I've been slaving away at cover art and the first round of serious edits this weekend and I thought I've give you another little peak at the new novel. This has been a challenge for me because I'm using characters from both Lies in Chance AND Fresh Ice to create a new romance. It's been a challenge, but I'm also really, really excited about it!
To the left here is one of the rough ideas I'm working on for a cover. You can vote for which cover you want by reading my last post on this blog and voting here or by going over to my Face Book page and voting.
Meanwhile, ENJOY!
The rain north of Green Bay fell
mercilessly. By the time Collier reached the city limits of Rock Harbor, he was
exhausted and unable to find the county highway address Archibald gave him.
Collier eased the Mercedes into a muddy parking lot outside a bar called
"Dirty Dog Dave's." He parked as close to the door of the hulking
building as he could, and ran inside.
The inside of Dirty Dog Dave's was
cavernous. The place seemed deserted, though the lights were on. Collier took a
seat at the bar and tapped his fingers. "Hello?"
The only answer to his single word was
the click of a hand gun safety releasing. Collier stopped tapping his fingers,
his blood frozen.
"Put yer hands on the bar where Ah
ken see them."
Collier squinted to the darkened end of
the room, searching for the face to match the low, guttural voice and the
completely fake Southern accent. He splayed his hands out on the dented bar,
trying hard not to recoil at the sticky feel of the scarred wooden surface.
"I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need directions."
"Ah'll just bet y'all do."
In spite of the clear danger he was in,
Collier struggled not to smile. The hidden man's accent was simply too funny.
"No, really. I'm trying to find Shara Jacobs' place."
As if his words were some sort of
incendiary device, the man with the gun leaped from around the corner, and
grabbed Collier by the collar. The man was enormous, and holding an even more
impressive handgun. "Just whut would y'all be wantin' with Miss
Shara?"
"Oh for the love of all that's
holy, Dave, put that man down!"
Collier held his breath as Dave's grip
on his collar tightened. He heard woman's quick foots steps behind him and in a
beat a tall, beautiful woman the color of a perfect cup of mocha stood next to
him.
"Chanel, now this doesn't concern
y'all."
"It does when you're pointing a gun
at a customer. Put that thing away and give the man dinner or something."
Dave didn't loosen his grip on Collier.
"Chanel, this man is driving Mr. James' Mercedes. But look at him, he's no
driver for Mr. James. So either he stole the car...or he stole the car. Plus,
he's lookin' fer Miss Shara."
Chanel turned her focus to Collier.
"Did you steal Mr. James' car?"
"No." Collier tried to
swallow, but Dave's enormous knuckle was in the way. "No, I'm his
nephew."
"Ah don't buy it."
"You don't buy anything."
Chanel frowned at Dave. "Look, Mister. Dave here just got his concealed
carry permit and he's itching to use that beastly thing. If I were you, I'd say
something a bit more convincing."
"My uncle, Archibald James, sent me
here. I'm a..." Collier struggled for air.
"Oh for heaven's sakes, Dave, put
him down and let him talk."
Reluctantly, Dave let go of Collier,
sending him back to the bar stool with a thump. "Now talk...and Ah'd best
lahke whut you say."
"I'm a musician. I'm a singer, and
my uncle thought I should work with Shara Jacobs. Said she's a client of his.
He's letting me use his car because mine is back home."
"Where's thet?"
Collier cleared his throat and turned a
baleful eye on Dave. "Nashville. Tennessee. Where people have real
accents."
Chanel burst out laughing. "Dave,
you have to give this man free burgers for life or he may just blow your
cover!"
Collier allowed himself a weak smile.
"I don't want to blow anyone's cover or anything. I just...I'm looking for
this address." He held up the piece of paper. "I can't find it in the
rain."
"Of course you can't, Sugar."
Chanel strolled behind the bar and filled a glass with beer. "Here you
go." She slid the glass to Collier.
"Now just a minute! Since when do
we give free beer to strangers?"
“Oh, about the same time we started
pulling guns on people who show up looking for directions.” Chanel grinned at Collier. "Dave, you
say one more word to this boy and I'm going to let him tell everyone that
you've never been further south than Kenosha." Chanel turned back to
Collier, her voice easing back to a warm tone reminiscent of thick hot cocoa.
"Now, go ahead and finish what you were saying."
Collier took a swallow of beer, the
amber liquid warming him. "I'm a sort of traveling musician, but my
band...broke up. So my uncle sent me here to do some recording work with Shara
Jacobs. He said I could stay at their place."
"Probably means the loft."
Collier didn't miss the softening of
Dave's features. "You know Miss Shara?"
Dave chuckled. "Know her? I
discovered her."
Chanel clicked her tongue against her
teeth. "You did not discover her, Dave. She had to beg you for months to
let 'Teachers' Pets' play here, and you know it. Now, what's your name
honey?"
"Collier. Collier James."
"Okay, Collier James, I'm about to
open this place up for the evening, but I promise you, if you don't mind
sitting here a bit and having the best burger you're ever going to eat, I'll
see to it that someone gets you out to the Jacobs' place tonight." Chanel
patted him on the shoulder.
“We’re giving him food, too? What, you’re trying to bankrupt me?”
“No, Dave,” Chanel rounded the bar and
stood in the kitchen doorway, “I’m trying to keep him from suing us.”
Collier was amused by the couple. His
initial fear of Dave melted. The smell of grilled meat emanating from the
kitchen made Collier's stomach growl. "Ok, I guess I wouldn't mind a
burger at all.”
*
Time in Dave’s, Collier realized, was a
relative thing. It seemed like hours before the first customer crossed the dank
threshold and yet when he looked at his watch at the height of late night
revelry, Collier was astonished to see that several hours had passed. Dirty Dog Dave’s transformed from a dark cave
to the epicenter of sound and music and joy. It reminded him of Second Chance’s
in Nashville, and Collier felt a rare pang of homesickness.
“Collier James, I’d like you to meet a
good friend of mine,” Chanel took a break from waiting tables to talk to him. Next
to Chanel stood a beautiful, older woman, the kind of woman, Collier sense, got
more attractive as she aged. Though she was, Collier assessed, probably in her
fifties, she retained a youthful glow and smoothness of features most would
envy. “This is Molly Hunter.”
“Miz Hunter, pleased to make your
acquaintance,” Collier extended his hand.
“Shara told me to expect you.” Molly
shook his hand with a firm grip, “Pleased to meet you. Chanel tells me your Mr.
James’ nephew?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
Molly smiled. “I see you have his
wonderful manners too.”
“Molly here is a good friend of Shara
Brandt’s. I told her you needed some help finding the place.”
Collier nodded his thanks to Chanel,
who faded back to the welling throng of people.
“So what does Mr. James want you to do
with Shara and Bryan?”
Collier shrugged. “I’m a musician. I
guess he thinks I should work with Shara.”
Molly nodded. “He’s a wise man. Come
on, I’ll lead you up there.”
“You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. If Mr. James sent you, you
have every right to stay there.”
Collier pushed his glass away and
turned to leave the bar when the singer on stage caught his eye. She was
striking with long raven colored hair that flowed to the middle of her back. As
she settled herself onto the stool and shifted her guitar to a comfortable
place on her lap, Collier could not help feeling he’d seen her before.
“Who is that?”
Molly glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve
got an eye for beauty. That’s Miranda Peirce. Sometimes she’s goes by the stage
name, ‘Mira Star.’”
“Is it wrong that I think that sounds like
a stripper name?” Collier laughed. “Guess I’ve been doing it wrong all these
years, going under my given name.”
“Some say she’s explaining away that
huge star tattoo on her upper arm.” Molly shrugged. “I think it’s more to put
distance between herself and her sister.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh they haven’t liked each since Miranda
was little. The older sister is married to a state senator, very prim and
proper and serious. Miranda’s much younger, and she’s always been a bit of a
free spirit.”
“She’s got a decent voice.” Collier
studied her with a critical eye. “And she’s pretty.”
“She is. I liked her better before,
though.”
“Why’s that?”
Molly opened the door and stepped into
the rain soaked night. “I think she looked better with her natural hair color. It was a really pretty sandy brown. She dyed
it black recently. The dark hair makes her look older. Although, now that I think about it, it does
bring out the green in her eyes.”
Collier glanced over his shoulder and
trying to picture the woman on stage with blonde hair, and realized why she
seemed familiar. She’s the woman from the
Renaissance Faire. No hair color change could hide eyes that green.
Molly was already to her car,
starting the engine. Not wanting to be lost again, Collier let the door close
and headed for his uncle’s Mercedes.
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