Z.A. Maxfield ~ Lost & Found

Release Date: Out Now
Available: Riptide Publishing

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Blurb:

Lost: one dog and two men in need of each other. Found: love.

RV resort security chief Ringo never believed in love at first sight. . .until he saw Gavin playing his sax on the beach for the tourists. But their on-again, off-again affair—even counting all the great makeup sex—doesn’t come close to the relationship he wants. All he really wants for Christmas is a commitment from Gavin.

Instead he discovers that Gavin has had surgery without telling him, so he lays down a relationship ultimatum while Gavin recuperates. Complicating matters even more, Gavin's beloved dog Bird runs away, and Gavin Blames Ringo for the disappearance

While Ringo throws every resource he has into finding Bird, he learns deeper truths about Gavin—how hard it is for him to trust and how little faith he has in love. Maybe if Ringo can find Bird, he can salvage Gavin’s faith. Maybe this Christmas, they can all find each other.

Publisher’s Note: 20% of all proceeds from this title are donated to the Ali Forney Center in New York, whose mission “is to protect lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning (LGBTQ) youth from the harm of homelessness, and to support them in becoming safe and independent as they move from adolescence to adulthood.”

To learn more about this charity or to donate directly, please visit www.aliforneycenter.org.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Ringo had knocked on Gavin’s door plenty of times. This time he had his heart in his throat. He could feel the cold chill of trouble coming same as he could feel the thunderheads that gathered out over the ocean, ready to pound the Newport Sands Resort with relentless rain.

Strings of Christmas icicles fluttered in the breeze along the edge of the RV’s awning. At night, they were pretty, but right now, in the weak afternoon light, they were cheap bits of dirty plastic Gavin kept up all year round.

He knocked again. “Gavin, it’s me, Ringo. Open up.”

After a minute or so, the flimsy metal door opened a crack. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Bird?”

“Bird? He’s inside.” Gavin opened the door the rest of the way, but didn’t come down the steps.

“He wasn’t inside an hour ago when he ran into someone’s RV after their cat.” Ringo shook his head. “Goddamn it, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t just let that dog out to wander around.”

Irritation played over Gavin’s features. “What’s your damage, Ringo? So he pees on the grass. If he shits, I’m sorry. I’ll pick up some other dog’s shit sometime, as penance.”

Ringo folded his arms across his chest. “Some lady from the As said Bird scared her grandkids. She was hysterical.”

“Oh, well. If she’s from the As then—”

“Aw, Gav. Cut me some slack here, will you?” Ringo leaned in. He wasn’t above pleading a little. Gavin had more than once insinuated that the resort had different rules for people with better rigs or bigger wallets, which was bullshit. Everyone had to behave like they paid for a spot in the As. Ringo didn’t ride Gavin for half the shit Bird got up to, but he was forced to respond when Bird caused a mess. “This isn’t a trailer park, it’s the Newport Sands Resort. These RVs are multimillion-dollar land yachts and the people expect to be able to open their doors without your dog charging inside. If Bird leaves this rig, you have to go with him. You take him out on his leash from now on, or you keep him in.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.” Gavin saluted smartly. “No letting Bird out off leash.”

“It’s nothing personal. Management gets on me if they think I’m not doing my job—and they won’t hesitate to have your ass and your rig hauled out of here.”

“You couldn’t just leave the form letter I normally get when someone from your security team sees Bird off leash?”

Ringo was too embarrassed to meet Gavin’s eyes. “Don’t you just throw those away?”

“But nothing personal, right?”

Christ, there was everything personal between them. Ringo felt it in his gut and his heart and his empty goddamn bed. They hadn’t spoken in over a month and he’d missed Gavin every single day. But that’s not why he was here today. “No. Nothing personal.”

“If that’s all then, I’ll just haul my ass into my rig and—”

“Look.” Ringo raked a hand over his buzzed hair. “I don’t know why you gotta be like this. You never heard anyone say, ‘You can’t fight city hall’?”

“I hardly ever let Bird run, only when it’s absolutely necessary. And with it being Christmas, the park is half-empty anyway. You know people only say that city hall shit when the government is taking advantage.”

“You signed the lease. You know the rules. How is asking you to walk your own dog taking advantage?”

“Never mind. Message received and noted.”

Ringo sighed. “Why should the rest of us deal with Bird if you’re too fucking lazy to do it? While you’re wallowing, he’s scaring off the tourists.”

“Is that what you think?” Gavin eyed him sourly. “I’m wallowing?”

“I think you need to walk your dog on a leash, like everyone else around here. What if you let Bird out and he eats something bad? Even a lick of antifreeze could kill him. What if he gets into a fight with another dog? You need to think what your neglect could cost Bird, too.”

Ringo was about to turn away and leave when Gavin reached out and caught his arm. “Wait.”

“What?” Ringo took a step up toward Gavin. Even with another step between them, he was taller, especially since Gavin had a way of slouching lazily against his doorframe. His posture now was relaxed, and yet closed off. Typical.

Gavin sighed. “I did let him go out alone this morning. I couldn’t take him, so—”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t take him?” Ringo looked Gavin over closely and realized he didn’t just look tired, he appeared to be in pain.

Gavin grimaced. “Look, it’s nothing. Right now, I can’t take him out, is all.”

“Wait. What?” Ringo asked. “Did something happen? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick. I finally had to have my knee repaired. I stepped in a hole on the beach the other day and tore it again. The doc said I didn’t have a choice anymore.” Gavin looked anywhere except into Ringo’s eyes. “I figured I had some time off between Christmas and New Year’s, might as well get it taken care of. But I just got home, and it’s been tougher than I thought, and I—”

“Jeez.” That’s why Ringo had seen Gavin come home in a cab the day before. Christ. Alone and hurting and you still won’t ask anyone for shit. “You couldn’t have told me that?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’d have helped you. I’d have taken Bird out for you, for one. At least I can ask one of the interns—”

“I had that Jules kid take care of Bird yesterday, but I thought—” Gavin chewed his lower lip “—I don’t know what I thought.”

“Jules is a good kid, but he’s gone home until after New Year’s. Do you want me to see if I can get a couple of the other kids to take shifts? They can walk Bird until you’re well enough to do it yourself.”

Gavin gave a reluctant nod. “I’d appreciate that.”

Ringo sighed. “Goddamn it, Gavin. I’m only a phone call away. We’re not seeing each other anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask me for help if you need it.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised I didn’t. We didn’t work out because you always tell me I don’t ask for enough.”

Ringo frowned at him. “I thought it was because I wanted to give you too much.”

They stood nearly nose to nose. Ringo could smell the warm, smoky campfire scent of Gavin’s skin, could feel desire building between them, even from that brief contact. But he couldn’t make Gavin meet his gaze.

He sighed. “I didn’t come here to autopsy us.”

“Not much left to dissect, is there?” Gavin wrapped his arms around himself. Maybe he was cold, and maybe he needed holding. Ringo had a lousy habit of wondering what Gavin needed, as opposed to just giving him what he asked for, and Gavin hated it.

God, Ringo wanted to hold him. He wanted to wrap himself around Gavin and never let go. How did everything between them always go to shit?

Instead, Ringo said, “Go back inside, you look like hell. I’ll ask around, or I’ll come back and walk Bird myself.”

“Ringo—”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. Everybody has to learn to ask for help, just like every so often people ought to seek out someone who needs help and give it. It takes your mind off shit to look outside yourself for a change.”

Gavin snorted. “The Gospel According to St. Ringo.”

“Right.” A gentle tease, instead of Gavin’s customary porcupine spines. That was better. “Yeah. Well. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ve tried it.”

Ringo ignored that. “I’ll be back later. I’m assuming you have pain meds. What about food?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to infuriate you by checking on you every so often, and I’m going to do it with hot meals. Just warning you ahead of time.”

“Ringo, don’t make this a big deal.” Gavin started back inside.

“Gav—” Ringo reached for him, but he jerked away. “Don’t make me pull information out of you like this. I need to know. Please, if you need me, call me.”

“And then what?”

Ringo shifted his weight from his right leg to his left. “What do you mean, and then what?”

“What would happen if I needed something?”

“I’d get you what you need. What do you mean what would happen?”

“What if I need to be left alone?”

“Do you really need to be left alone?” Ringo asked. “’Cause the Gavin who plays his sax at midnight because he knows I’ll have to come and tell him to knock it off loves my company. It’s the Gavin who pushes me out of his bed before dawn the next morning and tells me I’m—”

“Smothering,” Gavin snapped. “Hovering. Blocking the exits and taking up all my space.”

God, Ringo’s shoulders ached. “Just tell me what you need, Gav. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.” Ringo sighed. “I’ll see you later.”

Gavin lobbed him his slow-pitch softball smile, round and a little wobbly. Ringo guessed that was the best he was going to get. “See you.”

“Yeah.” Ringo nodded.

Ringo wished Gavin would say more, like he was looking forward to it, or he’d be glad for the company—something Ringo knew was true, even if Gavin would rather die than admit it—but if he waited for that, he’d stand there forever.

Instead, Ringo got in his golf cart and took off because it never paid to give Gavin even the gentlest squeeze. If Ringo squeezed, Gavin would slip through his fingers like a bar of soap, and they’d end up back at square one.

What do they mean by square one, anyway? Was that a reference to a game or the first stone on a path? The first bubble on the SATs or the first letter they turn on Wheel of Fortune?

Ringo’s square one was the very first time he’d seen Gavin playing saxophone for the summer crowd at the picnic tables. He’d looked like a young Carlos Santana in shades, with a mustache and a highly kissable soul patch. He’d worn a weathered fedora.

Gavin always wore a hat, but that was mostly because his hairline was receding. Ringo went along when Gavin pretended his hats were some kind of fashion statement. They were that too, from skull caps to stingy-brimmed straw fedoras to out-and-out wool felt mafioso lids, but Gavin kept his hair buzzed short and his head covered because he was vain about going bald.

The first time Ringo had seen him, he’d thought Gavin had stepped right out of the movies.

Central casting, get me a Latino street musician.

Ringo drove back toward his office, five miles per hour, waving at the tourists. Trying to look strong and silent. Reassuring, as if he were “the law” in this here town.

As if he were doing something besides pining for a guy who didn’t want him around.

His sister had warned him musicians were dogs, but Ringo had never listened.

God knew, Gavin was a musician. To paraphrase Ringo’s mother’s favorite poem, music was the thing with strings that perched in Gavin’s soul. Wherever Gavin went, he had to blow his horn or pick at his guitar or drum on the park benches and the trashcans with chopsticks. He bought instruments whenever he could, and he always had a half a dozen or so on his patio undergoing repairs. He was constantly tinkering with some broken guitar or refurbishing a brass instrument that needed a little TLC. He sold some on eBay, and some he got attached to.

What he couldn’t live without one day, he gave away the next.

Ringo stopped to bag up some garbage that had blown off a picnic table, and even that reminded him of Gavin: give Gavin a milk carton, a plastic fork, and a couple of rubber bands, and you’d get an entire symphony orchestra.

Gavin had warm golden skin and cold brown eyes, and he lived in a crappy camper because it made him feel free. He didn’t have to live like that; he liked it.

He drank too much, and he laughed too loud, and when Ringo got near the cracks in the shell Gavin had built around himself, Gavin chased him away like a junkyard dog. Gavin had a miserable fucking temper. He could lash out.

It hurt a lot to love a man like that.

Especially when Gavin was always the center of attention and could pick and choose from any man around. He never kept any of his lovers for long; he didn’t know how. He always seemed lonely to Ringo, even if he was rarely alone.

Ringo had pried his way into Gavin’s life through persistence and the judicious application of alcohol, and although they’d washed out, they still kept company sometimes. Lots of times.

Ringo always said that if he had it to do over again, he’d do it over again.

He pitched the trash he’d policed into the Dumpster as he rode by. Hole in one.

Whoopee.

That was probably his entire quota of “win” for the day, the rest of which would be spent filing incident reports and making sense of client complaints. He was responsible for lost or stolens, and there was one case of employee pilfering at the snack bar to deal with.

When he got back to the office, he shut himself inside for the better part of the morning, until a knock sounded at his door.

“Yeah?”

Jurgen, one of the interns, a college kid from Germany, entered and stood nervously in front of Ringo’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Ringo took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was only thirty, but he couldn’t read without glasses for shit. It made him wonder if he was going to be like his nana, with her bottle-bottom trifocals, when he got old.

“You know the guy who lives in the Cs over by the laundry room, Gavin Lopez?”

“The musician?” Jurgen nodded. “Is there a problem?”

“Little bit. He’s out of commission for a few days because he had to have some knee surgery. Would you mind walking his dog? I’ll pay you, but don’t tell him I said anything about money.”

“I can do that.” The kid spoke English well, with little to no accent, and he was respectful and polite. The smile he gave Ringo was unforced.

“Maybe if you went first thing when you get to work, at lunch, and before you leave?”

“Sure.” Jurgen gave another bob of his head.

“The dog’s name is Bird. Let him run in the fenced off-leash area by the volleyball courts while you’re at lunch. Otherwise keep him on a leash at all times. Give him some exercise; he’s an energetic, curious pooch, so if he gets loose he’s likely to wander into people’s rigs.”

Jurgen smiled wryly. “I can see how that might create concerns.”

“I’ll let you know when to stop—just a few days probably. You’ll be here over the holidays, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be here. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Once dismissed, Jurgen left. Ringo wondered what his story was, if he was studying for a career in hospitality, or if he just wanted to work in America for a while. The resort always had foreign interns as part of an exchange program with the local university. Whether they had aspirations to stay in the States, or just wanted a chance to work where they could surf and go to Disneyland and tour the beaches where Baywatch had been filmed, they came and went.

Jurgen seemed like a nice kid. He’d be good for Bird, and maybe Bird would be good for him.

When Ringo made his rounds later, he saw Jurgen and Bird on the beach together, Jurgen running along the water and Bird bounding happily along beside him in puppylike high spirits when he wasn’t busy chasing after sea birds. The sight warmed Ringo’s heart. A boy and a dog could be a beautiful thing.

He watched Jurgen play tug of war with Bird for a while, and then he continued on his rounds, making sure everyone was in their proper space. He liked to greet the campers and check in with the groundskeepers. He needed to make sure the empty cabins were locked up tight.

Since the economy was still in the shitter and the price of gas was at an all-time high, some of the resorts streets echoed with emptiness. The holidays hadn’t brought crowds to the resort the way they usually did, but they still had the die-hard snowbirds.

The size of the population didn’t matter, though. He had to keep security tight, and his crew had to stay dialed in to any potential problems so they could prevent mishaps or react quickly if they were needed.

A case of illegally dumped trash was the most he had to deal with before he sat down at his desk again after lunch to write up incident reports. His security detail for the day, Gunn and Frisbo, patrolled the grounds together while he caught up on paperwork.

Most days, their lives revolved around a series of small, inconsequential matters and the paperwork that went with them.

Most days were dead boring, but it went with the job.

Yessir, I am the sheriff in this here town. Evildoers, beware.

Chapter Two

Ringo watched as the sun dropped below the western horizon. All his minor irritations seemed to disappear with it.

Winter was his favorite season at the resort. Holiday lights brightened the darkness, shimmering in the algae-laden water like sunken treasure. Several of the fancier rigs were overdressed for the occasion, as tacky as they were festive, with mirror balls and singing Christmas trees.

Summers were crowded with people who drank too much. There were way too many small kids to watch out for. Summer gave Ringo ulcers. But in December the weather was mild and color scintillated everywhere, from the bright orange of fires on the beach, to the rigs, to the sparkling trunks of majestic palms wrapped halfway up with twinkle lights.

The glittered reflection of all that luminescence shivered on the water—balm to Ringo’s soul.

Ringo pulled his golf cart up next to Gavin’s place. He was sitting on a canvas lawn chair with one leg propped up, playing Christmas music on a ukulele. He had a good fire going in a black iron fire bowl with Kokopelli cutouts. Bird lay by his side, his muzzle draped contentedly over Gavin’s bare foot.

Ringo thought he’d probably lie down like that with his face on Gavin’s foot if Gavin would let him.

Gavin caught sight of him and lifted his chin. That was all the welcome Ringo was going to get, so he made the most of it. He got out of his cart and stepped onto Gavin’s woven hemp patio rug. He gave Gavin a light kiss on the top of his head in lieu of a greeting.

Gavin broke off playing to pick up his beer and take a swallow, then put it down to play some more. Ringo recognized “Winter Wonderland.”

“I brought you In-N-Out.” Ringo headed toward the door of Gavin’s RV. “Mind if I go in and get some plates and things?”

“Make yourself homely.” Gavin shifted slowly in his chair and grimaced with pain. “Help yourself to a brew while you’re in there.”

Gavin had a bag of peas cooling his knee. “You hurting?”

“Yeah.” Gavin shrugged. “I got pills, though.”

“Peas still cold?”

“I have another bag, maybe you could switch them since you’re going in . . .?”

“Sure.” Ringo plucked the bag off him. The knee itself didn’t look too bad from the outside. A little swelling, a little bruising. He probably had a couple of small incisions under the Band-Aids. Ringo went inside Gavin’s RV and got a fresh bag of peas from the freezer. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Gavin eat a pea. He must have kept them just for their medicinal benefit. While he was in there, he put their burgers and fries on paper plates and got himself a beer.

When he returned, he sat down in a camp chair opposite Gavin’s. Sure as shit, the smoke turned direction and headed his way. He waved and blinked his eyes. “Why does that always happen? No matter where I’m sitting, I get smoke in my face.”

“Smoke seeks out the pretty boys.” Gavin followed that up with a musical rimshot—bah dum bump—on his ukulele.

Ringo rolled his eyes. “So, you had arthroscopic surgery?”

“Yeah. I tore the meniscus. I got a video of the surgery if you want to watch it sometime. It looks like a tiny dragon is tearing off bits of cotton candy in the dark.”

“I’ll pass.” Ringo wasn’t much into that sort of thing. He’d seen all the blood and gore he’d needed to see in the Army. “Should you be drinking that if you’re taking pills?”

Gavin slanted an irritated look at him. “I only had one beer, mami. I’m fine.”

Ringo twisted the cap off his beer. “I like you better when you call me papi.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes at that. “So act like a man instead of smothering me.”

Ringo itched to twist Gavin’s neck. Why did Gavin always have to give him attitude when he was only checking in to make sure everything was okay? Gavin’d had surgery, for Christ’s sake. Why couldn’t Gavin tell him when things weren’t okay?

“You got plenty to eat for snacks and something to drink besides beer?”

“For today.” Gavin looked away. “But I could use some stuff.”

That’s new. Was Gavin asking for help with something? Had the world come to an end and nobody told Ringo? “Like what? I can make a list.”

“I need some first aid shit. Mine’s so old it’s moldy. I think it came with the rig.”

“Like bandages and antibacterial ointment?”

“Yeah.”

“What else? Bottled water? Coffee? Pop? Those cookies you like with the peanut butter?”

Gavin shot him a genuine smile. “You remember that?”

“Yeah.” Ringo felt his cheeks heat up. “I remember. Soft oatmeal with raisins too. You don’t like chocolate chip like normal people.”

“I like chocolate chip.”

“But they don’t make your eyes light up,” Ringo murmured.

Gavin sighed, and his fingers drifted into another song, this one in a minor key so it sounded a little sad.

Ringo shook his head and sat back. Gavin was right there in front of him. Was he feeling lonely? On more than one occasion, he’d used the intel Gavin’s restless musicality sent out and they’d ended up making out or in the sack, despite the fact that they weren’t together anymore.

Ringo generally acted on Gavin’s haunted, lonely music, not on his words, until one or the other of them burst the magic spell he’d woven.

Usually it was Ringo who messed up, and Gavin who chased him away.

Just now, Gavin was more than a little high. If Ringo pushed things, if he approached Gavin like Bird did—like he had a right to Gavin’s affection, or like he was just too dumb to know he wasn’t always so welcome—he’d be allowed to stay the night.

It might be worth it, just to see if he could make Gavin smile for a while.

“You should eat,” he said instead.

If Gavin was frozen inside his melancholy, then Ringo was caught in the web of his macho. He didn’t want to crawl on his knees and beg to be petted like a dog. He wanted Gavin to want him. To ask for what he wanted out loud with his words instead of his goddamn music.

LE Franks ~ Snow Globe

Release Date: December 1st
Available: Dreamspinners Press

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Blurb:

Kris Hamilton escaped the rat race in LA to live his dream of owning an art studio and making snow globes in a Christmas-themed town in Northern Minnesota. But lif in a tint town isn't as peaceful as advertised, and being treated like an outsider is making Kris's Tourette's flare up. When he inadvertantly offends tyr Tollefson—a beautiful blond giant of a man—Kris is ready to chuck it all. But he strikes up an unlikely friendship with Tyr's cousin Bun, who shows them the magic of Christmas and gives them both a lesson in love and acceptance.

Excerpt:

It was the face pressed against his storefront window that first caught his attention.

"Pressed" might have been too delicate a word. "Mashed" is better, Kris thought idly, admiring the spread of pink skin sticking to the glass before his brain latched on to the thought spinning and tumbling at an increasingly alarming rate.

The litany of words shoved their way to the tip of his tongue, rushing to spill over and out of him in a waterfall of frothing adjectives: smushed, squashed, scrunched, crunched, crushed, squished, pushed, flattened, pancaked…. He'd barely been able to throw on the brakes, limiting the torrent to a barely audible whisper until the words dribbled to a halt.

Crap. It had been weeks since the last time he lost control of his own peculiar form of Tourette's.

He looked around the tiny store to see if anyone had noticed, but was quickly drawn back to the spectacle outside. The little voice teasing at the edges of his mind suggested a few more words that he ruthlessly rejected, fully alert to the insidious nature of his own brain. The person outside was an impossible mélange of old and young, tiny and broad, all brown and pink and white and fluffy red. Was that a scarf and hat?

Pompoms in July seemed off to Kris, and the noise came rushing back—odd, unusual, unexpected, surprising, strange, weird, astonishing, peculiar…. Gasping, he stuttered back a breath, choking in the words and squeezing eyes shut tight.

Twenty-five cleansing breaths. Twenty-four, twenty-three…. His head noise kept pace with his diaphragm until petering out around number twelve. Kris paid attention, waiting to open his eyes again until the countdown reached number one… or was it zero? He felt another tingle of panic try to erupt. Shit. If he wasn't careful, he'd be off to the races again, and he could feel the happy little ponies inside him bouncing in delight at the thought.

This time when he opened his eyes, his world was still. No strange visions at his window, no customers with pity or contempt in their eyes, no rampaging word strings waiting to torment him. With shaking hands he put up the Out to Lunch sign and locked the front door.

Not for the first time, Kris felt like he was living inside one of his own snow-globe creations—never knowing when something was going to yank him upside down and shake him. At least for now, all the blizzarding shards seemed to have settled back to the bottom.

"NO, BUN, we'll be late for Eddie's appointment." Tyr ran his long fingers through his white-blond hair as he silently begged for patience. His cousin was having one of her "days," and she wasn't in the mood to go along with "the plan." Insisting that they go back to the little Christmas shop across the square. Gently he pulled out the yellow, lined paper, carefully unfolding it to show the pair. At least no one had started wringing their hands. Yet.

"Look, Bun, this is the step we're on." He'd gathered them next to a convenient mailbox, carefully laying it on the top so that they could all see. Bun jerked forward to smooth and touch every inch of the paper and run her fingers over each of the meticulously printed words.

They'd referred to it numerous times since leaving the farm. Tyr hoped this would be enough to get them all back on track with enough time to get his uncle to his cardiology appointment. Monthly trips into town had always been stressful, but his uncle's declining health and Bun's advancing age seemed to be making them worse.

Sighing, he carefully pointed to item number two: Eleven thirty appointment with Dr. Morgan for Eddie. "See, Bun, Dr. Morgan is expecting us in…." A quick glance at his watch showed that they were already ten minutes late. "Well… we have just enough time to make it if we walk over there now."

A flash of movement from across the way drew his attention. There was a God. Someone in the Christmas shop had just put up the CLOSED sign. From across the street, he caught just a glimpse of long dark hair before the figure disappeared. It only took a few nudges and a promise to stop by later to get them all moving again.

Christmas inspirational pics for whoever's writing next years stories.

I have always liked this one.

So Cute!!!

For those who like a little hair.

So hot!!!

RJ Scott & Meredith Russell ~ Christmas In The Sun

Release Date: December 7th

Available: Love Lane Books

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Christmas In The Sun (Sapphire Cay book 4) written with Meredith Russell

  

Return to Sapphire Cay for Christmas. Lucas and Dylan invite their friends to share in their Christmas celebrations on the island along with Lucas’s sister, Tasha, and her husband. Christmas is a time for family, forgiveness, and to look to the future, and this year Dylan has to face up to all three.

Unearthing the memories of two men in love, frozen in time and buried among the history of the island, Lucas and Dylan realize that sometimes loving someone is not always enough. It’s about being brave and taking the next step. To learn from the past to move forward.

Family has always been important to Lucas since his own was struck by tragedy. Though Dylan disapproves of his methods, Lucas has nothing but good intentions about wanting Dylan to reconcile with his father. The two Grey men haven’t spoken properly in years, their relationship strained by heartache and mistakes reaching back into Dylan’s childhood. Forgiveness is a hard thing to give and sometimes even harder to receive.

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Kill me now. Lucas closed his eyes, counted to three, and hoped the chaos of the morning would have vanished when he opened them. The Lambert wedding had been their largest to date. Dylan and Scott had already headed out with the first boatload of guests and were due to return within the hour. Not soon enough as far as Lucas was concerned. He hit three in his count but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes as he heard a squeal accompanied by something smashing.

Not the vase. Please not the vase. The jade-colored ornamental pot thing had belonged to his grandmother, and though he thought it was pretty damn ugly, it still held a place in his heart.

He opened his eyes to find his grandma’s vase still sitting on the table in the entrance. He looked beyond it at the last of the Lamberts’ party. There were eight guests left in the hotel, four of whom were…kids. He wasn’t sure he’d say he hated them, just that he wasn’t predisposed with the nurturing instinct to deal with energetic youngsters. When their parents had died, Tasha had been seventeen. She had been well on the way to having her own life, and his input had mostly become about his career and money as a means of supporting her.

The parent of the child closest to the terracotta pot that had been knocked over and now lay in several pieces on the floor reprimanded her son and looked apologetically toward Lucas. Before Lucas could muster the energy to deal with the broken pottery, Agnes, their housekeeper, appeared from out of nowhere, shooing the children away as she picked up the pieces of the pot and put them into a black bag. Lucas mouthed her a thank you.

“Everything okay?” Jamie said from behind him.

Lucas glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Everybody was checked out. It was just a case of waiting for Dylan to return with the Liberty. “Give it twenty and then we’ll usher them down to the pier.”

“Cool,” Jamie said. He rested his elbows on the front desk. “Edward’s waiting it out in his room.” He smirked as he gazed across the foyer. “Kids are apparently sticky.”

Laughing, Lucas rubbed at his shoulder. “Some are.” Tasha had had a friend back in college who’d had a little boy. Lucas came home one evening to find the pair visiting Tasha. The first thing the three-year-old boy had done was run up to Lucas and hug his leg, leaving a greasy handprint on his pants.

“I’m tempted to tell him I want to adopt just to see the look on his face.”

Lucas could only imagine how Edward would cope with fitting something as unpredictable as a child into his routines. A full-on meltdown was likely. “Start easy. Maybe fish.”

Jamie laughed and checked the time. “They should be on their way back by now. Did you discuss plans for a second boat yet?”

“New boat,” Lucas pointed out. A new, bigger boat was what Lucas had in mind, but Dylan was being incredibly stubborn over the Lady Liberty. It had gotten to the stage that not even a fresh coat of paint could disguise just how tired the Liberty was. Scott’d had to work on the old engine more and more in recent months, and Lucas waited for the day where sticking the proverbial Band-Aid on would no longer be good enough.

“You’ll never get him to part with Liberty,” Jamie stated. “I know it. You know it. Dominiq knows it.”

Lucas pressed his lips in a line and distracted himself from the sudden rise in noise with trying to figure out who was older, Dominiq or the Liberty. Fondness for the chef warmed his chest. He’d be sad to see him go at the end of the season. But it seemed Dominiq would be leaving the kitchen in equally capable hands. Adam had proved to be a breath of fresh air. The man was just as passionate about his food and organic produce, but he brought with him youth and his own ideas. It was interesting to watch the two men work together. Like a well-oiled machine, they knew exactly how to work as a team, each doing what they needed to produce exquisite meals for their guests. Everyone would miss Dominiq in the kitchen and the man himself was irreplaceable. He was like this huge teddy bear, good for a hug, but also wise and fatherly.

“Mommy, potty.” The youngest of the four children who had been running in crazy airplane circles stopped and did a strange dance.

“I need to get some air,” Lucas said. He patted Jamie on the back. “Hold the fort.” He didn’t give Jamie a chance to object before moved from behind the front desk and headed outside.

Taking a deep breath, Lucas looked out across the beach and to the sea. He squinted, looking for Lady Liberty on the horizon. He couldn’t wait for the wedding party to leave so they could start on their own plans for the holidays. He took the few steps to the path and then started a slow walk around the hotel. He couldn’t believe it was already the twenty-third of December. It seemed like just yesterday they were making plans to spend Christmas with friends and family. The Lamberts had opted for a white Christmas and had planned the second part of their honeymoon back in Vermont, which had given him and Dylan the opportunity to have a wedding-free Christmas for the first time in three years, with the next wedding not booked in until the thirtieth for the New Year.

Lucas took a right and detoured into what was now commonly known as Scott’s Garden. Scott had worked incredibly hard the last two seasons in order to get the overgrown garden back under control. He had cleared the paths from weeds, thinned out the borders, and trimmed back the trees. Flowers bloomed in a rainbow’s worth of colors, interspersed with the simple beauty of white blossoms. Lucas knew very little about plants and soil and shade, but he could appreciate the effort Scott had put in to make the garden as beautiful as it was.

Checking the time, he made his way through the garden and around the back of the hotel. Tasha and Liam’s flight would get in soon. They had caught up in August as they always did when he and Dylan returned to the mainland for a short while during the stormy season in the Bahamas. She had looked good, and there was no doubt she and Liam were as much in love as the day they married. Lucas was glad to be able to spend Christmas Day with her this year.

Lucas stopped on the patio and glanced at the hotel. He couldn’t see much through the sliding doors because of the reflection of the sun, but he could make out the low din of what he guessed was the sound of the children still playing.

Should he feel bad he had left Jamie in there alone? Yes. Did he? Hell, no. Lucas was sure he’d earned ten minutes of peace after the morning from hell. If it wasn’t children running circles round him, it was the adults in the party—a lost wedding band in twelve, guests expecting breakfast despite being almost an hour late, and the kleptomaniac in nine. Who would want to try and steal a kettle? He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled as he fingered the hair at his collar.

He wore his hair longer these days. For him it was a way to embrace his new life. He may be the levelheaded, often seen as the more boring of the pair of him and Dylan, but he was enjoying the freedom Sapphire Cay offered. No set hours, no ulcers, no stress. He sighed inwardly as he corrected himself. Some stress. It just wasn’t the same day-after-day pressure he’d experienced in his former life in contracts management. Here he had a life that wasn’t work, work, work twenty-four seven. He was tanned and healthy and slept peacefully each night beside the man he loved. The man he’d one day call husband.

Sunlight caught the silver band on his right hand. They hadn’t set a date yet, always too busy making other people’s dreams come true. Besides, there was no rush. He was happy as he was. They both were. They had committed to each other, had everything they needed. Their lives were perfect and switching a ring from his right hand to his left wasn’t going to change how much they loved each other.

Lucas jumped as there was a bang on the patio door. Oh dear. Jamie was pressed up against the window, his face squashed and his hands flat on the glass. Lucas quirked an eyebrow and watched as Jamie slid downward, a child at each leg squealing with delight. Lucas smirked. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

“You’ll be cleaning that,” he said and pointed at the smudged window.

Jamie leaned back and cupped his ears.

“The window,” Lucas said slowly and loudly. He pointed again and this time Jamie shrugged and grinned before being dragged away by the playing children. Lucas sighed. His gaze drifted to the gazebo standing a little way down from the patio and pool. Had they really trusted Jamie with rebuilding that? He laughed to himself and then headed toward the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Dominiq said cheerfully as Lucas stepped through the door into the back of the kitchen. “How are we this fine day?” If Lucas didn’t know better, he’d think Dominiq had been at the rum.

Lucas leaned back against the edge of the kitchen counter. “I’m great.”

“How are our guests?”

“Still here.”

Dominiq laughed. “I look forward to sharing a boat ride with them.” He wiped his hands on his apron and then untied it. “So, we’ve prepped what we can for your dinner. Should help Adam out a little. He’ll make everything else fresh on the day.”

“Thanks,” Lucas said. “You are still welcome to join us if you want to. Your family, too.”

Shaking his head, Dominiq folded his apron and placed it on one of the breakfast bar stools. “I need to start to pull away. Break the ties.” He flashed a smile. “Hard enough thinking of leaving this place without settling in for a cozy Christmas.”

“There’s an easy solution to that,” Lucas said.

“And what’s that?” Dominiq asked.

“Don’t leave.” Since coming to the island, Dominiq had made it so easy and comfortable. As far as Lucas was concerned, Dominiq was Sapphire Cay and everything it stood for.

Dominiq chuckled. “Not sure young Adam would agree.” At that moment the door swung open and Adam walked in. He stopped as Lucas and Dominiq both looked at him.

“What?” Adam said and glanced over his shoulder as the door shut behind him.

“Talking about you, not to you,” Dominiq chimed. He gave Adam a big grin.

Adam seemed confused but shook it off and carried on. “I’ve got the list you wanted. Claude should have it all boxed up and ready for you, but if you can just check everything off for me that would great.”

“You ever cooked a turkey?” Lucas asked, taking the list and reading over the first few items. The ink smelled fresh and the paper was still warm from the printer.

“Not one to feed eight. Have you?” Adam asked. His eyes held a playful sparkle.

Lucas looked at Adam and color heated Adam’s cheeks. Lucas couldn’t help but grin. The man had grown in confidence since joining them at the hotel fulltime. He’d even taken the brave step of questioning one of Edward’s table arrangements last month. Lucas doubted he would again. Adam had learned his lesson with that one.

“Adam will do just fine,” Dominiq said proudly.

“I know he will,” Lucas said. He’d seen the dishes Adam had produced alongside Dominiq and also alone. He was sure Adam would do a great job. Lucas just wanted everything to be perfect. He hadn’t spent Christmas Day with Tasha in a long time. Even when he was back in his former life he always seemed to be distracted with work. “Just came over a little Edwardy there for a minute.” He glanced at his watch. “You about ready, Dom?”

“Sure. Just need to get my bags.”

“Okay. See you on the pier in twenty.” Lucas left Adam and Dominiq to finish up and headed back to the foyer. Stepping out of the kitchen, he stopped, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Lucas opened his eyes and stared at the scene. Jamie was lying on the floor bench-pressing one of the boys. Muscles rippled in Jamie’s strong arms as he lifted the boy up in the air, and the boy squirmed and kicked his legs as if he were swimming in some invisible sea. Lucas sighed and made his way to the front desk. Would this morning never end?

Chapter 2

Dylan watched Lucas wave the last of the Lamberts to their limo and grinned in support when Lucas turned and faced him and let his game face drop in exhaustion. For very understandable reasons, this last wedding had been hard on Lucas. Dylan expected it was a combination of kids and that whole end-of-the-year feeling, and he’d said so to Lucas this morning. Both agreed they were lucky that they had no wedding over Christmas and now had days in front of them to chill with family and friends.

Lucas walked over, and as he walked he became more relaxed. It was intriguing to watch. What wasn’t so cool was that Lucas was rubbing his stomach, and not for the first time, Dylan was concerned about the whole ulcer thing. Too many weddings in succession. They didn’t need to do as many, and he resolved to talk about it to his fiancé when they got back to Sapphire Cay and had some quiet time. They needed to pick up Adam’s order from Claude but then had time to kill before Tasha and Liam arrived in Marsh Harbor. After that, it was back to the island to relax.

“You ready to go find Claude and the order?” Lucas asked. Dylan immediately stood and pulled his lover in close.

“You okay?” he asked quickly.

Lucas huffed a breath and buried his face in Dylan’s hair. “Tired,” he said. “I think we should make the island for adults only,” he added. Then he yawned widely. Dylan chuckled.

“Nah,” he began. “You’d miss all those sticky chocolate fingers and all that running around like mad from the little people.”

“I promise you I wouldn’t.”

Hand in hand, they strolled from the harbor and into the small town. Their order was ready in boxes, and due to the fact Adam appeared to have ordered enough food for an army, they borrowed a wheelbarrow and transported it down to the Liberty. Dylan jumped down into the boat, and one by one Lucas passed down the boxes. Dylan tied them in a balanced pattern around the boat, leaving room for his passengers to sit with their luggage, even though Lucas had told him Tasha said she was just bringing a bikini.

“I’ll go get a table,” Lucas called down. He didn’t really need to get a table; the café was small but there was always space. This side of the harbor was quiet and mostly for locals.

“Ice cream,” Dylan shouted back. “Give me five.”

He fiddled with straps, then stood back to look at the balance of the Liberty. He was experienced at fitting everything in after years of doing this job. Proud of his boat, he checked out Liberty and ignored the peeling paint on the stern and the worn wood of the pilot station. She’d weathered storms and heat, and she’d done well. Lucas had valid points as to why they should replace her, but Dylan couldn’t get his head around them. Well, apart from the luxury aspect. Lucas’s argument that people paid a lot of money for Sapphire Cay was easily countered by Dylan’s assertion that they would expect Caribbean rustic.

“He’ll make me replace you, girl,” Dylan muttered. “One day, you know, but we’ll fight it.” It didn’t strike him as odd that he was talking to a boat, but equally he hoped no one spotted him. With a sigh of resignation that this was probably Liberty’s last season, he climbed the ladder and up onto the harbor wall. The café was a few feet away, and from here they could watch the boats and kill time waiting for Tasha and Liam. And to top it off he would finally get to try Scott’s recommended chocolate ice cream sundae.

Lucas was already at a rickety table and slumped back in the chair with his eyes closed, and Dylan bypassed him to order the ice cream concoction and a cold drink of lemonade for his fiancé. Lucas needed something to cool him down and at the same time refresh him.

“With ya in a few,” the assistant said in a sing-song voice. “Take ya table,” he added with a wide grin.

Dylan crossed to Lucas and peered over the edge to check on Liberty. She sat, slowly moving in the gentle motion of the sea.

“Okay?” Lucas asked on another yawn.

“She’s fine,” Dylan said. He regretted saying it this way as soon as Lucas raised a single eyebrow in question. Instead of the usual teasing, Dylan decided to head it off at the pass. “When’re Tasha and Liam in?”

Lucas moved his head back to peer up at the sky. He’d not worn a watch since he’d decided to stay with Dylan. Even now Dylan was pleased to see Lucas was getting good at judging the time by how he felt—hungry, tired, or by the position of the sun in the sky or even the scents of the day in the air. Dylan loved that a small part of Lucas was relaxing, and he just wished Lucas would let that final knot of constant concern unravel in his chest.

Lucas frowned. “An hour.” He was clearly guessing. “Told them to meet us here.”

“I ordered you lemonade,” Dylan said.

“I wanted coffee,” Lucas protested.

Dylan wasn’t going to argue. Lucas hadn’t entirely cut down his coffee use, but he needed to be careful.

“Saw you rubbing your stomach,” Dylan said.

Lucas looked down at himself, and his eyes widened when he realized he was still doing it. Quickly, he moved his hand, but not before the damage had been done.

“I don’t know why…” he began. “I’m just tired. I got the all clear. I’m relaxing, I feel good.”

Dylan reached over and grasped Lucas’s other hand. “Let’s keep it that way, then.” He shuffled his chair closer and kissed Lucas firmly. He could sit here all day kissing Lucas. All day. A noise, shouting, barking, separated them, and Dylan glanced over at the intrusion into what had been a very nice kiss. He couldn’t see anything, but the barking had turned to whining and the shouts to laughter.

“Keep an eye on Liberty,” he said, and then before Lucas could say a word, Dylan was out of his seat and heading behind the café where the alleys converged to one single point with bins and recycling. At first he couldn’t see what was happening because a group of young kids were like a wall surrounding whatever was going on.

Then his height gave him the advantage, and he could see a dog cowering in the space between crates. One of the boys was poking it with a stick. He didn’t actually poke the dog each time, but clearly this had gone on for some time.

“Told ya he’d stop barking if we scared ’im,” the young boy said with a laugh. The rest of the group joined in with yays, although Dylan noticed a few were looking around fearfully and not really joining in.

“We should leave ’im,” one of those who wasn’t grinning like an idiot said.

Dylan waded in. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said firmly. He pushed himself between the kids and the dog. For a second Dylan thought he saw defiance in the kid with the stick—the thought process telegraphed on his face about whether he should poke Dylan. A simple move and the stick was in Dylan’s hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked. He wasn’t really expecting a reply. True to what he thought would happen, the kid sneered and scarpered along with his little friends. A few of the kids, the ones who hadn’t joined in, hovered uncertainly.

“Whose dog is this?” he asked them. They looked at each other as if they were weighing up what to say. “Whose dog?” he said again.

“No one’s,” one of the smallest kids said. “He’s on his own.”

“A stray?” Dylan summarized.

“Yes.”

The kids dispersed without a backward glance. Seemed like now that an adult was here, they could leave the dog alone. Dylan spun on his foot and faced the dog. It appeared to be a mix, something between a terrier and an English bull dog. He couldn’t see any injuries, but the poor thing was painfully thin and his eyes downcast. Dylan moved and then cursed when the dog cowered and he realized he still had the damn stick in his hands. He carefully placed it where the dog could see what he had done, then gently went to his knees. The dog didn’t look rabid, and there was no sign of blood anywhere. He held out a hand but the dog shrank back instead of sniffing him.

“Damn stray,” the owner of the café snapped. He stood at the rear exit of the café with a basket of scraps and rubbish. He tipped the whole lot in a bin and cursed again. “Nothing but trouble, in my trash.”

“He’s probably hungry,” Dylan suggested reasonably.

“That’s maybe right, but I ain’t gonna feed him,” he said. “I got kids to feed first.”

Dylan didn’t want to ask if it was his kids that were poking at the dog. “Pass me some of the scraps,” he ordered. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a twenty and handed it up to the café owner. “I’ll pay for some meat and bread. Nothing too fatty or heavy. And a bowl of water.”

The café owner cursed and blustered, but he did as he was asked. Seemed money spoke here. Dylan watched the dog until he was sure the poor thing had eaten something and drunk some water. Then he patted it on the head and smiled when it pushed up into his hand. It didn’t wag its tail, but the butting of his head into Dylan’s hand was a sure sign that Dylan had done something right.

Torn, he knew he had to go back to Lucas, but at the corner he turned back to see the dog. It had gone. Disappeared. He should be pleased it wasn’t hanging about waiting for the kids to come back, but a part of him was sad that it had just gone.

When he got back, Lucas looked up from his lemonade. “Where’d you go?”

“Some kids were beating up on a dog. Poor thing.”

“Is it okay?” Lucas asked, concerned.

“Yeah, he’s gone now.”

Lucas tilted his head. “Did he have a white nose, with dark ears, pathetic eyes, and was kind of on the skinny side?”

“Yeah,” Dylan replied. “How did you…?” Catching on, he realized the dog was sitting next to him leaning against his chair, and hell, was that a wag in his tail?

“Seems like you’ve got a friend.”

“He’s a stray,” Dylan explained. He patted the dog’s head again, and this time he was rewarded by two wags of the little tail.

“What kind of dog is it?” Lucas asked with a frown. “Some kind of cross?”

“Maybe a mix way back. It’s a boy.” He scratched between the dog’s ears and smiled down at it.

“Probably got fleas and all sorts.”

“Seems pretty clean,” Dylan said. “Just really thin and a little undomesticated.”

Lucas shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.

“No, what?”

“No, we don’t need a dog on the island.”

Dylan immediately felt defensive. “I didn’t say anything.”

Lucas smiled. “Not in words.”

“I know we don’t need a dog,” Dylan said carefully. “Hell, imagine if it was all up in the guests’ faces? Edward would have a cow if it caused chaos at a wedding. It would undoubtedly jump in the pool as well.” Dylan said all this, but all he could see was dark brown eyes looking up at him with adoration. He had to be sensible. “Shoo,” he finally said. “Off you go.”

At first the dog stared and didn’t move, but then with what looked like a huff of disappointment, it strolled away without a backward glance.

“We could get a cat maybe,” Lucas consoled him.

“I don’t like cats much,” Dylan said. “I always wanted a dog. Not that one though,” he hastened to add.

“You’re right,” Lucas agreed, although he had the same expression on his face that he often got when Dylan talked about his childhood—or lack of it. Kind of a combination of sadness and understanding.

“Lucas!” The name being called from across the way had Lucas standing and crossing to his sister in an instant. Dylan stayed where he was so he could watch over Liberty but was soon part of hugs and kisses when Tasha and Liam joined them at the table. With hellos and laughter, they all made it onto the boat, and soon they had pulled away from the harbor and were on their way to Sapphire Cay. A bark caught Dylan’s attention, and he looked back. The dog was standing on the wall looking down at them. The drop was maybe six feet and the dog appeared to be contemplating jumping. Dylan cut the engine in indecision as to what to do.

“You have got to be joking,” Lucas said in disbelief at the dog and what it was possibly planning to do. Dylan couldn’t agree with the sentiment more when, with a yip, the dog jumped in the water and disappeared below the surface.

“Jeez,” Liam said instantly. “Is it okay?”

“Oh god, that poor dog,” Tasha added.

It seemed like everyone was holding their collective breaths until abruptly the dog surfaced. As if it jumped six-foot walls into water every day, it began to paddle over to them. Dylan moved to the back of the boat between the luggage.

“What are you doing?” Lucas asked.

“It’s swimming over.”

Lucas looked at him with confusion in his eyes. Then realization flooded his expression followed quickly by acceptance and love.

“Best help him on board, then. Looks like we’ve got a dog.”