by Carol Grace
Back from serving on the front line in the Middle East - cowboy Quincy McLoud comes home to find a sassy, sexy female has taken over his ranch and turned it into a resort! He'll do anything to get it back including some dirty tricks. What he can't do is fall for the new owner, gorgeous Abby, but how can he help it when she needs his expert help to tame the land. All he has to do is hold onto his hat and keep his heart safe. What are the chances?
http://www.amazon.com/Trouble-in-Paradise-ebook/dp/B0051AEHTE/ref=pd_sim_kinc_3?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2
The Prince and the Nanny
Nanny Sabrina West is on her way to a choice assignment as nanny to the twin daughters of the Prince of Savoy. She's always dreamed of visiting the lake country in Italy with its shimmering waters and mountains in the distance. Now is her chance to fulfill her dreams. She can't imagine how hard her job will be working for the arrogant prince and raising his mischievous daughters. But Sabrina wins over the girls, falls in love with their father and lives happily ever after in the castle on the lake.
http://www.amazon.com/PRINCE-NANNY-ebook/dp/B003LY48ZK/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308685205&sr=1-2
For a change of pace, here’s an excerpt from Craig Culver’s latest crime thriller, The Reno Con, also available for the Kindle:
Chapter 1
Tom Lyons was all set to have rousing sex with Pam Beltz in the back of the K-BLAST remote van when everything began going wrong. Saturday night, the place was packed, he’d spent ten minutes looking for an empty spot in the vast parking lot, finally spotting a couple of open spaces way out under the enormous, frenetically blinking neon sign that read:
Mountain Palace Casino
Reno’s Most Liberal Slots
Pam was a dancer in the stage show starting in less than an hour, so it would have to be a quickie. An unwelcome shaft of light from the sign slanted in under the piece of cardboard wedged against the side window. Tom had just slipped off Pam’s bra, and the flickering light danced across her breasts as if they were the featured item in a window display. Which, in a way, they were.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured as he lowered his face to her chest, nuzzling a nipple with his nose.
“It’s only been a week,” Pam said. “I thought you had more self-control than that. What’s wrong, weren’t there enough distractions for you at Tahoe?”
Her fingers moved through his hair; he shivered as the tips stroked his scalp.
“I’ve got to get rid of this light,” Tom said. “It’s driving me crazy.” He sat up and fiddled with the cardboard panel.
Pam looked at her watch.
“I guess when they put the sign up they thought people might be wanting to park their cars and go in and watch the show.”
“That shows you how little they knew about the fun you can have without ever leaving your car.”
As he worked with the cardboard a car approached. It slowed to a stop, then turned into the space next to the van.
“What’s that?” Pam asked, pulling the sleeping bag up to her neck.
“Damn! A car. Parking right next to us.”
Tom tilted his head against the roof and peeped through the gap at the top of the cardboard. “Hold still ‘til they get out.”
The two were quiet for a full minute, but the other car’s doors never opened.
“What’s happening?” Pam whispered.
“I don’t know. They’re just sitting in the car. Looks like four people. They’re just talking.”
They could hear the voices now. Men’s voices, first muted, then becoming loud and angry.
“What are they talking about?”
“I can’t tell. The windows are closed. It’s a Mercedes. They’re airtight. Maybe they’ll suffocate pretty soon and we can get back to business.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Pam said. She found her bra and began working an arm through it.
“Just another minute or two. They’re probably just trying to decide what show to see—”
From the Mercedes came a loud BANG! followed by a muffled scream.
“My God, what’s that?” Pam cried.
“Jesus Christ!” Tom croaked, jamming his eye against the crack.
“What? What is it?”
“I think they...I think they shot him. The guy that was shouting—”
The car’s door opened, and an instant later the van rocked as something soft and heavy thumped against it. Pam whimpered, fear welling up like vinegar in her throat.
“I can’t believe this!” Tom hissed. “They threw the guy out of the car! He fell against our car!”
“Is he dead?”
“I can’t tell. I can’t see down.” Tom’s face wedged against the crack as if his eyeball was frozen to the glass.
“Get away from the window! They’ll see you. And put your shirt on.”
The Mercedes’s engine roared to life as Pam spoke. The big car backed out of the space and began to leave. Tom turned away from the window and pulled on his shirt; as he did so the cardboard panel fell from the glass. He twisted back to see the Mercedes accelerating away, and in the car’s rear window, lit by the flashing sign above, a face. A surprised face, looking straight at Tom. Its mouth opened and appeared to utter a soundless stream of words. Tires chirped as the driver locked the brakes. The backup lights came on and the car lunged rearward.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, I think they saw me! The damn cardboard came down and they saw me! They’re coming back!”
Pam moaned in growing terror as Tom scrambled over her to the driver’s seat.
“Stay on the floor in case they shoot. I’ll drive.” He had one sleeve on, the rest of his shirt trailed behind him. Dropping into the driver’s seat, he ran his hand through the change in his pants pocket, desperately groping for the keys.
Thank God I still have my pants on, he thought. Why the hell didn’t I just leave the keys in the ignition?...I’ll make sure this never happens again, babbled a voice from a part of his brain that didn’t yet understand that in a few moments he might no longer need pants or keys.
Hope expired when he glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the black mass of the Mercedes jerking to a stop directly behind the van, blocking its escape. The car’s rear door opened and a man emerged. He held something in his right hand that was obscured by some kind of cloth draped over it.
At that moment Tom’s goal became simpler: let’s not worry about getting away just now, let’s just stop the man. If he could get the van’s engine started maybe he could back up and ram the guy back into the car. He found the key in his pocket and pulled his hand out so fast the change sprayed across the console.
As he jammed the key into the ignition he heard the man shout several words. The driver shouted back; Tom briefly wondered why he wasn’t understanding the discussion, until he realized that it was not English.
After a short and heated exchange, the man dove back into the car and slammed the door. But the car remained motionless. The window opened and the big man leaned out, making sure he had eye contact with Tom in the van’s huge side mirror. He made a series of hand signals. First he covered his eyes, then his mouth. Finally he drew a finger across his throat, following through with an arc that left it pointing at Tom, to whom the meaning was painfully clear. Tom vigorously nodded to the man, who nodded back. The Mercedes surged forward.
A moment later a Cherokee wagon slowly turned into the lane and moved past the van. As it passed, Tom looked at the occupants, an elderly white-haired couple. He wondered if he should thank them for saving their lives.
The Cherokee slowed, then stopped. The driver was looking down at the object beside the K-BLAST van, which Tom still had not seen from inside the vehicle. The wagon’s window opened.
“Is he okay?” asked the driver. “You need any help?”
“I think he’ll be all right,” Tom said, “I think he’s just a little drunk.”
The old man chuckled. “Yeah, guess we’re in a party town. Guess that’s why t
hey come up here. Have a good evening.”
With a nod, the man raised his window, and the Cherokee slowly rolled on.
Still on the floor of the van, Pam raised up on one elbow.
“What do you mean, drunk?” she demanded, incredulous. “You saw him get shot! Why didn’t you tell the truth?”
“Too much happened, too quick. There’s too much to explain. Look at us. We’re both half naked, there’s a dead guy with a bullet in him leaning against the van. You know, I’m not even supposed to be out in the van. I was supposed to take it straight to the station soon as I got back from Tahoe.”
As he fought with his shirt, looking for the other sleeve, Tom told Pam about the sinister hand signals from the thug in the Mercedes, and immediately regretted it when Pam began wailing. He held her tightly and tried to soothe her with assurances that she had never been seen by anyone, but it was a wasted effort, she continued shaking as if having a seizure.
Once they were reasonably decent, both piled out of the van to view the object of their dread: the body slumped against the Windstar’s rear tire.
“How do you know he’s dead?” Pam asked from a distance, her hand covering her mouth.
With his foot, Tom prodded the man, whose head hung forward nearly to his knees.
“Sure seems dead.”
“Aren’t you supposed to take his pulse or something?”
“Well, sure, I guess so.”
With great reluctance, Tom reached down and took the man’s hand in his own. With the other he found the wrist, appalled at its heavy limpness. Even though he’d been a radio/TV newsman for nearly a year, this was the first corpse of his career.
“I don’t feel anything.” He released the lifeless hand and it thudded to the pavement like a piece of meat.
“What’ll we do?” said Pam. “Let’s go inside right now and report it.”
“Are you kidding? Didn’t you hear what I just told you? They’ll come after me. If they find out you were here, they’ll be after you next.”
“But how can they? They don’t know who you are.”
Tom laughed harshly. “They don’t? What about that?” He jerked his thumb at the garish foot-high lettering angled across the side of the van:
K-BLAST 107
Music and News Radio - RENO
“Oh my God, I forgot,” Pam wailed in a voice on the edge of hysteria. “We’re riding around in a billboard!”
She went silent for a moment in disbelief, her mouth open, wide blue eyes fixed on Tom.
“But there’s a dead man here! Are you saying we’re just going to drive away?”
“Look, this is probably some kind of a gang murder. You saw those guys. They were hoods. I think the car had a California plate. They’re probably on their way back there already. First thing we need to do is quit standing here over the body. Get in the car. We’ll go somewhere to think.”
“There’s no time,” said Pam, looking at her watch. “I need to get into makeup in twenty minutes.”
“OK, but let’s at least move the car to the other side of the lot. Are you sure you want to work the show after this?”
“Yes. Dancing is probably the best thing I could do right now. If I don’t, I might have a panic attack.”
Tom dragged the body away from the van and they got inside. They both avoided looking at it as he backed out of the space. Scanning the lot for the Mercedes, he drove to the other side of the casino and parked near the employees’ entrance. At least a dozen people were walking in and out of the guarded doorway, and it made both of them feel safer for the moment.
It was two a.m. when Pam emerged from the employees’ entrance and warily looked around. Tom could see the relief in her face when she recognized him and saw that he was in his own car now. She quickly walked toward him and got in.
“How’d it go?”
“OK. It seemed a little unreal, but it’s pretty much always unreal around here anyway. What’d you do with the van?”
“What I should've done as soon as I got back to town. I took it back to the station and picked up my car. I guess you’re ready to go home.”
Pam nodded wearily.
“What about the...the man?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Has he been discovered yet? Has there been any commotion back there? Police cars or anything?”
“I avoided that part of the lot. But I’m thinking it might be a good idea to go over there and have a look.”
“Don’t get too close. You know how they say criminals always return to the scene of the crime.”
Tom steered the car toward the giant electric sign at the front of the parking lot, which had mostly emptied after the last show. The few scattered remaining cars belonged to graveyard-shift employees and the random drunks and other sad souls who linger in the casinos until the sun rises. The two peered over toward the scene of the incident without coming too close, but saw nothing.
“Is he there? Do you see anything?”
“Not yet. Funny, I know it was right there next to the signpost. But there’s no sign of anything.”
“Don’t get too close. If the police are watching they’ll mark down our license.”
The car passed within a hundred feet or so of the giant electric sign, but they saw only empty asphalt.
“Where is he? I don’t get it,” he said. “Either he’d still be there undiscovered, or he’d have been found by now and there’d be a dozen police cars. Coroner. Press. But there’s nothing.”
He turned into the lane that led directly to the sign.
“What are you doing?” Pam asked nervously.
“It’s not making sense. I’ve got to see up close.”
“No. We’ve been circling around here so much already it’ll make people suspicious. If we go right up to the spot it’ll be a dead giveaway. Please...”
Tom sensed the lack of resolve in her voice and ignored the plea. In another few seconds the car crawled almost directly under the monstrous sign, its million bulbs flickering with frantic energy. Tom stared at Pam.
“Nothing. Not a trace. Are we crazy? Did we imagine it?”
“Let’s get out of here. Now. Please.”
Pam’s voice was quavering. Tom turned the car out onto the street. He watched the rearview mirror all the way to Pam’s apartment. When she told him she was going to immediately take a double dose of pills and get some sleep, he didn’t argue.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he promised; they kissed quickly and she closed the door.
January mornings in Reno can be crisp and cold, especially at five thirty, the time Tom usually left his apartment to do the Sunday sign-on shift at the radio station. The town was still and quiet, most people still in their beds, the clamor of the day yet to start. Often a thin mist hung over the city, as the sky over the desert hills began showing the first hints of sunrise. Normally he enjoyed this first hour of the new day, before the city came to life.
But this morning was different. He’d awakened several times during the night, reliving the scene in the parking lot, groggily wondering if it would still be a reality in the morning. Sure enough, it was. His peace of mind was gone, and he wondered how long before it returned.
Leaving the apartment and going to his car he was sure he was being watched. He turned on the radio, tuned it to the only 24-hour station that gave news headlines, to see if there was anything about the murder, but the only local story concerned a big-rig jackknifed on 395 south of town.
He drove through the dark streets as if on autopilot, numb to his surroundings, looking only for the dark Mercedes, expecting at any moment to see it in the rearview mirror. After nearly rear-ending a garbage truck at an intersection, he snapped out of it and shook his head violently, as if trying to climb out of a bad dream.
Look, it’s over, he muttered to the steering wheel. It had nothing to do with me.…nothing at all…I just…wonder who that guy was…
It was worse when he p
ulled into the station parking lot and stopped the car a couple of spaces from the van – the same van from which he and Pam had witnessed a murder. The van with foot-high red letters flaunting its identity to everyone in the neighborhood. It was impossible that they would not know how and where to find it, if and when they wanted to. He sat frozen in the car, fingers at the ready to start up and race away at the first appearance of the death car. It was ten to six, barely light. The station had to be on the air in ten minutes, with him reading the headlines. Only force of will pushed him out of the car; he walked briskly to the steel security door of the KBLAST studio, disarmed the burglar alarm, and went in, locking the door behind him.
The normalcy of the sign-on routine helped calm him. Go into the control room, flip the breakers, key the password into the transmitter remote control, and send the signal that powers on the filaments in the transmitter. Thirty miles away, atop Slide Mountain, the transmitter comes to life, its blower spinning up, the filament in the melon-size ceramic final output tube glowing orange. Next, go to the kitchen and load up the coffeepot. A minute before six, switch on the carrier, bathing the Reno-Tahoe-Carson City area in its FM signal.
Read the sign-on, then the news headlines off the wire (again, no mention of a dead body), start the music. Pour the coffee, sit back, read the meters, and make the first log entries of the day.
Thank God, everything was beginning to feel normal again. At nine o’clock Mike Turner would come in for his show, Tom would hang around to read the hourly news. With a little luck, the surreal experience in the Mountain Palace parking lot would gradually fade into memory and nothing more would come of it.
After all, this was Reno. It wasn’t anywhere near as crazy as Vegas, but weird things did happen. This kind of stuff happens in a casino town. His mood brightened: chances are, the casino itself cleaned up the mess, and is keeping it quiet. Corpses in parking lots are never good for business.
