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...

The Story Behind Workin' on the Railroad

I've been a train fan for a good part of my life. Both my grandfathers were railroad employees and my brother with whom I am very close just finished a long career on the maintenance side of the business. Most of us give little thought these days to the volume of material that travels by rail. Passenger traffic is of course far less than it was at one time but Amtrak still runs daily schedules on several routes and apparently fills most of their seats. I overheard a couple of men talking the other day and they observed how truck traffic is down on the Interstates while rail traffic seems to be up. This is probably a natural result of the rising fuel costs since a locomotive can move many more tons per unit of fuel than can a semi. I'm all in favor of that outcome even if I do not not care for the reasons!

Anyway, when Amber Allure planned a themed series built around a phrase and a picture ("working stiffs" was the phrase and the picture showing a hunky blue collar type guy, shirtless and sweaty. Yum!!) my first idea was to do a story about railroad maintenance. I had my own tech expert close at hand and also wanted to pay tribute to this segment of a key industry. Because the new technology has brought many changes to the main line railroads' procedures, I chose to use a small independent railroad that could not afford the complex machines and equipment so still relied on labor intensive practices.  There are quite a number of these 'short line' railroads scattered around the country that operate as a rule to serve a specific industry or facility such as a mine, an oil field, etc. I set my fictitious line in the "Four Corners" area where the states of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado come together in a neat square. It is rugged and an ideal place for such a company to function.

My two guys just kind of came out of the shadows and started talking to me. Alden had made a career of the work whereas Roane only intended to work for the summer to make enough money to cover his second year of college after his partying ways caused his grandfather to cut off monetary support. But as we all know, the best laid plans...

Just for fun here is a very old photo that I took long ago in Arizona's Verde Valley of a 'work train' that was in the area to fix some bridges and other structures damaged by summer flash floods. The guys lived in converted box cars made into bunk houses, called "camp cars" or "outfit cars." In more remote areas there was also a cook/dining car in the mix as well as other cars to haul equipment, machines and supplies.

This spot is now across the road from the depot and sidings used by the Verde Canyon Scenic Railroad but at the time of the photo, early 1960s, the line was a spur off the main Santa Fe routes.  I would recommend the Verde trip to any rail fan and also to those who want to see some gorgeous unspoiled scenery, wildlife and just have a fun time. The trip lasts about four hours and there are open cars where you can take in the scenery and photograph the fantastic vistas. Or you can travel in a closed coach in luxury! The URL for info and tickets etc is http://www.verdecanyon.com/  so check it out! I took the trip a few years back and cannot wait to go again!

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: 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."