Short Rides is an anthology compilation of two novellas and one short story in the Rough Riders world. These are NOT meant to be read as standalone stories, but are a peek into favorite character's lives after the happily ever after...
The stories included in the Short Rides anthology are:
King of Hearts* -- Deputy Cam McKay deals with a murder/suicide case on Valentine's Day.
Rough Road -- Chassie, Trevor and Edgard Glanzer spend a romantic weekend away from the ranch and kids celebrating their anniversary...only to return home to face their biggest challenge yet.
All Knocked Up -- Keely and Jack Donohue are having a baby. Given Keely's raging pregnancy hormones, will Jack need to wear a cup in the delivery room?
*previously published in the Guns and Roses anthology in 2012
Excerpt Rough Road
“Mama,
what’s a faggot?”
Chassie’s
entire body seized up and she nearly dropped the bowl she was
washing. She turned her head and met the startled eyes of her husband
Trevor, who was packaging leftovers on the counter beside her. She
managed to ask, “Where’d you hear that word?” in a steady
voice.
“At
school. A third-grader said my dads were faggots.”
She
briefly closed her eyes. Living an unconventional lifestyle in a
conservative rural area guaranteed this question would come up at
some point—but she hadn’t expected it this soon. Their
six-year-old son Westin had just started first grade a month ago.
Chassie
rinsed and dried her hands before she turned around. “How about if
we wait to talk about it until Papai
is done giving Max his bath? You can stay up a little later tonight.”
Westin’s
big blue eyes were somber, suspicious of the bribe. But he nodded and
returned to his “homework”—an activity book they’d purchased
after his disappointment at not having schoolwork every night in
first grade.
Trevor
came over and set his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her temple
and whispered, “Come on, Chass. Baby, take a deep breath. We’ll
get through this. That word doesn’t have the power to destroy what
we’ve built unless we let it.”
She
nuzzled his jaw. “I know that. It’s just...”
“Mama!”
A little person slammed into the backs of her legs. She glanced down.
A naked little person.
Two-year-old
Max grinned at her, his brown eyes triumphant, his dark hair sopping
wet.
Edgard
sauntered into the kitchen, a bath towel draped over his forearm.
“That boy is as slippery as an eel.” He wrapped the towel around
Max like a straightjacket and hoisted him up amidst Max’s happy
shrieks and giggles. “Kiss Mama and Daddy goodnight, little
streaker. Then if we can wrassle your jammies on fast, we’ll have
time for one book.”
“Two
books!”
Chassie
smooched both of Max’s chubby cheeks and smoothed her hand over his
wet hair. “’Night, Max. Love you.”
Trevor
kissed Max’s forehead. “Love you son, ’night.”
Edgard’s
gaze winged between Chassie and Trevor. He mouthed, “Problem?”
“I’ll
fill you in upstairs. I need to check on Sophia anyway,” Trevor
said. He looked at Chassie. “I’ll tuck her in if she hasn’t
already crashed.”
Four-year-old
Sophia ran at such high speed all day that many nights she conked out
while watching TV or playing in her room.
The
guys disappeared upstairs.
Chassie
finished cleaning the kitchen and headed to the basement to throw a
load of clothes in the washer. Her mind had locked on Westin’s
question. She knew one thing about her thoughtful son—the taunt
hadn’t been tossed at him just today. Westin tried to figure things
out on his own, so she worried he’d been dealing with defining the
nasty word for longer than a day.
She
leaned against the wall, fighting tears, fighting memories of the
cruelty directed at her growing up. The jeers—lazy Indian, ugly
squaw—still lingered years later. Back then she’d been so shy she
hadn’t fought back. Her brother Dag might’ve gone after her
tormentors, but he’d been fighting his own demons. No doubt he’d
had the word faggot hurled at him.
What
really caused that long ago hurt to deepen was the knowledge that if
their father had known Dag’s sexual orientation, he would’ve
flung that word at his son without hesitation.
When
Chassie, Edgard and Trevor decided to add kids to their family, they
all three worked every day to make sure their children knew they were
loved. To make sure their children knew their parents loved each
other. And to show them that love is what built and what sustained
their lives. Especially when it was love that a lot of people didn’t
understand.
Chassie
held on to that thought as she scaled the stairs.
****
Trevor
plugged in the nightlight and left the door open a crack before he
headed down the hallway to the master bedroom.
He
removed his long-sleeved shirt and T-shirt, tossing them in the
hamper along with his dirty jeans. After washing his face and arms,
he slipped on a pair of black sweatpants and a gray tank top. He’d
need to channel his frustration after they talked to Westin, because
guaranteed he’d wanna punch the shit out of something.
Faggots.
Who taunted a kid—a kind, innocent little boy—with that term?
You
would have.
Goddamn.
Trevor didn’t want to think along those lines, to remember the
judgmental asshole he’d been at one time. He’d been raised that
way—as had Chassie and Edgard—which was why they were raising
their kids differently.
He
perched on the edge of their gigantic custom-made bed, forearms
resting on his thighs, his face aimed at the carpet. Westin and
Sophia were aware their family was different from the norm. But due
to divorces and remarriages, didn’t most kids these days deal with
multiple parents? How was it anyone’s business how they lived in
their own home? Or how they loved each other? He’d bet the ranch
very few traditional family units were as attuned to each other as
theirs. They had
to
work harder at communication because of having a third partner. And
he wouldn’t have it any other way—regardless of the societal
repercussions.
Footsteps
fell across the carpet. A pause. “Did you mean to leave the light
on in Sophia’s room?” Edgard asked.
“No.
Guess my mind was elsewhere.” Trevor glanced up. “Was she still
awake?”
“Nah.
She just yanked the covers over her head. I shut the light off.”
“Thanks.
And Max?”
“Out.
He didn’t last through one book, let alone two.” Edgard gave
Trevor a once-over. “We working out tonight?”
“I’ll
need to hit the heavy bag after...”
“After
what?”
He
sighed.
“Trev,
what’s goin’ on?”
So
Trevor told him.
Edgard
didn’t say anything. Then he crouched in front of Trevor to get his
attention. “That’s not all of what’s bugging you.”
The
man knew him so well. Trevor reached out and ran the back of his
knuckles along Edgard’s jaw. He hadn’t shaved for a day and
Trevor had the sudden need to feel beard burn on the inside of his
thighs. On his chest. Scraping on his cheeks and neck as he kissed
Edgard senseless.
“Dangerous
to keep lookin’ at me like that, meu
amor.
Burning me alive with those fiery eyes of yours won’t make me
forget the issue at hand, as much as I’d like to.”
“I
know.” Trevor dropped his hand. “I fuckin’ hate that I used to
be that type of kid Westin is dealin’ with. Anything I didn’t
understand, I belittled. I laughed when I made kids cry. Laughed.
Jesus. How many people I bullied growing up would say I’m getting
what I deserve? Seeing my
son cry.” He exhaled. “I’m to the point I can handle what
anyone calls us. But it breaks my damn heart that Westin is hearing
that shit.”
“Hey.
You’re not the same man you were. Thank God for that.” Edgard
stood and held his hand out to Trevor. “Worrying about karma coming
back to bite you in the ass won’t help us now.”
As
soon as he was upright, Trevor tugged Edgard against his body and
buried his face in Edgard’s neck. “I’m grateful every damn day
that we have this life.”
“Me
too. We knew goin’ into it, it wouldn’t be easy.”
“Some
days I can’t believe we’ve all been together eight years. And
other days, I feel like my life started when I met Chassie and you
came back.” Trevor lifted his head. “Do you think we oughta
cancel—”
Edgard
covered his mouth with a brief kiss. “No. The three of us need the
time together. Chassie will be relieved that we’d planned to keep
Westin out of school tomorrow anyway.”
“So
we’re all set?”
“Yep.”
Trevor
grinned. “Chass is really gonna be surprised.”
“I
was surprised. It was a sweet, romantic thing to plan, Trev.”
“What
can I say? You and Chassie bring out the best in me.” Trevor kissed
him, more than a soft peck but less than the tongue tangling soul
kiss he preferred. “Let’s go talk to our son.”
Excerpt King of Hearts
A
murder/suicide.
In
Sundance, Wyoming.
It
was one of the worst scenes Deputy Cam McKay had dealt with. And he’d
seen a lot of horrific things over the years. He’d served several
rotations in Iraq and witnessed the aftermath of suicide bombers.
He’d seen animals used as vessels to hold bombs. He’d been in a
caravan that’d hit a string of IEDs, resulting in death and
dismemberment of his fellow soldiers. He hadn’t come away from war
unscathed—he’d lost most of his left leg, part of his hand, and
bore scars, both visible and invisible.
During
his time as deputy in Crook County, he’d dealt with deadly car
accidents, including a fatality involving his cousin, Luke McKay.
He’d broken up domestic disputes where one or both of the parties
were drunk, armed, angry, and bleeding. He’d stumbled across a wild
horse slaughter.
But
this? It was beyond sickening.
The
hysterical 911 call from the neighbor who’d discovered the bodies
hadn’t prepared him at all for what he’d found at the crime
scene.
His
stomach roiled as his brain flashed back to the carnage and he fought
the urge to throw up.
Again.
But
Cam hadn’t been alone in his reaction. Sheriff Shortbull had
stumbled outside and heaved over the juniper hedge after his glimpse
at the dead couple.
A
murder/suicide.
In
Sundance, Wyoming.
Happy
Valentine’s Day.
Maybe
it seemed worse because Cam knew the couple. He’d graduated from
high school with Jeff Wingate. Cam couldn’t fathom how the
mild-mannered insurance salesman could carry out such brutality,
especially to his wife. And Angela hadn’t fought back. She’d
literally lay down and died.
What
a fucking waste.
What
a fucking mess.
There’d
been no indication of domestic issues. No 911 phone calls in the last
year. No history of violence. He’d seen them eating in Dewey’s
Delish Dish two weeks ago. They’d acted… happy.
Because
the crime scene was beyond their small county’s investigative
expertise, they’d had to call in the DCI from Cheyenne. Which meant
waiting for the crew to arrive. But neither Cam nor Sheriff Shortbull
could stomach waiting inside the house where the bloodbath had
occurred.
So
they stood outside in the frigid February weather, taking turns
warming up in their patrol cars. He and the sheriff were too
disturbed to slide into their usual defense mechanism, cracking
jokes—which was how most law enforcement officers handled
unpleasant aspects of the job—trying to find any bit of humor to
escape the horror of the gruesome scene.
Excerpt All Knocked Up
Keely—seven
months pregnant...
Keely
West McKay Donohue had this pregnancy thing down pat.
Well,
except for the occasional glitches when her heightened emotional
state hit overload and she had a teeny, tiny, barely
noticeable…episode or two.
Most
of those incidents hadn’t really been her fault.
Like
when the grocery store had run out of her brand of laundry soap again
and she’d attempted to express her displeasure to the manager. But
he’d refused to listen to reason, calling her consumer’s request
a crazy woman’s rant, puh-lease—she
hadn’t even hit rant stage. Then the weasel had barricaded himself
in his office, had her escorted from the premises by a pimply
fifteen-year-old and banned her from the store for life. Luckily, the
other grocery store in town had been much more accommodating. They’d
even assigned her a shopping assistant to personally escort her
through the store every time she showed up.
And
Jack could’ve prevented the incident last month if he’d just
taken her out for finger steaks like she’d asked him to. His
refusal to understand the depth of her craving had forced her to cook
the yummy bits of breaded and fried steak herself. So, it wasn’t
completely her fault that she’d accidentally started a small grease
fire in the kitchen and she’d had to call the fire department. The
fire department in turn had called the local ambulance crew, and they
had contacted her brother Cam—a Crook County Deputy—who had
called her entire family. Except no one had remembered to call her
husband. So when Jack had come home after work to see the driveway
filled with emergency vehicles and McKays, he’d lost his mind.
She’d
had to spray him down with the hose to cool him off. Then she’d
really caught hell for ruining his bajillion-dollar, triple-worsted
wool suit crafted out of special sheep butt hairs or some such. And
people claimed she was on edge during this pregnancy?
Besides,
Jack had it easy. His job as her baby daddy entailed three things:
Sucking
it up and listening to her every pregnancy complaint like she was
reciting secret stock tips.
Keeping
her fed and never ever ever
mentioning the amount of food she consumed on a daily basis.
Fulfilling
her sexual needs whenever and wherever she wanted; or keeping his
dick far away from her on those bad pregnancy days she suspected
she’d chop it off if he showed it to her. Happily those days were
mostly behind them now.
Not
such a hard list. So why was he dragging his loafers on getting on
with checking off task number three today?
Keely
had even given him a choice on where he could perform his husbandly
duties. While she waited for him to choose, she studied her hot hunk
of manflesh. The man defined sexy—who could blame her for wanting
to jump his bones all the damn time? His dark hair was disheveled
from constantly running his fingers through it. His silk paisley tie
remained neatly knotted and he hadn’t taken off his suit jacket,
which in her mind meant he hadn’t really started to work yet. So
this was the perfect time for a break. Besides, Jack never really
meant no.
“Come
on, Jack.”
“No.”
“I’ll
make it worth your while,” she said, adding a purring rowr.
“That’s
what I’m afraid of,” Jack said, without looking away from his
computer screen. “And stop staring at my crotch to see if I’m
getting hard,” he warned her.
“Just
tell me if your boxers are getting tight?”
“No.”
“Why
not?”
“Because
A, I’m thinking about work not sex, and if you want to see me
before midnight, which isn’t likely, you’ll find a way to
entertain yourself and let me finish this. B, if I do take your offer
to bend you over the conference table and fuck you until you scream,
guaranteed one of your ten billion family members will decide to pop
in and interrupt us. Again.”
Keely
crossed her arms over her chest trying not to feel self-conscious.
She could almost rest them on her protruding belly. “That was not
my fault. I cannot control my family, Jack.”
“I
know that only too well,” he muttered. “Besides, don’t you have
a client scheduled?”
“She
had to cancel.” That’s when she knew she should’ve lied. He’d
see her offer as a way to kill time. When in actuality, she saw it as
a chance to revisit their spontaneous pre-pregnancy trysts for the
first time in what seemed like weeks.
Jack
stopped typing and looked at her sharply. “Just because you’re
bored doesn’t mean I am.”
Bored?
Fuck that and fuck you too, buddy. Or better yet, I wouldn’t fuck
you right now if you begged me. In fact…Then
just like that surly girl disappeared and weepy woman took her place.
Awesome.
She hadn’t run this hot and cold even as a teenager. She hated that
a curt word or a scowl from him set her off into a fit of rage or a
river of tears. Yet she was sick of him and everyone else muttering
about her out-of-whack hormones.
So
she opted to take the high road for a change. “Sorry to interrupt
you.” Keely pushed off the doorframe and pulled the door shut
behind her. Not slamming it. Point for her.
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