A Brand New Release

I'm going to jump over several and give a shout out on my new JMS book that just came out this weekend.

This one  like many stories basically started from the title which just popped into my head and started the what if notions going. "Homeless in Heaven" The irony and the dichotomy got me.

I set it in Colorado where I lived two different times and a bit of Colorado Springs wound up in Eden, Colorado. I'm not sure where Merl came from although I do have a great deal of sympathy for vets who come home to bad news and do not get the welcome and care they deserve. Such men deserve a special angel and that's where Nate came in. He too just suddenly showed up and the two men proceeded to share their storiess with me and revealed how their two individual tales slowly merged and intertwined.  Homeless in Heaven is a heartfelt story for me.

It is on sale as a new release at JMS. Here is the link: https://www.jms-books.com/erotic-romance-c-29_94/homeless-in-heaven-p-2475.html?zenid=8iTSFd-aggFquZIOFj93g0

I like the cover. That is not Nate walking away but an example of how so many treat someone who is down and out. Merl would probably not hang his head in public but he was feeling very alone and even more needy than he quite realized when he met Nate. 



Last but not least, a short excerpt so you can meet both men!

Late November

Eden, Colorado

Merl Weishart hefted the lumpy black bag and settled it on his shoulder. About thirty pounds. Even at the current prices for aluminum, oughta be enough for a hot meal.
He’d collected soda cans for over a week to fill the bag. With the bite of the north wind ahead of an approaching cold front, a hot meal would be good, almost necessary.
Smartest thing would be to buy the food and fix it himself. Still, it would be nice to sit inside at a table to eat for a change. The makeshift stove in his camp cooked, but not very well, and he had no table, much less a chair. Juggling a tin plate on his knees made mealtime awkward. The tent and tarps he’d rigged for his shelter cut the wind some, but from now until spring, warmth was going to be a stranger to him.
Since this would be his second winter in the homeless camp straggling along Goldrush Creek, he knew what to expect: cold and more cold. There would be lots of days when all he could do was huddle in his old army sleeping bag and wait for the snow to stop and the blizzard winds to die down. Cold was bad, but wind and getting wet made it worse. A man could freeze. Some did. Several had died in the camp last year. Although he wasn’t sure why, he chose to survive if there was any way he could. Surrender, quitting, giving up, and death were not options.
Damned if I know what I’m living for, but life still feels better than death. Maybe someday I’ll figure out why.
He settled the bag into an easy balance and started off at a brisk pace. The recycle place down on VanAlwyn Street was a good two miles away, so no use poking along. The sooner he got there, the sooner he’d have a few dollars in his pocket and the means to get that meal.

* * * *

Nathan Bloom turned the furred collar of his down parka up around his neck against the biting wind.
I’m certifiable, coming out when I could be home in a cozy house. But the light today with these broken clouds is perfect. It’ll set off the starkness of the camp and the pathos of the situation. I ought to be able to get some great photos.
He shifted the classic Nikon and the Canon digital cameras that hung around his neck, gloved hands a bit clumsy in the effort. To actually use the cameras the gloves would have to come off, but he’d wait until he was ready to shoot before he removed them. Otherwise, his hands would be too stiff to operate the controls.
Looking ahead, his gaze probed down the path meandering along the creek under disordered platoons of towering trees, now leafless. The stark, barren shapes added to the bleak mood. He snapped a couple of fast shots in hopes of capturing the feeling. When he looked back at the path, he checked the stride he was about to make.
His gut clenched with brief anxiety at the sight of the man who approached him. The fellow looked like a grizzly bear or a gorilla in mismatched cold weather clothes. The first item was a hugely bulky parka, mostly red with patches of other colors scattered here and there. The pants might once have been blue, but now were a dull gray-brown, as if coated with grease and soot. A ragged wool cap striped in red and dirty white topped his head. Twigs and wisps of rich brown hair poked out from under it, hair that matched the tangled beard hiding most of the man’s face. He carried a bulging bag on one shoulder, probably one of those heavy-duty black construction-weight trash bags.
On second thought, the man really did not look threatening, just rough and very big. Nate drew his gloves off and readied a camera. When the man drew close enough, he spoke a greeting.
“Hello. Not the greatest day, is it? Would it be all right if I take your picture?”
The big man halted, a quizzical expression crossing the visible part of his face. “Me? Why would you want a picture of me?”
“I’m working on a photo-journalism piece about our local homeless camps and the people in them. You look like a unique member of the camp residents, maybe a leader? Not many of them display the vitality or size you carry.”
The big man shrugged. “Nope, hardly a leader. Kind of a loner, I guess. Oh, I’ll try and help if somebody’s being bullied by other campers or hassled by the cops, but mostly I keep to myself. If you want a picture, though, I don’t care.”
Nate raised the Nikon and snapped a couple of pictures, centering the man’s bulk against the glowering clouds piling up to the north. Then he got a couple of shots with the digital.
“What’s your name?” he asked, more to buy a few more minutes than from an actual desire to know.
“Merl.”
“Just Merl?”
The man shrugged again. “That’s all there is of it anymore. Used to have two names and even a title of sorts in front of them, but that was in another life. How about you?”
“My name’s Nate Bloom. I live here in Eden, about a mile to the west.” He held out a hand before he put his gloves back on. The big man wasn’t wearing gloves. He shifted the bag to his left shoulder and met Nate’s offered clasp.
“Pleased to meet you, Nate.” Although the big man’s hand felt cold, a strange sizzle of energy still zipped up Nate’s arm from the contact. He noted the other man did not squeeze hard, although the clasp felt firm and positive. Well, you wouldn’t expect a limp shake from such a bear of a man, would you?
“I need to be getting along,” Merl said. “Gotta get these cans sold down at Kardamian’s Recycling today. You be careful, Nate. Most of the folks here are okay, but there are a few rotten apples—they’d shove you in the creek to take your coat, maybe try to rip off those cameras to pawn.”
Nate saw what seemed to be genuine concern in the other man’s deep-set dark eyes. “I’ll be watchful,” he said. “I’ve been down here quite a bit and never had any trouble.”
He thought of mentioning he had a permit and carried a small handgun in a concealed holster, but decided against that. It was nobody’s business whether or not he could defend himself. Still, the big man’s advice and apparent care warmed him. The people he’d met here in the camp never ceased to amaze him, in ways both good and shocking. Few fit the stereotype of folks lacking ambition or education, maybe dragged down by drugs or alcohol. Oh, there were some of them, of course, but the population held great diversity.

Most of them had a story, too. Maybe in time he’d get to know Merl better, enough to learn his tale. He sensed the big man had to have one because he spoke with an educated accent and reflected a quiet dignity, despite the total indignity of his present life.