Workin' on the Railroad by Deirdre O'Dare
www.ambeallure.com/WorkinOnRailroad
Sep 2010 release

Blurb: Roane Wellman only intends to work one summer on railroad maintenance to pay for his next semester of college after his party guy ways cause his grandfather to stop supporting his schooling. In a summer of hard work, adventure and danger, he matures and finds a new course for his life. Before the season ends, he knows he’s meant to be workin’ on the railroad as he fights to build a career and a partnership that just might last for the rest of his life.


Alden Prescott is a loner, content to operate his big crane and shrug off the added responsibilities of being a gang foreman. However, his current foreman is a drunkard and so close to worthless that Alden ends up doing a lot of the functions he has tried to avoid. Although he’s strongly drawn to the handsome new summer hire, memories of a past tragedy make him afraid to pursue the relationship. What will it take to convince him that Roane is not going to let him repeat past mistakes? And what will happen when the current foreman winds up busted for his illicit drug use? Workin’ on the railroad packs a lot of danger, challenge and some very hot times—days at work and nights at play.

Excerpt: 
Set up: After a close call that was almost a bad accident, most of the men have left for the weekend. Roane did not and he and Alden went to town to get dinner. They've been talking and getting acquainted--and feeling an attraction simmering under the surface but ignoring it.

Roane's momentum carried him forward, hard up against Alden's body. He probably outweighed the other man by twenty pounds or more, even if Alden had two or three inches of height on him. Alden staggered back a half step and twisted to brace his back against the side of the truck.


For long seconds, Roane leaned into Alden's hard spare frame. He could feel the other man's heartbeat, gaining speed just as his own was. Alden's breath whistled out in a puff, warm across Roane's face. Roane raised his arms, meaning to push himself upright again; at least, that's what he thought he was going to do. But that wasn't how it happened.

His right hand found a spot on Alden's upper chest, just below the shoulder and flattened there. He twisted his left out of Alden's loose clasp, felt Alden's fingers slide down from his elbow to his wrist and then fall away. An instant later, Alden raised his hand again, this time to slide it around behind Roane's head, fingers digging into the thick hair at the base of his skull.

Half a breath later, Alden's mouth crashed onto Roane's in an urgent kiss. Roane's left arm snaked around Alden's waist and welded their bodies even closer together. He forgot to think, forgot to breathe, forget everything in the whole world except the contact, chest to chest, thighs to thighs, stiffening cocks surging against confining denim, and lips clinging, twisting, tasting and claiming.

So abruptly Roane could not either respond or resist, Alden shifted his right hand to Roan's shoulder and brought his left up to add to the sudden hard shove--back, away, apart.

"What the hell's happening here?" he grated out, echoing Roane's earlier exclamation. "I know you weren't agreeable to Flannery's games, so what's this about?"

Roane shook his head, trying to claw his way through the cobwebs of lust and confusion. "I don't know, Prescott--Alden." The sound of the other man's name on his tongue seemed both strange and right. "And no, I wouldn't play Flannery's games for...well, the starting quarterback slot on the Lobos' lineup and a blank check for the rest of my education!"

"So you're not gay?"

"I'm not saying that. I guess I just haven't quite been sure, but I'm leaning more that way all the time. I just didn't figure you were. This evening's been a crazy trip--I'm lost. Something's happening. I think I might like it, but I'm scared shitless, too."

Alden laughed, a deep, ragged chuckle. "Yeah, I'm gay...always knew it from the time I was a kid--one reason I don't go home anymore. Folks don't approve. But I'm not a predator like Flannery and I'm particular about who I hook up with. You caught my eye at the start, but I wasn't going to push anything. If it was to be, it would happen in its own time. Has it?"

The blunt question caught Roane off guard for all he should have seen it coming. "I--yeah, I think so..."

Alden laughed again, softer this time. "Go down to your own bunk and sleep on it, Roane. There's no rush. We may both need a little more time to think this through. I'll warn you though--I don't do one-night stands or blow and go or anything like that. Some guys laugh. They tell me that's pussy-talk, to want to care about the other person, but if you don't you may as well just jack off alone or stick your schlong in a bucket of lard--a real one, I mean, not something like Flannery."

Roane had to laugh then, easing the tension. "You're a damn wise man, Alden. I knew that from the first...knew you weren't ordinary. I spotted you for the leader, the one who ought to be foreman anyway, that first evening. And in reality you are--nobody looks to Flannery for anything but a ration of shit. If they need help, advice, even an ass-chewing, you're the one to do it."

Alden cuffed him on the shoulder. "Get on with you, boy. You don't need to butter me up. I like you already and when the time is right, I'll show you just how much. Get out of here now before I change my mind."

He turned away then and started for his own door. Roane hesitated a few seconds, reluctant now to end the evening, although he knew it was right. For here and now, it was right.

There'll be another time, the right time. He liked the inherent promise of that very much.

* * * *

Alden let himself into the car, stumbled to the beat-up couch and dropped onto it.

Thank the gods Dom is gone. He'd want to know what's wrong, and I don't think I could tell him. Shit, I've stepped in it again, right up to my fucked-up eyeballs. What did I just do? Why? What was I thinking? How in the depths of hell did I let this happen?

Life was beginning to look like his luck had totally gone south--at least as far as keeping a clear head and a secure heart went. Common sense told him he'd better clamp down right now and stop thinking with his cock if he didn't want to watch history repeat itself. No way could he survive a repeat of that summer eight years ago. He'd end up slitting his throat or blowing his brains out. For just a few crazy minutes, he'd let himself forget...

Excerpt Beyond the Shadows, adult, m/m

Beyond the Shadows by Deirdre O'Dare

www.amberallure.com/BeyondShadows.html

Blurb: First year Border Patrol officers Rhys Davis and Liam Malone have been friends since second grade. When their new assignment puts them on the front lines in tracking down a vicious and inhuman killer along the southern border, they must call on every resource at their disposal.
The most potent of these turns out to be memories from a life they shared two thousand years ago in the British Isles, one in which they were partners in every way, forming an eternal bond that allowed them to defeat this same enemy in that life. Will crossing the line from friends to lovers in this life destroy their friendship or build on it?

Excerpt: A moment later, Liam was again cursing the fact he was not on horseback. A horse would have scented trouble before they roared around the bend right into the middle of it. As it was he slammed on the brakes so fast Rhys almost ran him over. The sight confronting them was too bizarre to absorb for a moment. A man-sized and shaped figure loomed in the center of the faint two-rut trail. As Liam ground to a halt, the creature threw down the limp form he'd been holding, a young woman from what Liam could see. It was still early in the morning and the deep canyon had not yet seen the sun.
The body fell, loose limbed and lifeless as an oversized rag doll. The apparent killer stood a moment, staring down at the still form. Liam's stomach clenched. Oh, shit. There wasn't any blood, nothing similar to the body they'd found a week ago. What shocked him into paralysis, though, was the fact the man-creature was almost colorless, a shadow of an entity whose opaqueness ebbed and flowed. For an instant you could see through it and then the next, it would be dark and appear solid.
Rhys muffled words echoed Liam's thoughts. "Holy shit, what the fuck is it?"
At the sound, subtle though it was, the creature's head came up and he pinned them with a scarlet, glowing gaze, eyes that seemed to reveal a banked fire smoldering within the shadow of his form. Liam swore he could feel the heat and hatred shooting like a laser in that soulless stare.
He grabbed for his sidearm as Rhys dismounted and came up beside him. A slanting glance showed him Rhys had also drawn his weapon. They both spoke as one. "Halt. You're under arrest."
The monster gave a harsh cackle that might pass for a laugh. "Try to stop me." He--or it--wheeled and sped away. It didn't seem to walk or run, but simply glided over the rough ground, floating, skimming. Both men fired at the same moment, but the figure did not waver. For a blink, it almost vanished and they saw their bullets impact into the hillside some yards beyond where the thing paused. Then it darkened and moved on, vanishing around a bend in the canyon far too quickly.
For a few breaths, Liam and Rhys stood frozen, looking at each other in total disbelief.
"What the fuckin' hell was that? Our bullets passed right through him. He just dimmed out and then went on like nothing happened. Jesus! Were we hallucinating?"
Liam shrugged in reply. "Damned if I know. I guess we'd better check on the vic and then try to call this in."
The young woman was clearly past help. She wasn't clawed to pieces like the man had been, but that might only be true because they'd interrupted the killer in the act of murder. Stooping beside the body, Liam shook his head. "Gomez is going to think we're crazy if we tell this the way it happened. We'd better get our stories straight right now."
Rhys nodded. Liam figured they were both still in shock, completely spooked. He damn sure was. Rhys' face, as the first sunlight leaked over the rim above them, showed a greenish gray pallor. Liam guessed he didn't look any better.
Anything that could shift from transparent to solid at will and let bullets pass through its shadow self could probably morph into a dragon, a werewolf or a demon from the pits of hell. Shit, he couldn't believe it himself and he'd seen the whole thing.
He studied the hapless victim. She seemed deflated, empty, reduced to a state beyond normal deadness to something from which the very essence had been extracted. Although newly killed, the young woman's lifeless body held no heat, no ooze of blood, and no trace of energy fading with the last of her life. The monster had drained her completely, leaving only a husk of flesh.
She'd probably been pretty, but her face was shrunken and pinched now, marked by the last throes of total terror. They found no ID on her, but that was not unexpected. Border crashers seldom carried their life history, if they even had such documents. He'd guess this poor girl was mostly Indian, probably from somewhere far to the south. How she'd become separated from the group she should have been traveling with they'd likely never know. They might never even learn who she was. He blinked for an instant against the rush of sadness. Nobody deserved to die that way for the mistake of listening to someone who promised a better life.
"We're not going to split up this time," Rhys declared. "I don't know what we'd do if that thing came back, but at least we wouldn't have to confront it alone. We can carry the vic out; I'd say she wasn't killed here anyway, although there isn't much sign to read. Doubt if even Billy could unravel this one, but he may get a chance to try."
They wrapped the woman in a small tarp and tied her body on the back of Liam's ATV, which had an empty carrier rack. Once back at the trailhead on a ridge, they called the incident in. Then it was wait again for the CSI forensics team and for Billy, who came with them.
The young Navajo shook his head as he examined the body briefly, with an obvious effort to subdue his distaste and discomfort. "Tchindi," he muttered. "I can smell 'em. A really bad tchindi like a dead skinwalker." After he climbed on behind Rhys, they drove back to the site. There was really nothing to mark the small flat as a crime scene--no blood, no tracks, not even a stone or a dry leaf that looked disturbed.
The CSI expert opined the woman had probably not been killed there. Liam and Rhys had agreed to say they'd just found the body, no hint of what had happened to her. They might have to say more later, but for now that seemed the safest approach. They'd tell Billy more, of course, but not in the presence of the others.
After the CSI group left with the body, Billy checked the scene with the care of a search and rescue dog checking for signs. He didn't quite squat and smell the ground, but he did almost everything else, even walking to the bend and looking around it, where, of course, he could not see anything.
"Tchindi," he repeated. "No question. We're dealing with some bad medicine here, bros. Wish my uncle was still around. He might be able to do something to stop this, but what little I learned from him is about as useful as a cap pistol against an anti-aircraft gun. Let's get out of here. It's givin' me the spooks."
Liam had no issue with that. For the second time that day, they retraced the route back to the trailhead. There they loaded the ATVs on their pickups and then headed back to town.
More than enough for one day.
Finally back home, Liam realized he was tired to the bone, but he dreaded bedtime and falling asleep. He'd been having some strange and disturbing dreams lately and this was surely not going to help. He'd die before he'd admit it to Rhys who was always going on about déjà vu and lucid dreaming and shit like that, but some of Liam's dreams were getting much too vivid and hard to forget. Maybe I'm not cut out for this work after all if it's going to cause this sort of reaction. Hell, even Iraq wasn't this bad. Blood and guts and death he could handle--well, most of the time--but this weird stuff gave him the heebie-jeebies. Bad medicine indeed.
* * * *
He seemed to come awake drenched with sweat, aching in every fiber of his body. The bed was hard beneath him, an uneven surface with prickly texture. The blankets felt heavy, smelled of dust and a raw animal scent. The room seemed dark; the only light a low fire flickering to one side. A man-shaped shadow moved between him and that light. The bed sank a little as the man sat down on the edge. Then a damp cloth swiped over Liam's face, soothing, cooling. A pungent herbal scent stung his nose of a moment, but it seemed to ease his pain and fear. He was safe and everything would be all right.
"You're awake." The voice was low and mellow, as soothing as the herbs and the cool damp touch on his face."You've been very sick, stranger, but I think you're going to pull through. The wounds are closing, and I've broken your fever."
The speaker used words and a tone he recognized--Druid. They were healers, wise men, priests and more, the few who held keys to the future and ways to appease the vengeful gods. Maybe even ways to deal with the spirit suckers who would steal so much from their victims there wasn't enough left to get to Tir-Na-Nog or be born again. He found a vague memory of encountering one of them in the forest while on patrol.
How he was still alive, he was not sure. A miracle. He'd have to make some major offerings to the gods when he could walk again, even throw his best shield and maybe his spear into the holy well. You had to thank the gods for saving you with valuable stuff. Weapons could be replaced, but souls could not.
"Thank you, Druid. I know I'm blessed to remain among the living after all I suffered. I will not ask how or why. And I will make offerings to the gods--whatever you deem right--as soon as I am able to get up."
"Rest easy. There will be time enough for that later. My name is Rhysanos. Yes, I am Druid, but that is a title and a duty, not a name. What do you go by, stranger? How came you here to our quiet corner of the Isles?"
"I think I am called Finbar, but my memories are unclear. I was on a patrol for my king, guarding the boundaries of his domain, looking for signs of raiders and those who would steal from our people. Where is this place? It seems far from my home."
The Druid's touch was gentle, yet it sent a strange energy surging through his weak body. His cock stirred at that touch and blood pounded through his whole form as if he must run or fight or do something else he did not understand. He stiffened with a mixture of fear and eagerness.
"No, be still. Do not fear. You will be all right. Now you need to sleep more to let your body heal. I will be here, guarding you while you sleep. I guarantee you will be safe."
As soft grayness enfolded him, he drifted off into it, fading to a similar shadow of existing. Fear blinked out; arousal and tension did so as well. For a moment, he had a dim recollection of the security of his mother's arms--a mother long dead and almost forgotten except in times like this...
Trust was not something he really knew, but it came to him now. This strange, powerful man, though no warrior, would keep him safe. He knew that beyond any doubt.

Story behind Beyond the Shadows

I've been a fan of so-called Urban Fantasy for some time. I got started reading some of the novels of Charles DeLint who mixed the kingdom of Fairie and other-worldly dastards into modern Canada city-scapes. Then a whole raft of romance authors began to blend present day love stories with paranormal or fantasy elements with some fascinating results!

But I rarely write about city life. Except for living in Colorado Springs for not quite three years, I have always lived in suburbs or rural areas and that is what I prefer. So when I decided to mix some fantasy elements into a story or several of them, I knew I would be writing rural rather than urban fantasy! Later I found someone had already coined the term for a sub-genre of fiction.

Living near the Mexican border in the southern parts of Arizona and New Mexico I was familiar with the US Border Patrol. I knew of their very difficult job of trying to protect our border and cut down the influx of undocumented people from not only Mexico but many more distant and often less friendly places. What if, I said to myself, they also began to have to deal with some really alien beings from beyond the earth we know? And thus the notion of the Thin Green Line series began to take root.

Beyond the Shadows was the first of this group of related tales. I set it in the 'boot heel' region of southwestern New Mexico and spilling over into the southeastern corner of Arizona. This is very rugged and isolated country, perhaps nearer to wilderness now than it was fifty or a hundred years ago. I had also begun exploring some of the ancient Celtic spiritual paths such as Druidism and felt an urge to weave a bit of this background into the tale and of course the ethnic mix of people among which I have grown up and lived in the area--Latinos, Native Americans and and those of Northern European descent as well. I chose my two heroes to represent the Welsh and Irish roots that I myself have while other characters completed the mix.

Some reviewers have complained about my "mixed metaphors" in borrowing a bit of several trends of fantasy such as elves and vampires and so on, but I say, hey, its my world and I'll build it as I want to! Beyond the Shadows was an April 2010 release and part of an Amber PAX group about friends becoming lovers.

Excerpt: Paint a New Scene--adult m/f/m

Paint a New Scene by Deirdre O'Dare

www.amberheat.com/PaintNewScene.html

Blurb: Artist Keely is not sure how to emerge from the isolation of her early widowhood and start living again. Her first step is to move from Tucson to southwestern New Mexico. When her landlady hires a couple of hunky handymen to do some much needed refurbishing on the house Keely rents, she discovers a new subject for her paintbrush and then a couple of friends with benefits who introduce her to the erotic pleasures of a ménage.

Jerry and Tim have been drifters, working their way around the west while trying to put their painful pasts behind them. In Keely they discover a reason to stop moving for awhile and perhaps put down roots in the colorful old mining town of Copper City as they ply their painting and handyman trade.

Excerpt: Note: Keely agrees to go out with both men to hear a band they describe as great performing at a local hangout. As a three-way date, it's a first for her and the first time she's been on any date since her husband's death.

By the time they'd played the first set, Keely had to agree Buddy Montoya's group had a good sound. It was somewhere between mariachi and pop, with a bit of traditional country western and a strong hint of Tex-Mex thrown in. Her feet were itching to get out and move to the infectious rhythms.
Keely sipped her beer and watched, not sure what the etiquette of the moment called for. Did she dare make the first move? She wasn't even sure if Tim was able to dance, especially not the more lively and complex steps. Whether Jerry would or not was another unknown. They both sat quietly, watching as she was. Finally, Jerry made the first move.
He stood and held a hand out to her. "Can't sit this out any longer. Come on, lady. Let's go polish that dance floor."
It turned out he was no slouch as a dancer. Keely wasn't sure if she was surprised to learn that or not. Mostly she was too busy remembering steps she hadn't practiced for quite a while, thankful her feet seemed to recollect what her mind tended to forget. Then there were the sensations, like how good it felt to have a man's strong arm around you, feel a muscled shoulder under your fingers and be guided through the complex moves by a confident masculine touch.
It's been too damn long, for sure.
A giddy delight flashed through her, followed by the unmistakable burn of desire, activated by the movements of the dance that brought her close to Jerry's muscled body, along with the beer, the crowd and the excitement of being out on an almost-date. A three-way date? Well, why not? Most of all, though, she had to admit it was the good-looking man who held her.
When the band segued into a slow, seductive tune, she was as good as lost. Jerry tightened his arm around her, one hand settling just above the outward curve of her butt. He slipped two fingers into the hip pocket of her jeans, a gesture somehow incredibly intimate. He brought her close enough her breasts brushed against his chest, while the scent of his aftershave fogged her senses.
Her nipples peaked against the soft fabric of her bra and stretched the clinging knit of her top. He had to feel them. God knew she did. Every touch they made against his solid heat sent jolts of liquid flame darting through her body to settle in her pussy. With every move, the seam of her jeans rubbed the sensitized flesh between her legs, adding to her growing arousal. Oh, my God, I feel so damned hot I must be glowing!
By the time the band took a break and they made their way back to the table, Keely was ready to drag Jerry outside and have her way with him in the bushes edging the parking lot. She cooled down a little as they sat and she downed a second beer. That was about her limit--much more and she'd get queasy instead of buzzed.
Mike had always laughed at her limited capacity for alcohol. He could put away a six-pack and just be started, but then he'd been a big guy, six-foot-two and about two-forty. At his death, he was still looking like the high school football star he'd been when they started going together. With a start, she realized she'd thought of him without the debilitating stab of pain this time.
He'd been her first love and would always have a special place in her heart, but she was still alive and deserved to live, not just exist. For the first time, she knew she really believed this and was ready to act on it. If living involved Jerry or Tim, or Jerry and Tim, or any of the miners and cowboys who had begun to eye her with some interest, that was all right, too.
When the band resumed after about twenty minutes, Tim stood and offered a hand. "I'm not good for the fancy footwork, but I can manage a line dance or a couple of slow numbers. Will you give it a try?"
Keely didn't hesitate. "Of course, Tim. It would be my pleasure."
Despite the small drag or pause when he had to turn or move on his bad leg, Tim danced well enough. His touch was as sure and comfortable as Jerry's had been and equally exciting. Before they returned to the table when the band switched into some quick salsa tunes, Keely would have been more than willing to go outside with him, too.
During the next several sets, a half-dozen of the other men in the place asked her to dance. They were all polite and made sure it was okay with Jerry and Tim, recognizing that she was with them. Most of the local men had a bit of old-fashioned courtesy she had to appreciate. Miners and cowboys were hard workers and most of them relied on one or more partners as they performed the dangerous and strenuous tasks of their jobs. You didn't want to make any enemies by not treating someone's lady with respect because tomorrow he might be your partner. It made sense, but it was nice to be one of the ladies!
In between the others, she danced two more times with Jerry and once more with Tim. Finally, people began to leave and the band started to pack up their amps and other gear. There was a jukebox, one of the traditional kinds, but it wasn't the same as live music. The evening was clearly at an end.
They walked out as they had entered, three abreast, with Keely in the middle.
Tim handed her into her seat and scrambled in behind her. It took a couple of tries before the engine fired, but Jerry seemed to know the tricks to make the vehicle start. He only said a couple of cuss words before it began to rumble.
"Wanna come over to our place for a bit and look at the etchings?" In the dash lights, Jerry's expression bordered on diabolical. Keely smiled to herself. He's testing me. Am I up to the challenge? Damn straight!
"Sure. Why not? Heck, it isn't even two o'clock yet."
The men rented an apartment in a rustic old building that surely dated back to the early mining days in the community. She suspected it might once have been a row of cribs, the tiny, cell-sized rooms where streetwalkers took their johns back in the wild days when the rich mining district was in its heyday. It looked as if smaller rooms had been connected and walls shifted to make regular apartments.
"We did the paint job on this place," Tim said with a touch of pride. "It was our first job in the area. The ole coot who owns the building liked it so well he rents to us for half the usual price."
In the headlights, as Jerry pulled up to park near their door, Keely could see the bright colors. Had anyone told her the color scheme she would have shuddered, but it actually looked good--the walls were deep hunter green with Chinese red and gold for the gingerbread and other woodwork such as porch rails, shutters and banisters.
"Wow," she said. "It's really unusual, but kinda cool. I like it. Did you guys come up with the colors or did the owner?"
"I guess these were the original colors," Jerry said. "That's what Mr. Busich said anyway. We went a little darker than the old hand-tinted postcard he had, but I think it came out pretty good. Looks a lot better than that faded, pukey pink and lilac that it was, anyway."
He made a production of opening the door with an ancient brass skeleton key and switched on the lights.
Keely stopped and took a moment to absorb the room. The furniture was old, or at least looked old, and no two pieces matched, but the room was neater than she had expected. Through a doorway, she could see a bedroom, where a huge bed dominated the confined room. Another open archway led to a small kitchen. To call the place quaint was almost an understatement, but it did have a peculiar charm.
Well, my house isn't exactly twenty-first century either. So long as there's heat and cooling and running water, I think I'm okay with it.
"Where are the etchings?" Keely posed the question with a giggle, determined to play along with the game Jerry had begun.
Jerry twirled an imaginary moustache and leered. "We have you in our power now, me lovely. What should we do with you?"
Keely fluttered her lashes and glanced coyly back and forth between the two men. When she spoke, it was in a quivery falsetto. "Oh my, I'm afraid you're going to have your wicked way with me. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?"
She had not had that much beer, but the whole evening had been intoxicating until she was giddy and silly with it, hot nearly to the point of melting and far past any wish to back out or change what seemed the likely outcome. "But I'm prepared to hand over my virtue..." She began to laugh then and could not go on. "Oh, hell's bells, one of you better come over here and kiss me!"
Jerry moved first. He closed the distance between them with one fast step and caught her by the shoulders. The next moment he angled his head just enough not to bump noses as he sought and found her lips. He tasted of beer and the nachos they'd munched, smelled still of the piney aftershave, and kissed like a consummate professional. Not too much tongue or too little; not too much wetness or pressure, or one single thing that did not feel absolutely right. She grabbed at his arms to steady herself as the world began a slow spiral beneath her feet. A small moan escaped her lips, muffled by his. Yes, oh, yes!
A moment later she felt another hard male body close behind her and a second set of hands clasped her waist from behind and then began to explore, one slipping under her top to approach her breasts and the other fanning across her stomach, the heat of it burning through her jeans.

Story behind Paint a New Scene

The next release I had in 2010 is a steamy menage! Paint a New Scene came out in March of 2010. It is not yet in a print collection; I am working on a menage group and need to complete one more to round it out!

This tale also came from my short time of residence in Grant County, NM. I rented a house in the little town of Hurley and just like Keely, I found it run down but my land lady hired a couple of guys to spiff it up on the outside, which it badly needed. They were not quite as hunky as Jerry and Tim but they were nice guys and we got to be friends. They received a little thank you gift from me--a good sized jug of Jose Cuervo which I had kept for quite awhile; it was left over from my daughter's wedding reception!

The left picture is before--and does not really show how leprous and yucky parts of the exterior looked. I had my doubts about the color scheme but the warm tan with two shades of green came out pretty kewl. And I have to share what I called "the Barney Room" for obvious reasons; with the land lady's permission I rpeainted it sky blue with white trim. Whew--that was my office and work room! Yes it really was Kelly green, Lincoln green and screaming purple!!!

Of course this sequence of events triggered my "what if" bug and pretty soon I was imagining things that could happen and then the three characters began to share their tale with me! I saw that Keely could not decide which guy was the hottest and since she liked them both and they seemed very amenable to sharing... Well, they really did paint a new scene! Keely's success with the gallery in Las Cruces and the gallery itself arose from a trip I made with a friend to do a gallery tour early in the spring of 2009. There really are some marvelous little galleries and shops scattered through the old town, well worth a visit!

Story Behind the story--Snickelfritz in Love

This tale came about from several diverse inspirations. I visited Las Cruces several times while I lived near Silver City in 2008-09 and decided it would make a good setting. A close friend was working at that time as an industrial electrician although he was involved in mines rather than construction but I heard and learned a bit about the work from him. Once I moved to Colorado, I shared a home for a bit with my brother and a lady he lived with for a year or so. She had a wicked little scrap of dogdom called Pinto. He was an off-colored tan and white mini schnauzer and a little pistol! I knew he'd have to morph into a canine cupid character! Athena made a perfect foil for him.

The scene at the dog park was the first thing that came to me for this one--the dogs and then Jake and Boz. I knew there was a lot of ground to cover fast and a number of readers have said it was too short and hectic but life is fast paced today and so I tend to write that way--a fast read with just enough detail and back story to make a quick but absorbing read. This one became part of the print collection, Canine Cupids Two after I wrote a few more tales to keep it company!

Excerpt: Snickelfritz in Love m/m Adult

Snickelfritz in Love by Deirdre O'Dare www.amberallure.com/SnickelfritzInLove.html
Jan 2010 (Canine Cupid Series)

Blurb: Industrial electrician Jake has traveled too much to make a lot of friends but finally gave in to impulse and acquired Snick, a feisty rescued mini-schnauzer. Detective Boz similarly obtained Athena, a retired racing greyhound and a total lady. Both men adore their canine partners but when the dogs meet at the dog park and develop an instant love affair, all hell breaks loose. Meanwhile valuable materiel and components are vanishing from the construction site of a new medical complex where Jake is working. Boz is assigned to the case and the two must work together. Can they make this and much more work? Only the dogs know for sure.

Excerpt: Note: Boz and Jake are doing a kind of stake-out at the medical center site tonight; they patrol separately and then meet up.

Jake wasn't at the meeting place. Boz checked his watch again. He was maybe five minutes ahead of time. For a split second, he debated. Wait or go looking? His concern won out. He hesitated just long enough to orient himself as he remembered the tour Jake had given him that morning. The diagnostic center was upstairs and to the left. That was where some of the most valuable stuff was.
Moving fast now, with less caution, he raced back into the building, up the stairs and down the corridor. When he caught a whiff of disturbed air, the scent of sweat and something else, he didn't slow down. No one was here now he was sure, but someone had been, just moments before. Not Jake; someone else. It wasn't Jake's scent.
He saw the dark blur on the floor in the doorway before he reached it, a man-shape, a big man. Oh, God, be all right. Please be all right. The thought surprised him only in its intensity. This investigation was his job. If the other man had been hurt or killed, he wasn't sure he could live with himself. Jake was not trained in the crazy survival tricks of a vice detective. He was too honest and open, too trusting and even naïve.
Boz dropped into a crouch, reaching to touch Jake's shoulder. From there his hand slid to the other man's neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, strong and steady. Okay, he's not dead or dying, at least not yet.
Jake groaned and stirred. The big man shook his head like a poll-axed steer as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
"Sonuvabitch! Whoever hit me packed a mean wallop. Snuck up behind me, too. I'd heard something and was trying to get a quick look through the door. I saw someone, standing there in front of the window. The next thing I knew, bam, felt like a sledgehammer bashed me from behind. Now the bastards got away. Shit."
"Are you okay?" Boz had to ask, even if it was an inane question. "Give yourself a minute before you try to get up. A concussion is nothing to mess with. Where did they hit you?"
Jake raised a hand and ran it gingerly down the back of his head. "Here, just at the base of the skull, I think. That's the tender spot anyway. At the time it felt like a steel plate had hit the whole back of my head, like a truck had hit me."
"Well, we know someone was here. I'll call my back-up and get a fingerprint kit out here. We'll dust the room and see if we can pick up anything. And you can check to see if anything's missing. I figure we're safe to use a light now. They're gone and they know we're after them."
Jake growled an incoherent mumble of rage that finally shaped into words. "Fuckin' lousy bastards. I shoulda had eyes in the back of my head. Whoever got me didn't make a sound. I was listening, paying attention, or I thought I was. I guess I was too focused on the guy in the room, though."
Boz chuckled, relieved it hadn't been any worse. "Good thing you have a Swede's hard head."
He started to rise at the same instant Jake began to struggle to his feet. Somehow, they wound up grabbing at one another in an effort to find their balance. What happened next was completely unplanned, unexpected and unbelievable. They ended up wrapped in each other's arms, bodies straining together, as their mouths melded in a heated and urgent kiss.
Danger is the master aphrodisiac. Shit, I was not going to let this happen. Well, it's too late now. God, but it feels so good, so right, so necessary...
They broke apart only when they heard the sounds of Boz's back-up and the other cops' booted feet and muffled voices. Even though the bunch was speaking quietly enough, they still sounded very loud in the echoing depths of the unfinished building. The advance warning gave Boz and Jake enough time to turn away from each other, tame burgeoning erections and calm pounding hearts and gasping breath. Yet the words hung between them as if spoken, This isn't finished yet. The awareness triggered both dread and anticipation in Boz.
On the heels of that thought came another. Oh, man, I'm glad they didn't sneak up on us. Boz neither flaunted nor hid his sexual preferences. Still he was pretty sure only a few his fellow officers knew. A few more might suspect, though most of them would probably be shocked or dismayed if they found out, especially in such a way. He'd made it a rule to keep business and pleasure totally separate, in boxes as far apart as they could be. To a degree, it was the only way to survive in the cruel world of the undercover vice cop.
By the time the others reached the room, Boz had himself totally under control again. He explained the situation as tersely as possible and then directed the fingerprinting effort. He could not let the opportunity slip away, even if it would likely give them little in the way of sound leads. They went over the room carefully for prints and any other clues. The crew picked up a few things that might or might not be evidence.
Finally, there was no more to do. Boz glanced at Jake. He'd stayed patiently out of the way while the crime scene team worked, answered a few questions and now looked weary yet still quizzical when Boz met his gaze.
Boz answered the unspoken query. "Yeah, we're done here. Not much more we can do tonight anyway, what's left of it."
Jake shook his head. "I've got the mother of all headaches coming on and it's only three hours before time to come to work. I just wish I could've got my hands on one of those guys."
"We'll catch them. They'll probably be more cautious now, knowing we're onto them. I doubt they'll quit, though--too much easy money to tempt them... Since it's Sunday, no work today, is there?" He looked at Jake a bit more keenly, concerned by this small memory slip. "Say, you look a little rough. Shouldn't you get checked for a concussion?"
Jake clearly started to deny it, then hesitated. "No hospitals," he muttered. "I don't do horsepistols. I'm okay."
"I don't think so. Either I take you to the Urgent Care up on Telshore or you come home with me so I can keep an eye on you. Concussions are nothing to fool with, and I suspect you have one."
For a moment, he was sure the big man was going to protest or even refuse, but then his shoulders sagged a bit. "Okay, I'll let ya babysit me for the rest of the night."