Ready for Two More?

I am not sure which books came out when from January through July but I'll get something about each of them before I am done! Today I'll get back to the dogs with Burrito Belle's Gringo Guy and Doggone Love.

Doggone Love was actually the first of my Canine Cupids group before I realized they would become a theme series. It grew out of a trip to the vet to put my late husband's sweet old Lab-Setter to sleep so she could go join her master and her canine buddy, Butch. They had both crossed over on the same day, almost three years earlier. The new vet at my regular clinic was a short husky blond who did have a  slight attitude and a few weeks later he morphed into Eric Vann. Once I had the vet I needed the guy with an animal requiring urgent care and here came Damon, racing to town with his injured Dixie Belle.

Now the odd thing is, I had acquired one Aussie (Australian Shepherd) almost two years earlier to be Sadie's companion. Rico and she never bonded as she had with Butch but it helped her depression some to have a canine companion. Well, after she was gone and after this story was submitted or even released, I got another Aussie to be Rico's partner. What was her name? Belle! I later added to that calling her Belle Starr for she was a food bandit par excellence! Are there really coincidences?  ~ (my Latina shrug) Who knows!

Anyway Doggone Love was a quick hit and a best seller at Amber Quill. I am so happy to have it available again.  I am not finding the post but I could swear I did do an excerpt and back story on it here. Oh well. Here is the cover, anyway. Dixie Belle is described as a red merle Aussie but the connection between the guy and the dog is perfect in this picture! At right is a closer likeness to my vision of of  Dixie Belle.

Burrito Belle's Gringo Guy is one that basically grew out of a quirky title idea. It was Taco Belle at first but not wanting to get in trouble with that chain, I switched to Burrito. LOL I actually like burritos better anyway!  Of course border crossings and international drug dealing are major issues everywhere but especially down here in southern Arizona and New Mexico which share a whole bottom border with our southern neighbor. Somehow Juan just popped into my mind, a young man, running desperately but not too harried to rescue an abandoned little dog as he flees north toward kin in Albuquerque. By that act already one of the good guys, he is going to need a guardian, a kind of angel when the drug cartel thugs come after him. Voila, enter Troy, a business man in Albuquerque's bustling down town. Of course it's that now feisty little Chihuahua who plays cupid! Here you can meet Juan and the puppy who becomes Burrito Belle.




Excerpt:
Prologue

Cuidad El Paso, USA

Late spring

4:30 A.M.

Juan Pablo Garcia y Calderon crept along the dark alley. He moved as quietly as his feline counterparts who haunted the place. They slipped off ahead and aside, silent as shadows, granting a fellow traveler passage. If the saints and Mother Mary were kind, he’d evade those who pursued him. Approaching dawn tinged the eastern horizon with the faintest hint of color, but in El Paso’s bleakest barrio, the only colors were shades of gray.
A slight sound halted his progress. A whimper, a whine, the merest whisper of distress? Where? What? He stopped to listen with total concentration. Again, there, just to his left. Close. He stooped to reach with a careful hand, mindful of hidden dangers. Rags, tattered papers, and trash were all his questing fingers found. Then…Wait…softness and a trace of warmth. He groped deeper in the litter, finding a small body, merely thinly furred skin stretched over fragile bones, but it stirred and gave off a trace of living heat.
The creature did not resist when he scooped it up. The fading darkness and his night-tuned vision let him discern the color—pale tan—and the shape, head too big for the small body with stick-like legs and large ears. A Chihuahua puppy by the looks of it. He tucked the shivering little shape into his sweatshirt and cradled it there with one hand as he pressed on, moving faster now under the spur of urgency. He needed to be far from here before sunrise.
No time to dawdle now. Albuquerque and the relative safety of Tio Tomás’s home were still far away. Juan broke into a trot, trying to steady the small dog against his body. He still scanned the area around him as he loped along, alert for hazards and danger, but eager to leave the ugly reality of the border city as far behind him as he could. He’d made it this far, and with luck, he’d never return to Cuidad Juarez and its war-torn streets again. His brief time there had almost cost him his life. He’d learned it had taken his brother’s. Pedro had been working for the Federales undercover and someone had caught onto him—that was the only thing Juan could figure.
The puppy didn’t move as they headed toward safety. At the moment, he was not even sure of the gender of the pup he’d found but its shivering had stopped. Still he could feel the slight flutter of breath and heartbeat and knew the little dog was alive. Saving it became almost as critical a need as saving himself. They were two of a kind—throw-away refugees, devalued by the unforgiving society that had made them outcasts and judged their lives of no worth. Juan was tough. If the pup were equally so, they would make it.
Sunrise found him in the northwest quadrant of the city, moving along the Rio Grande, between it and the humming busy-ness of Interstate 25. Following those two arteries would lead him eventually to Albuquerque. It was a long way to walk, but he’d already come a longer way. A few more kilometers, even many, were not too far to go for safety and a chance at tomorrow.

Like Meanwhile Back at the Ranch...

Okay, let 's go back to some of the stories that have been released in between Dude Ranch Nights and Homeless in Heaven! I did not realize just how out of the loop I had been--much closer to merely existing than living for awhile with the issues I went into more over at the 4Ds blog. (http://deirdre-fourds.blogspot.com) That's just my chatty one with memoirs, poems, family history and all sorts of other stuff that may or may not interest readers here. Anyway back to Deirdre O'Dare's republished gay romances!

I am not sure of the release dates on these but they are all on the JMS catalog now and can be found on my page, http://www.jms-books.com/deirdre-odare-m-191.html?zenid= 62b9tECQvobSJ2QiUg6qd1

The Chap in Chaps
 In 1910, Charles Smythe inherits a ranch from his late uncle. With some misgivings about leaving his life in England, he finally arrives in Arizona Territory only to meet one of his employees, an experienced hired hand named Sombra. In Sombra, Charles finds not only the perfect man to teach him all he needs to know about ranching, but also the masterful lover he has always craved. Can he build a real relationship this time, especially with a man so different?

As a youth, Sombra fled his New England home in disgrace when his first homosexual affair become public knowledge. Upon arriving in Arizona, he found employment with Dabney Darwin, Charles's uncle, and the kindly English expatriate fashioned him into the son he never had. But when Dab's nephew arrives to assume ownership of the property, Sombra is not sure how to take young Charles. Yet he soon discovers that "taking Charles" is exactly what they both need ... and desperately desire.

I'm not sure where this one came from to be honest. Again I think the title was the trigger that got my mind into that 'what if" loop.  So that means the "chap" was the first character to step out and introduce himself, voila, Charles. I have a sort of fascination with 'men in black' somber, grim and slightly mysterious men, so Sombra emerged soon to let me know he was the right man to teach young Charles the western ways. BTW Sombra is "shadow" in Spanish which is not quite my second language but one very prevalent in New Mexico and Arizona. Although Sombra is not Latino, I do often have Latino characters; they are part of the scene here. This is a spicy one and also filled with some outdoor adventures. Are those not Deirdre's stock in trade? BTW I love the cover, another of Trace Zaber's great ones. The background is perfect and looks just like the actual area in Arizona that I used to set the story.

                                     Wrenching:  

Mal has not had an easy life. He’s struggled to overcome a lot of roadblocks and hardships as he built himself a life as a mechanic, despite a serious handicap. He’s admired rancher Dan from afar but never dreamed events would play out to land him in the amazing spot of being able to do a real service for his secret hero. Can he maintain his cool and a safe distance when they’re sharing a house and working to resolve a dangerous mystery?

Dan says he does not have employees but friends who help him run the ranch he inherited from his father. Challenged by his younger step-brother and facing dangerous sabotage to his truck, he enlists a young mechanic to help solve the puzzle. He’d always wanted a real brother or a partner he could trust but his step-brother is not the right guy to fill that role. How about Mal, who brings some fine but rare qualities to the Flying W?

This one started as part of a themed set we did at Amber Quill long ago, all somehow linked to a garage! Love stories in a garage? Are mechanics romantic figures? So the challenge was to make it work!  Mal appeared first, the mechanic for the story and let me know about his tough youth and his injury. I had to admire his spunk, determination and grit. It was no stretch that he might hero-worship a good looking well-off man who was a customer of his boss's shop. A 'cowboy' or in this case a rancher who turned out not to have the ideal life Mal imagined. They both talked to me as the story unfolded--danger, adventure, a bit  of mystery and a slowly building case of attraction and sexual tension! To get the mystery solved and find how it all ends, read the story! As to the cover, who can resist a good looking young man with a big tool??

Next time we'll go to the dogs again as my beloved and always popular Canine Cupid tales, some part of the original group and some not, are making a new appearance. Happy late summer relaxing. Get a tall cool one and find a nice beach or a shady patio and start reading!

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.

New books since January 1

The last release I really discussed was Dude Ranch Nights, which came out back in 2017. Althogh it has not been quite one a month, a lot of Deirdre O'Dare tales are again available. I mentioned the Amazon Kindle effort last fall and this has continued. Most of the future releases will also be included in this program.

Guilty By Innocence came out on December 31, so it just barely hit in 2017. It tells the story of an unlikely pair, a vice detective in El Paso, TX and a young man who is found at the scene of a brutal mass murder, apparently the work of a drug cartel related gang. The young man, Gabe, has lost his memory but Jax, the cop, soon recognizes the likelihood he is guilty is very slight.

Here is the prologue which gives you a glimpse of this harshly realistic story although I guarantee it has a happy ending. It is a gay romance, after all! Here is the cover--very similar to the original.

***

Prologue

El Paso, TX

Late Fall

Cold. Pain. Floating and yet so heavy. Sensory details flooded his mind, but they only confused him.
Where am I? What’s happened?
He realized then that odors were the most insistent cue. Hot, metallic—the raw, thick scents of fresh blood and terror.
Holy Mother, what’s happened?
Sticky moisture seemed to coat his skin, growing crustier by the minute. The fingers of his right hand clenched around something hard, solid. His hand hurt, but he could not let go. He clutched it with unremitting urgency. Next, he heard a low, anguished moan followed by the building scream of sirens.
Then the scariest question of all entered his mind: Who am I?
He could not come up with a name or even a single trace of an identity. Before utter terror overcame him, he let the dark weight of silence close over him like water.

Chapter 1

A Few Minutes Later

Jackson Byrne “Jax” McDermott pulled his unmarked car to the curb, cut the ignition, and stepped out. 3150 Rincon Street was ablaze with lights and starting to swarm with action. The first responders had begun to arrive. He watched four EMTs led by their sergeant, Delia Maldonado, unload from their ambulance, which had pulled in behind his car.
Before they went to work, he needed to view the scene. From the sound of the call, they’d probably just be picking up pieces anyway. Two uniforms were already stretching yellow crime scene tape around the simple, boxy, typical tract house on the sprawling city’s northeast side. Jax stepped across one tape band and headed for the open front door, which hung off a single hinge.
Mickey Finnegan, one of the newest rookies on the EPPD, came charging out. He skidded to a stop and then puked into the arbor vitae to the left of the cement stoop.
Jax looked at the young cop with a trace of sympathy. He’d been there once. “Bad, huh?”
Micky coughed and gagged before he replied. “Yeah. Real bad.”
Edging past the green-faced rookie, Jax went inside the house. With ten years as a cop behind him—six on the street and four as a detective—broken by a tour in the Middle East with the National Guard, there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen. He’d deal with it. He stopped two steps inside, blinked, and began to breathe in shallow pants through his mouth. You could cut the stench with a knife—blood, puke, piss, fear and death. There might have been a place somewhere when he’d seen that much blood, but he couldn’t recall it. The whole room seemed to have been painted red. He counted six bodies.
Delia came up behind him. He held out a hand, halting her for a moment. “They look like coroner cases,” he said. “Give me a minute and then you can do your thing.”
He did a quick mental count—an older man against the far wall, a middle-aged woman two steps to the man’s right, a young woman with her arms extended toward a kid, apparently a boy maybe four or five. Gaping throats slashed open, still-seeping gashes on limbs and torsos. They all must have struggled, resisting to no avail. An infant, just beyond the boy. Whoa. Unbelievably, the kid moved and made a faint mew like an injured kitten.
Delia shoved past him. He let her. He managed to draw a fast sketch of the scene in his notebook to show the small form’s spot on the sticky floor as the EMTs worked. When his gaze skidded to the last body, he went dead still. From the blood-crusted face of an apparent corpse, two eyes stared at him, eyes holding a clear and unmistakable shine of life and awareness. No gashed throat on that one, either. He was definitely still alive. The eyes blinked shut, as if the man knew he’d been made. Jax grabbed his camera and snapped a couple of fast shots.
Delia and her team bundled up the infant to evacuate it. As she started past him, following one of her crew with the baby, Jax halted her.
“Del, that one’s alive, too.” He pointed.
She stopped. Her glance whipped around to the last body, apparently a young man.
Sixth victim? But wait, in one blood-painted hand, he clenched the rough wooden handle of a two-foot long machete, the wide blade streaked black with blood.
“You can take him as soon as I mark the placement of the body, but tell the ER crew he doesn’t go anywhere until they hear from me. He could be the perp, and I’m not taking any chances. Save his clothes, too, and anything else you or the ER staff find on him. I’ll get hold of Nat at the ME’s office and see if she can meet you at the hospital to get blood samples and anything else she can while it’s fresh.”
Del nodded. She knew the drill. These days, crime scene pickups were a regular part of her team’s routine. El Paso had become a war zone. Like Jax and a number of others on the force and in the first responders, she’d been in the military in the Middle East. None of them had seen anything worse while they were over there.
It only took a couple of minutes before the EMTs were back with a gurney. Eight careful hands lifted the young man’s body from the floor. If he was still conscious, he played possum like a champ, but the slow rise and fall of the bloody, tattered T-shirt across his chest proved he still lived.
Once the ambulance shrieked away, Jax took out his camera once more and began to snap pictures. There wasn’t much in the way of physical evidence to collect—except for the savaged bodies and blood. There was plenty of that. Jax knew two crime lab techs would be there any minute to go to work on the wet evidence.
When he finished at the house, Jax drove over to St. Martin’s Hospital. Not that he didn’t trust both Delia and Nat to do their jobs, but he’d learned better than to leave anything to chance. Over the years, he’d seen too many guilty fucking bastards get off on technicalities and sloppy police work. He’d be damned if one would skate because of his failures.

Arising from the Near-Dead?

I did not realize how long it has been. Turns out I have taken a much longer sabbatical than I planned or anticipated. I was going to do a short break in my usual down time from around December 1 until that midway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox which falls in early February. As the Scots poet Burns put it, "The best laid plann of mice and men gang aft aglee." Mine sure did!

Right after the first of January, we had to have our oldest dog put down. She was really my brother's but we share a home and she'd been part of my clan for quite awhile since I moved in with them on April 1, 2009! We think Beebee had some kind of internal cancer but she had been failing for awhile and attempted  treatments were not doing much good. When she stopped eating and got 'that look' in her eyes, we knew it was time. The other four moped and missed her for a bit but soon closed ranks and moved on.

Our next issue was a really nasty case of the flu. Despite having had the shots--they finally admitted the vaccine was less than 40% effective!--we got sick, majorly sick. Never had to go to the hospital but took every home remedy in the book and drank lots of hot lemonade and rum toddies to dampen the awful croupy cough enough to sleep some. It hung around for a good month and left us feeling totally trashed. Then as a follow up, I got some kind of a digestive problem and ate little to nothing for about three weeks and did not dare get too far from the facilities. Peppermint oil finally calmed my innards and I've used it ever since as it also keeps my intermittent IBS at bay quite well.

So now it is March and I go for my belated annual eye exam. Yes, I am still battling the dry eye and allergy eye issues but I also learned that I was ripe for cataract surgery! My doctor tried valiantly to ease the dry eyes as much as possible with a variety of ideas--more time passed--but the surgeon finally decided to go ahead so I had the two eyes done on May 3 and May 17. That was an adventure also. My right eye did fine and is now 20-20 except for close up, the normal cataract removal 'cure' for myopia ,but the left one was worse on both myopia and astigmatism so I find I still have to have correction there. Actually I do not mind--trying to keep track of readers and get used to no close vision was driving me nuts! I got my new glasses in mid June and then had a really bad allergic conjunctivitis spell. Finally as the summer rainy season started with an increases in humidty, I can actually see clearly most of the time!

That being the case I have crawled out of  my den like the groundhog and looked around. What, it's summer? You mean 2018 is over half gone? Yikes! Anyway, despite my semi-absence, things have been moving along.

My wonderful new publisher, JMS Books, has been steadily reissuing my favorite stories from the old Amber Quill library. Loose Id, which had begun to reissue my popular Canine Cupid tales in groups of two republished with one new story announced their closure early this year and my rights were returned in late spring so those also will now be at JMS. I've got lots of new covers to share and I'll be doing that shortly.

One more installment in my "Perils of Pauline" year was the total crash of my computer about three weeks ago. With all the other issues I had failed to do the backups, even had not copied a lot of things to my flash drives, so I lost a lot. We're shopping around some of the data recovery firms to see if we can find one that I can afford and maybe send the old hard drive away and hope I can get a bunch of photos and writing projects back in a usable form but no guarantees. Among them were the first scenes for two new canine cupid stories, one historical and one contemporary. I am trying to reconstruct them in my mind and then get some words down again but it is like pulling hen's teeth.

Anyway, more than enough whines. Actually I am not whining as I know the old hippie saying is true. Yes, shit does happen! Sometimes it just comes in bunches like grapes and you have to deal with it, meanwhile hoping the current run of catastrophes has finally reached the end!  Please join me in a fervent prayer to whatever Deities you trust and put faith in that this will prove true!

However you cannot keep an ornery and feisty old Welsh-Irish tale-weaver down so stay tuned and I will do my best to provide regular installments on the creative endeavors of me and my alter ego. Yes, Gwynn Morgan is still around too and trying to resurrect the idea to getting her novels out in new forms via Smashwords and bringing  her long-delayed Copper Stars of Cochise trilogy to an end with the third never completed tale!

What, no pictures? Hmm. Okay--my two canines deserve a view since they are part of the inspiration for future Canine Cupid stories. Behold, Rojito and Ginger in repose. And the late Beebee, about a year ago before her decline was too serious
.

Dude Ranch Nights--New Deirdre O'Dare Work

I'm delighted that JMS has decided to release a few hetero erotic romance tales and that my Novella Dude Ranch Nights is one of them. In fact as of today, it is available. Here is a  link.  https://www.jms-books.com/general-c-36/dude-ranch-nights-p-2211.html?zenid=DarPSHLdU8KeV55WaxXtH0

And I will follow that with a blurb, an excerpt and the cover.

Blurb: When New York socialite Carole “C.J.” VanDemont loses the uncle with whom she went adventuring life looks bleak and dull. Then an ad sends her to Arizona to visit La Riata guest ranch and experience wilderness adventures with guide and rancher Cameron Greenway. In Cam she finds everything she imagined and more. He puts a whole new twist on adventure for her until she becomes helplessly addicted to his brand of excitement. Must and can she return to the staid life awaiting her?

Excerpt: (The opening two scenes) 

Demont-Delft Estate,
Newburgh, New York
April 7, 1953

 
Carole Janine VanDemont, C.J. to her friends, crossed the exquisite Aubusson carpet with quick, choppy strides. She paused before one tall window to stare out over the rolling grounds of the family estate, which extended to the distant river, a branch of the Hudson. Tinted a soft green by the fresh spring foliage, with a hint of scattered pastels, the scene reflected pastoral peace. Instead of providing inspiration or comfort, the familiar view seemed bland and dull.
"What does one do when, at twenty-six, there are absolutely no new worlds to conquer?"
Although her question was rhetorical, her brother Michael answered it anyway. "Why, one either seeks to discover new worlds or rests on one's laurels, I expect, sis. Life isn't that boring, is it?" His lifted eyebrow echoed the mocking tone of his words.
She shrugged, an irritable twitch of her right shoulder. "Oh, I don't know. I'm just out of sorts, I suppose. It was most inconsiderate of Uncle Rene to kill himself just when we were planning the trip to India. I was counting on riding elephants, perhaps shooting a tiger this year. Daddy would never think of such a trek, and he'd have apoplexy if I went alone. What shall I do instead?"
"You sound as if Uncle Rene crashed his plane on purpose or out of spite. I thought you were fond of the fellow."
"I was. His death left me devastated. Now don't misunderstand, but had we not been related, I could've happily married the man. He's the only person who's ever challenged me."
"But he happened to be Mom's black-sheep, younger half-brother, so that was out of the question. Too bad." Michael, home from Harvard on spring break, flopped into a chair. He picked up a magazine and began to leaf through the pages. He stopped, mid-flip, perusing one page more intently. "How about an Arizona dude ranch vacation? Here's an advertisement. Sounds fascinating to me."
He tossed the magazine to C.J. as she stalked by, pacing the confining limits of the elegant but comfortable den. She caught it with a supple twist of her wrist, scarlet nails flashing in the light of the lamp by which he'd been reading. "Surely you jest. Riding old nags along bridle paths in the desert instead of Central Park, and eating beans around the camp fire? I might as well go on that cruise with Grandmère."
Still she scanned the ad, stopping her restless motion as she read...

Adventure of a lifetime!
Hunt savage, illusive wild animals in the rugged southwest. 

Camp in sites made famous by Zane Grey and John Ford in books and films.
Relax and enjoy the modern comforts of La Riata Ranch 

or rough it he-man fashion in the wilderness.
The choice is yours.
Contact Cameron Greenway, YA7-5635 or P.O. Box 1727, Verdell, Arizona.

There were also photographs. One showed a rustic, two-story lodge-style building constructed of rounded stones bonded with cement. The big house was surrounded by smaller cabins of comparable construction and a grove of towering, wide-leafed trees. Another showed several saddled horses hitched to the rails of a massive log corral. The one that caught C.J.'s eye featured a man, uncommonly tall, unless the horse at his side was pony-sized. He wore cuffed jeans with cowboy boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and a shirt with elaborate embroidered yokes. He seemed to be looking straight at the camera--or the reader--his piercing pale eyes casting a hypnotic spell. Though unsmiling, his craggy, handsome face stole her breath.
C.J. sucked in a quick gulp of air. Oh my, now that's quite a man. He looks like he belongs in a movie with John Wayne or perhaps Gary Cooper--a real cowboy. Can he be Mr. Greenway or a mere employee? All at once she was determined to find out. If it took a trip to Arizona, at least that would beat sitting here at home dying of ennui. Striding to the shiny walnut desk in one corner of the room, she picked up the telephone to place a long distance call.
Three days later, she boarded the train to head west, not sure what she would find there, but feeling a tickle of excitement for the first time in weeks. With a small sigh, she settled back in her Pullman compartment to pass the leisurely trip.

* * * *

Cameron Greenway paced the bricked platform between the Santa Fe Depot and the nearest track. His boot heels beat a sharp rhythm on the hard surface with his restless strides. Due in soon, the Super Chief was already a few minutes late. He glanced at his watch, frowning. At this rate it would be dark by the time they got back to the ranch.
He'd driven to town to pick up a client, one C.J. VanDemont. Mr. VanDemont had a strange voice, low and husky, but something about it had bothered him. Well, people often sounded peculiar on the telephone. The connection had not been the best. Anyway, the man indicated he wanted the full package--a ten-day adventure with camping, hunting and some side trips for scenic photography. That Cam could do. He had no false modesty about the quality and level of adventures he provided. He'd perfected just the right mixture of luxury and rustic atmosphere to please almost any well-heeled guest. He tailored the degree of roughing it to each client's abilities and desires once he met them in person.
Although he affected the image of a rough, unschooled cowboy, Cam was a graduate of Yale and the scion of an upper crust family. Even if his parent's current wealth came from mines and ranches in Wyoming and New Mexico, both of them had roots in the bluest blood of the eastern seaboard. The family's black sheep, he had gone his own way to build his life in its unique mold. The role of guide, outfitter and dude-rancher suited him to a "T." He played the rugged outdoorsman to the hilt and actually lived that life as much as was possible in the modern era.
The sharp blast of the diesel's horn alerted him to the train's imminent arrival. He stepped back from the track as the sleek silver, red and yellow locomotives swept past him, slowing to a stop with a shriek of steel on steel. Several passengers alighted, but none Cam could identify as C.J. VanDemont. Damn, did I make this trip in vain? I'm sure the man said he'd arrive today.
At that moment, a modishly dressed young lady approached him. Tall for a woman, she carried herself with arrogant grace. Honey-blonde hair fell in shoulder-length waves to brush the bottle green yoke of her masculine-cut suit jacket. A matching pencil slim skirt outlined pleasing curves of hip and derrière. Black high-heeled pumps accentuated her trim ankles and well-turned calves beneath the skirt's hem. Full, scarlet-painted lips curved into a smile as she tilted her head, studying him.
"You look just like your picture," she said. "Would you happen to be Mr. Cameron Greenway?"
As he nodded, he registered several facts at once. First, it was the same voice, low pitched but definitely not masculine. Second, this lady was one gorgeous female, and last, he was knee deep in trouble if she really was C. J. VanDemont. Why in the world would a woman like this want to rough it Arizona style? She had socialite written all over her.
"Yes, I am. And you're C. J. VanDemont? I wasn't expecting a lady."
She laughed, the sound carrying so much raw sexual energy his whole body tightened. Gods help me, this woman is short-fused dynamite!
"I know." She lowered her lids demurely, shielding vivid green eyes for a moment, then offered a pretty smile, but quite artificial. "I was almost sure you didn't realize I was female, but that's okay. Yes, I really do want to rough it. I've been on safaris in Africa, a trip to Alaska, across the Gobi, and several similar treks. This year was supposed to be India and the Himalayas, but my uncle, Rene-Paul Dubois, got himself killed in a plane crash, which put an end to that. He was the adventurous relative with whom I've enjoyed many travels. In his absence, I anticipated a frightful and boring spring, but then your ad caught my eye. Here I am."
For a long moment Cam studied her, while his mind whirled in a frantic spin, trying to come to terms with the notion of being alone in the woods with this amazing vision. Could she be as bold and daring as she presented herself to be? What kind of adventures did she expect to enjoy?
Well, I aim to please. Entertaining this woman well might be worth much more than the normal fees I charge for my services. I see some distinct possibilities here.
He'd taken a few couples out for hunts and camping, but more often, if a couple booked a holiday, the lady stayed at the ranch while her husband went on the hunt or camping and photographic expedition. He'd installed a swimming pool, located a few gentle nags anyone could ride and hired help who knew how to keep "dudes" entertained. But a lady on her own who wanted the full experience--this was going to be a first.
"Well, Miss VanDemont, we need to get your luggage and start for the ranch. It'll be dark before we get there anyway."
With an elegant wave, she indicated a couple of bags sitting on the platform not far from where they stood. "That's it. I know enough to travel light. If I were going on a cruise, it would be different, but I find them incredibly tedious. Shuffle-board and dining at the captain's table? Please, I'm not a fifty-year-old fossil! And by the way, please call me C.J. I hate to answer to 'miss.'"
Cam collected the two bags and tossed them into the truck. Then he handed C.J. into the passenger seat, circled the cab to slide behind the wheel and headed his new Ford pickup down the highway. He had the distinct feeling he could be in for the adventure of a lifetime himself. This lady was a looker, for sure. She could stand in for Veronica Lake or Lana Turner any day and nobody would miss them. She radiated sex appeal along with the scent of Arpege that wafted with her every move.

By God, I'll show her adventure if that's what she wants. And if she has other kinds of sport in mind, I can handle that as well.

Dude Ranch Nights--story behind the story

As most of you know, JMS has been strictly an LGBT publisher from its inception. However, they are now expanding a bit to offer some 'regular' fiction to include some M/F erotic romances. I'm thrilled to be able to announce my novella, Dude Ranch Nights, which has been out of print for some time, is one of this beginning batch of tales. It was released today!

I do want to remind my readers that the story is set in the early 1950s and I tried to be completely true and authentic to that time frame as I wrote it. Therefor some things that are not politically correct now are going to happen, even some things a few readers may find upsetting or offensive. I do no intentionally offend or upset anyone but since I majored in History when I was in school, I have some strong feelings about remaining authentic and never rewriting what was real to mollify anyone's 2017 sensibilities. You cannot change what was and pretending will not make it go away or cease to have occurred!! That being said, let's go into a bit of background for this story.

At the period, when I was only a very small child, "Dude Ranches" were a big fad. Some were very tame and genteel but others catered to more adventurous and thrill-seeking clientele. My dad was good friends with a man who ran just such a place. Dad went along on a number of dangerous and exciting hunts and expeditions. His tales of them piqued my interest--little pitchers with big ears!--and as I approached my teens, I developed a large crush of Mr Greenough, who was the guide and proprietor. He had the reputation for being quite a ladies man in his younger years and even up into his sixties, he seemed to be a very glamorous and exciting sort of chap! So from my early efforts at fiction, I was sure I would eventually write some stories inspired by that mystique.

There is a family saga 'big novel' which has sat in fragments in the back of a file drawer for many years and may or may not ever see the light of day. However, Dude Ranch Nights has been completed, published and is now going to be reissued. Now I hasten to explain that Cameron Greenway is not intended to 'be' or even closely correspond to the real Mr T. Leo Greenough, but I do credit the latter for inspiration here. Still I state without hesitation that any real resemblance is coincidental and not truly intended; the worthy gentleman has been deceased for close to sixty years  and may he rest in peace.

Carole is strictly the figment of my imagination, perhaps a vague construct from some of my youthful daydreams and flights of fancy concerning how life might be had I been 'to the manor born.' To some degree we are sisters of spirit for I was always interested in adventure and challenges and pursued as many of them as I could. Had I enjoyed an adventurer uncle, I surely would have gone with him every chance I had!

The photo at right was taken by my dad and it or a similar one graced the cover of an outdoor adventure magazine back in the late 1950s. It was at Mr. Greenough's Spring Creek Ranch in the Verde Valley in central Arizona and features him with one of his mules and two of the hunting hounds. This is NOT Cam Greenway but with a bit of imagination you can perhaps visualize the hero of Dude Ranch Nights!