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MR. FIX-IT by Debbie Vaughan
AVAILABLE NOW as e-book and paperback!
Everything in Beverly Miller’s life is on the fritz, including her libido. Luckily Chad Brewster has all the tools and skill needed to fix things.
Tropical nights, Salsa rhythms and Latin hunks fill Beverly Miller's fitful dreams. Mounting bills, hungry four-legged friends, and a farm in desperate need of repair are her reality. Her worthless ex-husband made sure she’d have plenty to keep her busy, off the market and regretting every moment spent with him.
Handyman Chad Brewster's life was shattered with his wife’s tragic death five years ago. As he replaces Bev’s heat pump and mends fences, both literally and figuratively, he can't deny the feisty and beautiful Beverly awakens desires and emotions he never expected to feel again.
Chad’s charms don’t go unnoticed by Beverly. When they succumb, their passions burn away any doubt, past pain or failure, if only for the moment.
Beverly’s loathsome ex and his sadistic partner each have their own agenda for her, which doesn’t include her muscled boyfriend. Jealousy and revenge battle love and compassion. Winner takes all.
Story Excerpt:
The glass packs and horn blaring “Dixie” were almost enough to drown the other noise. Almost. Beverly stood with cell phone held out at shoulder height and stared as her ex-husband Joe Miller’s four-wheel drive piece of shit flew past, raising a cloud of dust. It was a dead-end road, for Christ’s sake, not a drag strip.
A loud grinding came from the depths of her heat pump. She yelled into space, “Can you hear that?”
Chunk-ca-chunk…wheeze…groan.
She put the phone to her ear in time to hear Jamie say, “Son of a bitch!”
Bev instantly realized her friend must have heard Joe’s horn as well as the heat pump’s death rattle. The name actually seemed pretty tame. Jamie had called him much worse over the years—especially recently. She didn’t trust him.
Okay, that was more like it. Bev held the phone away from her ear as her friend’s language went south. Joe’s ears must be burning!
Beverly once had dreamed of becoming a veterinarian. Enter handsome bad boy Joe Miller, who talked his way into her pants and any idea of college right out of her head.
Jamie was thrilled when the divorce went so smoothly, but warned Bev repeatedly Joe was up to something. Bev knew better. Her ex was up to nothing, never had been, and never would be.
So—why the drive-by?
Bev got the settlement she wanted, the house, and the car. So far, so good with the car, but the house was falling apart. Joe hadn’t fought her for their home, too much upkeep. No shit! She worked her ass off to keep the house presentable.
Why scope the place out now? He never had any interest in the property before. He didn’t have friends on her dead-end road. Or any friends at all, as far as she knew. She pushed the thought aside to deal with the matter at hand.
While pretty adept with tools and not adverse to hard labor, she couldn’t wrap her mind around some things. Heating and air stood at the top of that list right now. A squawking sound reminded her of the phone in her hand.
“…husband,” Jamie said in her ear.
“Hell no! I just got a divorce. I don’t want a husband.”
What good were they anyway? Joe let everything slide. Bev always joked that when she said I do, Joe said, not anymore. He never did the yard work. If anything broke or wore out, Bev was to blame, and he bitched the whole time as he made a half-assed repair. He didn’t even do sex anymore, too lazy or drunk to put forth the effort. After over a decade of forced celibacy, Bev declared herself a born again virgin and enough!
“Beverly Miller! Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry. What?”
“I said—you should call Rent-a-Husband. You—”
“I don’t want to rent, buy, borrow, or take out a lease!”
Bev wisely shut the hell up when Jamie growled in her ear.
“Chad does good work…”
* * * *
Chad Brewster hefted the loaded toolbox into the bed of his work truck and adjusted the tie-downs on the twenty-foot extension ladder strapped to the rack. He wouldn’t want to lose the damn thing on the freeway. People barely drove in their own lanes anyway, what with cell phones stuck to their ears and texting instead of paying attention to their driving. On second thought, losing the ladder in the middle of the freeway seemed like an excellent idea. Cull the herd.
He had good reason to appreciate the idea.
Five years ago, long before texting became the rage, an upper management type had been in a heated discussion with a client on his cell. The big Buick ran smooth over the top of the little red Civic. Chad’s wife, Shelley, died instantly. He ran his hand along the “Rent-A-Husband” sign on the battered truck door. The name had been her idea. He didn’t have the heart to change it.
In all his plans and dreams, he never thought he’d be a widower at thirty-eight.
Now what have I gotten myself into? Chad wondered as he checked his rearview mirror one last time. Maybe she thought the same thing. Bev stood in the exact spot he left her in when he lifted her off the tailgate. Had her back seized up again? He slowed the truck as he made the corner and looked out the side window. Good, she was moving. He wasn’t sure he was up for another ass massage. He shook his head slowly, still not believing the liberty he’d taken with a virtual stranger.
Well, heck fire! What was he supposed to do, stand with his hands in his pockets and watch her twist in pain? He grinned, and then laughed. He laughed so hard he had to pull over at the side of the road and grab his sides. When the guffaws finally subsided, he wiped his eyes. “An ass massage makes one hell of an icebreaker.”
For an Adult's Only excerpt, please visit Get Bit By My Free Reads
please click the banner below to buy Mr. Fix-it
Tropical nights, Salsa rhythms and Latin hunks fill Beverly Miller's fitful dreams. Mounting bills, hungry four-legged friends, and a farm in desperate need of repair are her reality. Her worthless ex-husband made sure she’d have plenty to keep her busy, off the market and regretting every moment spent with him.
Handyman Chad Brewster's life was shattered with his wife’s tragic death five years ago. As he replaces Bev’s heat pump and mends fences, both literally and figuratively, he can't deny the feisty and beautiful Beverly awakens desires and emotions he never expected to feel again.
Chad’s charms don’t go unnoticed by Beverly. When they succumb, their passions burn away any doubt, past pain or failure, if only for the moment.
Beverly’s loathsome ex and his sadistic partner each have their own agenda for her, which doesn’t include her muscled boyfriend. Jealousy and revenge battle love and compassion. Winner takes all.
Story Excerpt:
The glass packs and horn blaring “Dixie” were almost enough to drown the other noise. Almost. Beverly stood with cell phone held out at shoulder height and stared as her ex-husband Joe Miller’s four-wheel drive piece of shit flew past, raising a cloud of dust. It was a dead-end road, for Christ’s sake, not a drag strip.
A loud grinding came from the depths of her heat pump. She yelled into space, “Can you hear that?”
Chunk-ca-chunk…wheeze…groan.
She put the phone to her ear in time to hear Jamie say, “Son of a bitch!”
Bev instantly realized her friend must have heard Joe’s horn as well as the heat pump’s death rattle. The name actually seemed pretty tame. Jamie had called him much worse over the years—especially recently. She didn’t trust him.
Okay, that was more like it. Bev held the phone away from her ear as her friend’s language went south. Joe’s ears must be burning!
Beverly once had dreamed of becoming a veterinarian. Enter handsome bad boy Joe Miller, who talked his way into her pants and any idea of college right out of her head.
Jamie was thrilled when the divorce went so smoothly, but warned Bev repeatedly Joe was up to something. Bev knew better. Her ex was up to nothing, never had been, and never would be.
So—why the drive-by?
Bev got the settlement she wanted, the house, and the car. So far, so good with the car, but the house was falling apart. Joe hadn’t fought her for their home, too much upkeep. No shit! She worked her ass off to keep the house presentable.
Why scope the place out now? He never had any interest in the property before. He didn’t have friends on her dead-end road. Or any friends at all, as far as she knew. She pushed the thought aside to deal with the matter at hand.
While pretty adept with tools and not adverse to hard labor, she couldn’t wrap her mind around some things. Heating and air stood at the top of that list right now. A squawking sound reminded her of the phone in her hand.
“…husband,” Jamie said in her ear.
“Hell no! I just got a divorce. I don’t want a husband.”
What good were they anyway? Joe let everything slide. Bev always joked that when she said I do, Joe said, not anymore. He never did the yard work. If anything broke or wore out, Bev was to blame, and he bitched the whole time as he made a half-assed repair. He didn’t even do sex anymore, too lazy or drunk to put forth the effort. After over a decade of forced celibacy, Bev declared herself a born again virgin and enough!
“Beverly Miller! Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry. What?”
“I said—you should call Rent-a-Husband. You—”
“I don’t want to rent, buy, borrow, or take out a lease!”
Bev wisely shut the hell up when Jamie growled in her ear.
“Chad does good work…”
* * * *
Chad Brewster hefted the loaded toolbox into the bed of his work truck and adjusted the tie-downs on the twenty-foot extension ladder strapped to the rack. He wouldn’t want to lose the damn thing on the freeway. People barely drove in their own lanes anyway, what with cell phones stuck to their ears and texting instead of paying attention to their driving. On second thought, losing the ladder in the middle of the freeway seemed like an excellent idea. Cull the herd.
He had good reason to appreciate the idea.
Five years ago, long before texting became the rage, an upper management type had been in a heated discussion with a client on his cell. The big Buick ran smooth over the top of the little red Civic. Chad’s wife, Shelley, died instantly. He ran his hand along the “Rent-A-Husband” sign on the battered truck door. The name had been her idea. He didn’t have the heart to change it.
In all his plans and dreams, he never thought he’d be a widower at thirty-eight.
Now what have I gotten myself into? Chad wondered as he checked his rearview mirror one last time. Maybe she thought the same thing. Bev stood in the exact spot he left her in when he lifted her off the tailgate. Had her back seized up again? He slowed the truck as he made the corner and looked out the side window. Good, she was moving. He wasn’t sure he was up for another ass massage. He shook his head slowly, still not believing the liberty he’d taken with a virtual stranger.
Well, heck fire! What was he supposed to do, stand with his hands in his pockets and watch her twist in pain? He grinned, and then laughed. He laughed so hard he had to pull over at the side of the road and grab his sides. When the guffaws finally subsided, he wiped his eyes. “An ass massage makes one hell of an icebreaker.”
For an Adult's Only excerpt, please visit Get Bit By My Free Reads
please click the banner below to buy Mr. Fix-it
Dare to Dream by Debbie Vaughan
from Siren Bookstrand Publishing
Available on Amazon NOW!
It’s said love is timeless.
Meghan Dennehy, is about to prove it.
Uncomfortable in her world, the antiques of the past hold far more interest than the fast paced era Meghan Dennehy lives in. Only happy with her nose in a book or in the life built in her dreams, she longs for a place to belong and a love of her own.
A hundred years in the past, Will Thornton, a half-breed former army scout is caught between two worlds. Passing for white, he does not forget his native heritage and proudly bears the name Ghost Walking, given him by his grandfather. His heart yearns for someone to love him for who and what he is.
Fate intercedes to bring them together. But destiny isn't always kind, even to young lovers. It will take more than passion to bind them. It will take faith in a love that transcends time.
STORY EXCERPT:
Meghan climbed carefully, testing each rung before transferring her full weight, batting at the cobwebs threatening to envelope her. Her first glimpse of the second level made her forget spiders and instead envision cowboys and cattle drives, wild Indians, and mustangs. The loft had been someone’s sleeping quarters.
Two narrow beds sat side by side covered in Indian blankets that for some reason the mice had chosen not to chew. They were filthy, yes, but whole, as were the two moldy leather saddles. Mold was better than dry rot. The leather could be brought back with proper care. Her heart skipped a beat. Her mind turned to gentle hands, calming wild things like the man in her dreams. A sob almost choked her.
“You okay up there?” Donna yelled from below. “I found the buckboard.”
A deep breath steadied her. “I have about ten thousand dollars worth of Indian blankets and saddles. Get the rope, and I’ll lower them down.”
Her hands itched to open the trunks at the foot of each bunk. She lifted the first lid with reverence, a door back in time. A cavalry uniform, complete with faded yellow suspenders, lay neatly folded. A Bible. She blew away the dust and read the inscription: William Thomas Thornton. Was the old woman a Thornton? Loose pages fell and crumbled to dust in her hands. She wanted to cry for the loss.
Meghan moved to the next trunk and found, of all things, a wedding dress. The lace was yellowed with age but whole. Something furry touched her hand, and she squealed, awaiting the bite that never came. Sucking up her courage she lifted the dress to find molting rabbit fur attached to the frayed netting of a dream catcher. They had been all the rage a few years ago. Like a spider’s web with a totem attached, the disk was supposed to catch bad dreams and keep them from harming the sleeper while letting the good ones in through the spaces in the web.
A rumble of thunder snapped her back to the present. After carefully wrapping the clothing, Bible, and other articles in the Indian blankets, she tied the bundle with the remainder of rope and secured the end to her belt. With the pack on her back she stepped onto the top rung of the ladder. A crack of lightning lit the gloom with the bright white of a strobe. She stared at the hideous thing, not an inch from her left eye. The huge wolf spider swung toward her. Meghan screamed, batting at it with her free hand, and the pack pulled her off balance. The rung broke and she pitched backward into the air. The second scream died on her lips as her head struck the center beam with a sickening thud and searing pain shot through her skull. Her hair pulled her head backward as it caught briefly on the wood. Blackness shrouded her vision.
* * * *
Chickens flew out of the barn in all directions. “Damn varmint!” Charlie swore.
Will grabbed the Winchester off the antlers by the door and lit out at a run. Bad enough there’d be no eggs tomorrow with the hens scared to death, but he’d be damned if he’d let a fox kill the chickens, too.
He slung the massive door back with one good shove and shouldered his gun, not planning to risk a miss shooting from the hip. Not a fox in sight. The only thing out of place, besides the chickens, lay dead on the ground at the foot of the ladder. Where the hell had the little thief come from, and how did he get out here in the middle of nowhere? He kept the rifle up as he scanned the barn but found nothing else amiss. Finally satisfied he wasn’t about to be bushwhacked, Will set his gun aside and approached the boy.
A puddle of blood soaked the clay under his head. The pool didn’t seem to be growing, so best to leave it alone for now. The kid’s body lay arched over the bundle of blankets tied to his back, arms, and legs going every which way. His chest rose and fell in a slow but steady rhythm. Well, he knocked himself cold for sure. Time would tell if his head swelled inside. Will ran a finger over the kid’s full lower lip then along his chin. Not even peach fuzz, just a boy in a growing spurt if those tight jeans were any indication. How could the kid stand it? Everything all bound up like that made Will want to tug at his own crotch to loosen things. Hell, Charlie might have to cut the britches off him.
He squatted to straighten the kid’s legs and arms, feeling each for breaks, but finding none. The boy might be black and blue for a couple of months, but other than his head, nothing seemed busted. He stepped back to the door and yelled, “Charlie, bring your bag, we got us a hurt youngin’ out here.”
Charlie’s head popped around the cabin door. “What’cha say?”
“You heard right. Hurry up!”
“I’m comin’. Hold your horses.”
Will walked back to the kid and eased the bundle from under him. Might as well see what he took while he waited for Charlie. His Bible tumbled into his lap. What kind of thief stole a man’s Bible? His dream catcher came out next. What good was either of these things to the boy? He pulled the straw hat off the kid’s face, tugging gently when it caught on something. The sight took him by surprise.
Hair like spun silver tumbled from the hat to cover her face. A filly?
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Midnight Sun: working title
Tom Thornton, is everything a girl could want in a vampire; tall, dark, handsome, with a body built for sin, plus--cowboy boots and a Texas drawl. His short, dark, adorable and flamboyantly gay sidekick, Rafael, looks like Tony Curtis channeling Richards Simmons.
Connie is drawn to both--for very different reasons.
Connie is drawn to both--for very different reasons.
Witch's Moon working title
My life would be perfect if it wasn't for her. She--was my bodyguard Leeann Leslie, and she was doing what she always did, nothing. She stood behind me and stared, which drove me crazy. I tried to engage her in conversation but “yes” and “no” seemed the extent of her vocabulary. I realized she was supposed to be “watching my back”, but for what? There were no more demons out to get us.
I just wished she'd do something. Be careful what you wish for . . .
I just wished she'd do something. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Haven working title
A home of her own, a man of her own, her wedding day fast approaching. . . the life Connie Bennett had only dreamed about. She should be thrilled, right? So why isn't she? Excellent question.
The assorted shapeshifters, vampires and other government experiments she and her cohorts rescued from the FARM have been acclimated--mostly. An old acquaintance, Private Gary Vance, returns to make them rethink that comforting notion.
You'd think by now, Connie would realize life doesn't always go like you wish it would, or expect it to. But, even if she had, never in her wildest imaginings would she have predicted this!
The assorted shapeshifters, vampires and other government experiments she and her cohorts rescued from the FARM have been acclimated--mostly. An old acquaintance, Private Gary Vance, returns to make them rethink that comforting notion.
You'd think by now, Connie would realize life doesn't always go like you wish it would, or expect it to. But, even if she had, never in her wildest imaginings would she have predicted this!
ADVENTURES IN INTERNET DATING
(Love is Murder) a work in progress by Debbie Vaughan
Starting over is never easy. Re-entering the dating scene at age fifty is horrifying!
Kitty Carson found the man of her dreams on Love Match.com. She fell hard and fast. Too bad the feelings weren't mutual. Or, were they?
Beth Wells just ended a three year romance with a man she met at Love Match.com. She's ready to move on.
When a serial killer starts bumping off men in a grisly fashion, the FBI's only common thread is the dating service and two women who unknowingly dated the same man. The serial killer is targeting serial daters and their boyfriend appears to be the next target. Their friendship makes them suspect--but does it make one of them a murderess?
Kitty Carson found the man of her dreams on Love Match.com. She fell hard and fast. Too bad the feelings weren't mutual. Or, were they?
Beth Wells just ended a three year romance with a man she met at Love Match.com. She's ready to move on.
When a serial killer starts bumping off men in a grisly fashion, the FBI's only common thread is the dating service and two women who unknowingly dated the same man. The serial killer is targeting serial daters and their boyfriend appears to be the next target. Their friendship makes them suspect--but does it make one of them a murderess?
