw myself out the back door; my wobbly legs making the short trip to Gerard feel like miles. His skin was clammy. I began patting his face, trying to revive him. His cheeks, neck, and shirt collar were wet. When he came to he coughed violently to evacuate the last of the pond water in his lungs.
“I hate being slimed.” He gasped weakly. I hugged him tightly. Gerard pulled away. I turned to look at what he was seeing over my shoulder.
Mrs. Gundy had walked into the pond until her head was completely submerged.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
This week our word prompt is ‘Railing’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.
Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Anastasia`s Locket
Chapter Three*~*~*
Have you ever had an otherworldly entity pass through your body? It`s not pleasant. It feels as if someone is running an icy finger over your marrow. My knees folded. I dropped to the wet grass, gasping ineffectually. Hands splayed, I dug my fingernails into the chilly soil as the ghostly horror left my body`s core. My forehead touched the grass. My skin bristled. I wept in fear. Gerard`s camera hit the ground with a heavy thud. Something broke off and bounced off into the dark. The light flickered but stayed lit.
I skittered to the side, falling to my ass. There was no sign of Anastasia. Gerard was out cold, his huge body convulsing as if it were trying to expel something. I whimpered then reached for the man, the camera totally forgotten as it lay on its side in the grass. My fingers latched onto Gerard`s forearm. I drew it back with a hiss. He was cold. Ice cold. Cold as the dead. I whispered his name. His large frame bucked. Water bubbled from between his lips.
My stunned brain had me moving before I realized what was happening. I straddled his hips, placed one hand over the other on his sternum, and pushed with all my might. A gush of brackish pond water erupted out of his mouth and nose.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on!” I chanted with each forceful shove I made. How the hell did his lungs get filled with water?! I was crying and cussing and working to get that horrid cold pond out of him when his fingers closed around my throat without warning. My hands left his chest. I dug and clawed at his hand as it tightened. Sight blurred with tears I saw his eyes fly open. I tried to scream, but my air passage was now cut off. His eyes were completely white.
“Tell mother I want her,” Gerard said but it wasn`t Gerard at all. The deep, humorous, loving voice of my soon-to-be paramour was now that of a young woman long dead. He threw me aside as if I weighed nothing, and that is far from the case. I landed painfully on my side. I lay there spellbound with terror as Gerard rose to his feet like a tree being lifted from its top by invisible ropes. His head turned until he found me. I didn`t need to be told twice. Up to my feet I went, wheezing terribly all the while I stumbled back to the house. My foot slid as I neared the back door. My ribs slammed into the railing. I cried out in pain.
“Tell mother I want her!” Anastasia shrieked. “Tell her I want her! Tell her I WANT HER!”
I barreled into the door only to find it locked. My eyes grew round as plates. I rattled the doorknob violently. I began hammering on the old door, screaming to be let in. My voice was nonexistent from being nearly throttled. There was no reply from inside. I beat harder. I kicked. The ghostly cries were growing closer. I shouted for Anastasia`s mother to come outside but my raspy pleas were nothing compared to the keening screeches that Anastasia was producing.
Then the back door flew open. I tumbled inside, my knees taking the brunt of the fall. Mrs. Gundy, sweater hanging over her shoulders like a shroud, stepped over me and into the night, a silver chain dangling from her wrinkled hand. I tried to warn the old dear, but my strangled voice was too weak to be heard. Using the doorframe I pulled myself to my feet to witness Anastasia leaving Gerard, thank God, to slam into her mother.
Gerard fell to the lawn like an unwanted ragdoll. I threw myself out the back door; my wobbly legs making the short trip to Gerard feel like miles. His skin was clammy. I began patting his face, trying to revive him. His cheeks, neck, and shirt collar were wet. When he came to he coughed violently to evacuate the last of the pond water in his lungs.
“I hate being slimed.” He gasped weakly. I hugged him tightly. Gerard pulled away. I turned to look at what he was seeing over my shoulder.
Mrs. Gundy had walked into the pond until her head was completely submerged.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
October 18, 2013
Dear Jon - Chapter # 12
The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.
I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.
Storytime Trysts
October 17, 2013
On The Road Again!
This time I`m over at Jamallah Bergman`s lovely blog. Come join us for a chat that covers a little bit of everything as well as an excerpt from my upcoming M/M shifter romance, An Erie Halloween.
Hope to see you there!
Jamallah Bergman`s Stories of Love and Romance
