N J Walters Blog - HOT ON HER TRAIL

I love to read about Bad Boys, and I love to write about them too. There’s nothing more cum-worthy than a bad boy. Sometimes however, there is born in my imagination a hero who wears a white hat. Not literally, I think Jacob preferred a black Stetson, but his heart is pure gold. I have a sweeter version of my HOT ON HER TRAIL erotic romance being released in just a couple of days. The cover is below.

I chose to release my erotic romance in a sweeter version to meet the needs of a market who wants passion and sensuality, but not the explicitness of erotic romance. So many people have written me and told me how they wish they could share the McCoy’s with their daughter or their mother, but they knew they would not enjoy the graphic nature of some of the scenes. I understand that some of the sex I write is very detailed, but I have always strived to make it tender and respectful and loving. However, I have no problem offering a tamed down version to broaden the appeal of my books. To serve both the Mainstream readers and the Erotic Romance readers is an honor – not a hardship.

Jacob, the hero in Hot on Her Trail is one of those good guys. He is the heart of his family. He is the peacemaker. Of course, he is ripped, buff – sex on a stick – which goes to prove that hot guys can be sweethearts. I know that’s true, I’ve met at least one. He longs for a family, and one day Jessie walks into his world and she meets his every need.  He needs no convincing, but she does. Jessie is unsure of herself. Jessie has issues.

I enjoy writing about heroines who have challenges. Very few of us are perfect and I love to explore the emotional impact of body issues or disabilities or disease. Jessie has several things in her life that makes her question whether or not she is worthy of love. She is not a size 2. Jessie is a size 12. When I was growing up, my mother was a size 12. And I thought she was perfect. Our society tries to make women believe that their bodies all have to fit some preconceived shape ordained by fashion gurus who manipulate the high-class world market for clothes. And the models they choose have no basis in fact – they are parodies of what real women look like. Jessie feels she is overweight and unlovable, but Jacob falls for her the first time he sees her – gloriously nude, standing in a ray of sunshine in his barn. He never lets her doubt his love or devotion. Nor does he let her doubt his sexual attraction for her – not for a moment. Oh, how we long for someone to look at us through the eyes of love and think we’re perfect – just the way we are.

Jessie is also dyslexic. The McCoy]s understand this disease because the baby of the family is dyslexic also. My father was dyslexic so I could discuss the topic with some degree of certainty. When you are dyslexic, your brain has trouble comprehending what you are seeing. The letters jump around on the page, the first letter trades places with the last letter – words and letters just don’t translate the same to someone with dyslexia. My father was smart. Really smart. He was a contractor and he could look at the blueprints of a house and tell you within two or three, how many bricks it would take to build it. He had a magnificent mathematical mind, but he couldn’t write his name, legibly. Jessie is like this and it has prevented her from finding the job that she really dreams of having.

I enjoy writing a book that is uplifting, one that brings hope. Almost every week I will get letters that tell me a reader can relate to one of my characters. More than anything I strive to create situations and characters that people can see themselves in – and give them an idea that whatever may be their issue or their insecurity – they are lovable and desirable and perfect just the way they are.  As I write the Hell Yeah! series, I have woven myself into every page. If you ever want to know me or my fantasies or my insecurities – you can read them, for I am there in bold black and white. And I am not perfect, far from it.

My life, as simple as it has been is portrayed in the stories. I am not sophisticated. I haven’t been to any fancy parties and very few dances. What we did for entertainment was more basic. One of the favorite scenes for readers in HOT ON HER TRAIL was the hayride scene. We had hayrides in the cooler months of the year when we would all pile in the back of wagons and get pulled around town by tractors or horses. We would play and sing and laugh and cut up. As we grew older, we found a hayride had more potentiality – because you could snuggle and neck with your boyfriend under the starry sky.

I invite you to read HOT ON HER TRAIL and the other Hell Yeah! and meet the McCoy -  meet Jacob,  the good guy or Aron, the alpha or Isaac, the badass or Joseph- the daredevil. Noah will come out this fall and Noah has been called some unflattering names – he’s the hard-head of the family to put it nicely. But I promise by the time you get to the end of Skye Blue, you will see Noah in a whole different light and he may turn out to be your favorite McCoy of all.

The coobook is free FRIDAY SATURDAY AND SUNDAY – June 28^th, 29^th and 30^th. So hopefully you can pick up a copy. It has some pretty good recipes, excerpts of the books and some free bookmarks and tips. It is my gift to you.   Here is an excerpt – enjoy. (Sorry, this Freebie is no longer available)

A little before dark, the community started to arrive. The McCoy Harvest Hayride and Dance was one event they looked forward to all year. Smells of BBQ filled the air, as some of the cowhands had roasted whole pigs and hundreds of pounds of brisket and ribs on the huge pits which were built-in next to the dance pavilion. Isaac had set up his bar under two big oaks and brought all of his waiters and waitresses to help serve the crowd. Huge vats of iced beer and soft drinks sat available for everyone to help themselves. Tables laden with catered and homemade treats compelled guests to sneak a snack before boarding one of the twelve huge hay wagons waiting to take everyone on a moonlit ride.

Jacob and Jessie had claimed their spot in the last wagon. He was interested more in privacy than he was in social interaction. About three other couples had the same idea and when the caravan left, Jacob was leaning against the sideboard, legs spread out wide with Jessie lying between them. Her back was to his front and they were completely nestled in deep hay and then covered over with a soft blanket. The route they were on took the wagons through winding roads and overhanging trees. Some folks in the wagons closer to the front sang songs and much laughter could be heard wafting on the breeze. But in the rear wagon, there were different sounds to be heard. Jacob and Jessie were oblivious to the others who shared their ride. “Look at that moon,” Jessie whispered, thrilled that they seemed to be in their own little world.

“It’s a blue moon,” Jacob’s breath whispered against her skin.

“It’s beautiful.” She put her arms over his, intensifying the hugging sensation making her feel so safe and loved.

“You’re the beautiful one, Precious.” His lips began a slow and determined journey from her cute little shell ear to the smooth curve of her creamy shoulder.

“Jacob, have you thought of a name for our little boy?” She picked up one of his hands and fitted her palm to it, measuring the difference in their sizes.

“Hmmm, what if I told you I’ve had a name picked out for a long, long time.” As he talked, he let his fingers soothe the tops of her breasts which lushly rose from the neckline of her dress.

Jessie shivered at the thrill of his touch. His fingers were callused by honest, hard work and the contrast of his roughness against her softness was intoxicating. “Tell me, Jacob. Is it a family name?”

“No, it was the name of a childhood friend of mine. We lost touch with one another years ago, but I never forgot him.” Jacob spoke in a voice that was nostalgic with good memories. “His name was Travis, Bowie Travis. We called him B. T.”

Jessie’s heart began to race with excitement. “Bowie Travis! I love it, Jacob. Can we call this baby by that name?” She placed both of their hands on her stomach, and the baby answered with a resounding kick.

“I think he likes the idea.” Jacob rubbed the gentle swelling, giving pleasure to the mama and comfort to the son. “Hello, baby Travis. Your mama and daddy love you.” Jessie giggled as she looked around, and all of the other couples had stopped what they were doing to watch them name their baby. One by one they began to applaud. Jessie, embarrassed, hid her face in Jacob’s wide chest and sighed with happiness.

Halfway through the hayride, the wagons pulled in a circle around a campfire so that anyone who wanted to could roast a wiener or melt some marshmallows to make s’mores. Most everyone had already filled up on BBQ and snacks back at the pavilion, so they grabbed a beer and enjoyed the fire. Not Jacob and Jessie. Jacob decided to take total advantage of their chance to be alone.

Reclining in the hay, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, easing his jeans down over his hips so he would be ready for action when the time came.

“Undo your shirt, too, Jacob. I want to be able to feel your naked chest against my back.” In one ripping motion, he opened the shirt from top to bottom.

“Come to me, Doll-Face.” She scooted back into his widespread legs. Before she reclined, he pulled her dress down to her waist. Braless, she settled back in his arms and he spread the blanket over them until they were only visible from the neck up. When his palms covered her breasts she moaned at the welcome sensation.

“Oh, I like this, Jess. I have everything I desire right at my fingertips.”

And, God Almighty! What those fingertips could do! He played her breasts and nipples like a fine instrument. Jessie writhed with pleasure in his arms. Turning her head, she sought his mouth with her own. With love in his eyes, he gripped her chin and cheek and let his lips descend. Jacob’s tongue swept into Jessie’s mouth, dueled with hers and then wrangled it into submission.

He couldn’t believe the dream he held in his arms. Pulling her dress up above her hips, he smiled when he found she was wearing one of the little thongs he had bought at the boutique. Jessie spread her legs, indicating to Jacob her complete surrender. Just a touch, that’s all it took. She was so in love with Jacob all he had to do was run one hand across her waist and she opened, blossomed, and wept for him. Raising her hips to meet his claiming, she cried her relief when he began to play with her. Fire burst from the places he touched, and her vagina pulsed and ached, begging to be invaded, conquered and claimed. Jacob pushed two fingers into her tender opening and she exploded in his arms.

Jacob held her. - God, he loved her. She pushed back on him, burrowing into his embrace as he rubbed her sweet spot with one hand and teased the perfect pale globes of her breasts with the other. “Stay with me now, Sweetheart.” Some of the guests were drifting back to the wagon, climbing in with cups of coffee and hot chocolate. Speaking softly, he asked, “Can you pretend we’re not fooling around?”

“I think so.” She didn’t sound completely sure.

“I like to live dangerously,” he teased. “Let’s risk it.” Lifting her under the arms, he scooted her up the scant inch he needed to push up inside of her.

“Jacob!” she exclaimed, in the most modulated voice she could manage. Several eyes turned to look at her. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?” she tried for a lame save. Jacob’s chest vibrated with barely concealed mirth.

“Indeed it is, Ms. Montgomery. It’s a fabulous night.” Underneath the cover of the hay and the blanket, he began flexing his hips upward, stabbing her with short, hard strokes.

She braced her feet on his legs, allowing him to control every aspect of her body and their joining. “Is this good, Jess?”

“God, yes,” she whispered. As she lay there suspended in her pleasure, he massaged her breasts, pulling at the nipples. “Rub your pearl, Baby. I want you to climax for me,” he commanded.

“Okay, but I don’t need it. What you’re doing is going to send me into orbit soon enough.”

“Do it, anyway. I can’t last but a few more seconds, it’s too good.” She complied, and soon she was quivering on top of him, desperately trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Jacob buried his face in her hair. The only way she knew he finished was the change in his breathing and the warm surge she felt inside.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbled.

“Look around.” He chuckled. “We’re not the only ones enjoying each other.” Jessie glanced around and sure enough, several of the couples appeared to be doing more than enjoying the night air.

“Now, I understand the term.” She laughed.

“What term?”

“I believe we’ve had what you would call a roll in the hay?” Laughing, he hugged her close, then he cleaned her up with a handkerchief and helped her straighten her clothes. Jessie had never felt so loved.

Thanks for reading.  Sable

The Hole in My Leg

by Sable Hunter

I have a hole in my leg, a small round depression about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It’s not real deep and it sort of reminds me of a small pox vaccination spot, like I used to see on people. The infamous hole is located on my right shin about midway between my knee and my foot. There is no pain – now. When Jess was small, he would irritate me by putting his finger in the hole and pressing. It didn’t really hurt, but I always expected it to hurt. So when I would fuss, he would just do it more and more – it became a game with him.
When he got old enough, he asked Big Sister – “how did you get that hole in your leg?” And I made the mistake of telling him the truth and now, every time I recount some tale of oddity, he’ll laugh at me and say – “Likely story. Sounds like the time you got the hole in your leg.”
But the story was true. Just because he doesn’t believe me, doesn’t mean the story wasn’t the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
So, let me tell you the tale of how I got the hole in my leg.
At the time of the ‘incident’, he and my mother and I were staying at the lake house in East Texas. The property has about twenty acres and he and I and the other cousins, were privileged to keep horses there for our riding enjoyment. And we did. We rode up and down every dirt road and out in the pastures and down by the lake. It was an idyllic time. Most of the time I rode bareback, the saddle was always just a little too heavy for me to hoist up on Comanche’s back. He was tall, but I was lithe and could bounce up there with no problem – then.
We loved to ride around town, down to the little store for soft drinks, around by the post office to get the mail, over the rail-road track and down the church-row, as I called it. Most of the streets in town were dirt roads and there were more hound dogs than traffic. A lot of times, I rode alone. Comanche was used to traffic. Eighteen wheelers and log trucks didn’t faze him. He was a good horse, but one day something did startle him. And me.
Comanche and I spent our days together. At the time of this story, Jess was probably two and I was eleven or he was one and I was ten, I can’t remember. This particular day, Comanche and I had gone on a jaunt and we were on our way home. Right in front of the lake house was a steep gravel road and we were heading down it at a trot. When out of nowhere there came this horrible, grinding, rushing, screaming noise! I thought the sky was falling. The only thing I have ever heard since that even rivals the noise I experienced that day was when the shuttle fell over our house in 2003, which was the largest rescue effort – bigger than 9/11 because it covered a huge amount of square miles. When the shuttle fell, it scattered debris over our lakehouse land and the deer camp. Remains of the astronauts and much wreckage were found scattered on our property. But the moment I heard that shuttle tearing through the sky, I thought the world was ending.
Looking back, this was the sort of noise I heard. Now, you can imagine what Comanche did. Even before I realized what had really happened, he went crazy. He reared up, he bucked, he kicked, he screamed and he ran. I was in shock, trying to control the horse and trying to tell where whatever was attacking us was coming from. And what it was – was a plane – a jet – a fighter jet. Barksdale Airforce base was only about an hour and a half away by car – probably only a few minutes by fighter jet and I know – I know – he was higher than I imagine. But as far as Comanche and I were concerned, it seemed like he skimmed the top of our heads. We were buzzed by a damn big plane.
And that’s not all – as the plane was screaming away and Comanche was panicking, he veered off the path and must have stomped a swarm of bees because in the midst of all of this chaos – bees started stinging us. One stung me in the leg and damn! It hurt. By this time, I was sobbing. I was scared. My horse – at that very moment – pitched me high in the air and I landed on that gravel and didn’t have the good sense to turn loose of the reins and I got dragged down the hill on the gravel. Obviously, I also did not have brains enough to wear jeans, I had the habit of riding in a little skimpy sundress – the same type garments I wear now, so my legs were unprotected and they got scraped and tore up – and stung.
I will tell you that I thought I was dead. I screamed and balled and sobbed and hollered. The whole county knew I was in dire straits. And my leg hurt! When my mother came out to see what all of the hell was about, and I tried to tell her – she laughed. She, like Jess, to this day does not believe that Comanche and I were attacked by a fighter jet while minding our own business. And to cap it off, when she looked at my leg, the bee’s stinger was still lodged there. And after she got it out and doctored me, a hole formed in my leg where the stinger had been.
And that is how I got the hole in my leg.
Now, I can tell a story. I love to tell stories. My books are a huge part of my life. Tales of the McCoys and the Cajuns and the Hill Country Good o’le boys are my imagination – mostly – ha! But the tale of the Hole in My Leg is the gospel truth.
Swear.

Rhonda Lee Carver: Coming Out of the Closet

Writers are loners. Maybe those words aren’t quite accurate. Writers love lots of alone time. Better? I love writing. I could dive into a story and stay hidden for days, coming out for only food, water and bathroom (with the last being the only necessity).  I like the quiet. In fact, I need the quiet while I’m working. With young children, that’s not always easily accomplished. One of the hardest things for me in the writing world is promotions. I don’t have a business or marketing background. I’m guessing most writers don’t.  I use to shun away from marketing my work, and in the end, my sells suffered. I kept my personal life apart from my professional life as writer. I wasn’t ashamed, only shy. But more, I was afraid of failure. Aren’t we all afraid of failing in something? I still swallow a large dose of reality when one of my books doesn’t sell like I’d expected. Then I hide myself in the closet, eating coffee flavored ice cream and crying my pain away. Maybe not that severe, but I’m not going to lie, I’ve shed tears over the last three years.

So, I had to broaden my scope and take on promotions like I would a role in one of my books…by the horns. I still bend a bit when it comes to marketing, but I’ve spread my wings and have moved forward by leaps and bounds. In my latest release, Second Ride Cowboy (the second book in the Second Chance series), my hero Duke represents my insecurities and uncertainty. An accident leaves him with scars that go much deeper than appearance. What would you do if you woke up from an eighteen-month coma and nothing is the same? Duke must find his “way” again. He’s rough and tough, and his wall of protection will battle love’s power.

Second Ride Cowboy is now available at:  Amazon & Smashwords 

Riding is nice. But riding with a partner is much more fun…

Duke McGraw learned the hard way that life can change in the blink of an eye. Waking up from a coma, he wants nothing more than to ride back into his life—but nothing is the same, not even Lila Sinclair. With pride the size of Texas, Duke builds a wall of anger. Bent, not broken, he climbs back into the saddle to see where the rocky trail leads him. 

Lila loves Duke—always had, always will—but the wounds of tragedy run deeper than physical. Confused by Duke’s emotional barriers, Lila is at the end of her rope but refuses to lose hope. Tough and determined, Lila’s out to lasso her cowboy. But will her nurturing heart be broken again? A man like Duke comes with risks. When playing with fire someone is bound to get scorched. 

Some flames never die, and Duke and Lila’s connection is hotter than hell. Temperatures rise on the ranch and horses aren’t the only thing being ridden. When the future is at stake, choices must be made. Beyond the scars and tragedy, will love rise again or will the second chance be the last?

Excerpt;

DUKE EYED HIS neatly folded clothes at the bottom of the bed. He was at a cross of emotions. He was happy to get the hell out of the hospital, but anger dulled the shine some. He’d been teetering somewhere between pissed and relief since Dr. Scott came in and gave him the news that he’d be discharged in a few days. The smile had barely settled on his lips before she’d told him he’d need someone to help care for him until he was stronger.

Being forced into something didn’t settle well with him, and when he was told he’d have a grown up version of a babysitter, his ego thinned to the width of a piece of paper.

On the other hand, staying in a hospital where he was the only one awake besides the nurses didn’t do much for him either. He hated having nurses coming and going all day checking his stats.

There came a time when a man found himself backed against a wall and with no ego remaining to protect, he admitted his ass was in a sling.

It took him a full minute to think over the Dr. Scott’s offer of breaking out of the sanitary jail and told her to print off his discharge papers. Hell, she’d even agreed to set up his nurse. Once he got to the Swift Wind, where he planned to stay until the McAllister was ready, the sitter would run from the spitting, crude bunch of men who lived in the residential hand quarters. The thought brought vengeance in his gut.

He checked out his clothes and smiled. Damn, he was glad to get out of the open-backed gown and thin pajama bottoms. He needed real clothes—manly clothes. He guessed anything would butter up his bruised ego. He’d have to thank Chance for dropping them off, especially for remembering his old, scuffed boots.

Dressing in the new, red-checkered flannel and dark jeans, he was pulling on his last boot when he heard someone behind him. “I see the clothes are a little big.” It was Lila.

His stomach twisted like someone wringing a wet dishtowel. What was she doing here? He glanced across the worn floor to sandals that showed off red painted toenails, up her long, bare legs, skirt, along her slender waist, stopping to admire the shape of her full breasts, until he reached her face. Oh hell, she cocked her hidden lasers and burned a hole straight through him. What was she up to?

He straightened, but didn’t get up. His legs were still weak, and with the blood draining from his head and rushing into his groin, he was bound to fall flat on his face. “If the clothes are big that’s only because Chance thinks everyone is two-hundred pounds.”

As she reduced the distance between them in the already-too-small room, beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. Damn betrayal of his body.

“Chance had nothing to do with it. I brought them from home, the shirt I bought new.”

He swallowed the scratchiness in his throat. “You brought the clothes?” And what did she mean by “from home.” They’d never lived together.

“Yes, don’t sound so shocked. I made the best choice with what I thought would fit you. You’ve lost weight.”

“They’re fine. I’ll eat some of Thelma’s home cooking and I’ll have my gut back in no time. A man’s first meal after a coma should never be fed to him through an IV.” He patted his stomach as his mouth watered, already tasting Thelma’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls. Lila moved and his thoughts of food disappeared and her scent took its place. A hint of blackberry blended with vanilla. He’d never forget that smell.

“I’m glad you have your appetite,” she said, “but—”

“Thanks. Now you can leave.” No good ever came from someone adding “but” at the end of a sentence. He was getting a feeling deep inside his chest and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Thelma has a broken leg and is staying with her family during healing. And leaving? I’m actually waiting.” She turned her chin up as if she dared him to challenge her.

Duke felt every muscle in his body quiver. “Waiting? For hell to freeze over?”

A crafty smile slithered its way across the perfect shape of her lips. “Well, not quite.”

He bit back a smile. “You’re not here just to drop my clothes off, are you?” With a shake of her head, and a shrug of one shoulder, she laughed. It was the laugh of a woman who had him by the balls.

“No, afraid not. Looks like you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Duke felt a sting as the hand of reality slapped him. He’d been tricked. Anger shot through him. “You’re kidding me. You? My nurse? Not going to happen.”

“Duke,” she sighed. “Can we do this the easy way?”

“Not the easy way, not the hard way, just no way at all.”

“Well, then, you could stay here.”

The mere words made him cringe. “Hell no!” He scrubbed his jaw. A man could go insane stuck in a room. No, he couldn’t stay. “I hope you packed up your boots, old jeans and a chastity belt.”

“And why is that?” She didn’t appear the least bit bothered. Her eyes beckoned him and he thought he’d drown in them if he stared too long.

“Because the boys at the Swift Wind won’t know how to control themselves with a pretty woman sleeping in the workers quarters.” Happy with himself, he straightened his back. He guessed she’d last all of one night, considering she wasn’t much into roughing it. That’d take care of his problem.

“Oh, we’re not heading to the Swift Wind. Didn’t Chance tell you the good news? He told you everything else.”

His heart skipped a beat. He could hear the air sizzle around him as his blood heated. “Tell me what?”

          “We’re going home…”

Team O'Leary: Food Fight

Team O'Leary: Food Fight: “Ryan! No! Not the poi.” Stephanie shrieked. “Is that what this is?” I had an entire bowl of it in my hand. I...

My Magic Touch

There is magick in my world; I don’t doubt it for a second. I have had trials in my life, but I have survived. I have been protected. I have walked the floors and chanted prayerful words and the universe has granted me my wish. I write what I love. I have a wonderful time doing it. And I am able to make a living doing what I love. How much more could I ask for? Love? Yes, but I have been given that also. Magick has always been a part of my life. All the way back and I mean all the way back.

Jess and I have traced our heritage to a young woman who came over from France to New Orleans in the mid 1700’s before America was a country. These girls were known as ‘casket girls’ because they were furnished by France with little suitcases of clothes and belongings which resembled a little casket. They were meant to be a type of mail order bride sent to the new world for the wealthy Frenchmen and Creoles of New Orleans. I have read diaries where the men were told that the women were upstanding, from good families, raised in convents – that type of thing. In all actuality, I have read they cleaned out the jails and poorhouses and sent those women to Louisiana. Now that doesn’t mean they were evil or bad, back then a woman could get put in jail if she were caught on the street without a male escort. Times were difficult for women back then, especially if you were alone.

Our ancestor, Genevieve, married a man who wasn’t that good to her, so she began to seek companionship elsewhere. And I don’t mean men, I mean friends. She came to love an African slave and an American Indian woman who worked for the family she had married into. Genevieve was a little different, apparently she brought with her a little hedge witch knowledge and by that I mean she knew how to use herbs and how to heal – and maybe more. But by the time she had gained a little Caribbean voudou insight from Hessie and a few pow-wow lessons from Marta, Genevieve became a force to be reckoned with. And she passed her knowledge down to the other females in our family. Now, it’s diluted, I’m nothing special, but I have relatives who have practiced a little white magic.

My great great grandmother was a mid-wife and a healer. She could read tea leaves and tell fortunes. She could take a colicky baby and give it a few leaves of some sort and calm him in minutes. She could blow on a burn and say a scripture or two and take the pain away.

My mother was psychic, but was afraid of her power, for the most part. The only time she ever used it was to torment me – haha! But she did tell me about one occurrence and this was probably back in the sixties when she was young. She had a first cousin that she just worshiped. He was in the Air Force and stationed in California and married a woman from Palo Alto. A very well-off and beautiful woman named Josephine. My mother adored Josephine and would travel out to stay with them. She met Josephine’s family and fell in love with them and would go to China Town and Stanford University and Los Angeles – she just took California in. But her cousin’s marriage didn’t last to Josephine, much to my mother’s dismay. They broke up because he wanted to come home to Texas and Josephine wanted him to stay on the west coast. I think my mother suffered as much as they did. I wasn’t around then, so all I get is tales told around a coffeepot.

A few years later, this same cousin found a new woman and this was before the days of the internet or iphones or anything like that, so information wasn’t as instantaneous then as it is now. He told my mother he was bringing the new woman, Della, to meet the family. My mother was all prepared not to like Della – (I will give you a glimpse into the future and tell you that Della became my very very favorite aunt) she was in such an angst over the situation that she dreamed about Della – in fact she dreamed exactly what she was going to look like and what she would be wearing and she shared that information the next morning with her mother. And she was right – right down to the pink pantsuit and the bloodred lipstick.

As I was growing up, she always knew everything that I didn’t want her to know. I was never able to keep a secret. Now this might sound like any typical mother but with me – it was magnified. I have told this before, but the night I was trying desperately to lose my virginity, she called me on my cell three times telling me to stop what I was doing – immediately! My guy and I finally threw the phone out the window, but the mood was broken. He was a little too unnerved to perform – alas.

My Nana and Papa had dealings with a fortune teller also by the name of Luen. He read cards. This was back in the depression era when cattle still roamed free range in East Texas. My family had quite a large number and every evening they would call them in and the boss cow would lead the herd home. My Papa would count cows and soon he began noticing that some were missing – two, in fact, a Jersey and a bob tail red heifer. He talked it around and people were worried about rustlers.

My Nana’s mother who was a hoot told them to go ask Luen about the cows and my Nana was all for it but my Papa was a little nervous. He was like Jess, he wasn’t fond of supernatural things. To make a point, my Nana’s mother would torment him, he would go out in the late evening to feed the cattle and get all the way down to the barn and she would stand outside her house and scream “Run! Run! It’s Jack the Ripper!” And even though he knew Jack the Ripper was not in the piney woods of East Texas in 1929, he would still run like the dickens. So he wasn’t fond of the idea of going to a card reader’s house to find out about the state of some missing cattle.

But they did – Nana and Papa and another couple all piled in their car and drove the 7 miles to his house. My Papa told me that he didn’t use tarot cards. he used a regular deck of playing cards – bicycle cards. When they arrived, he let them in and Papa said the house was dark and full of creepy shadows and they sat down at a rickety dining table and old Luen asked them what they wanted to know. My Nana told him that we had some cattle missing – she didn’t say how many nor did she say what they looked like. Old Luen shuffled the cards and laid them out in a T formation and started turning them over – one by one. Papa said that every hair on his head was perked up to attention, of course he had a crew cut – what else could it be.

Finally old Luen said – “Well, the Jersey cow will come home in two days, but she’ll be hurt and you won’t ever see the red bob-tail cow again.” Ta-dah.

They all just sat there and looked at him. How had he known what breed or color of cow was missing? They hadn’t said and there was no such thing as FB or Twitter where everybody and their brother knows every little detail of your life. Papa paid him and they left and when they got in the car, he said “I wonder where that old son-of-a bitch has those cows penned up?”

They were skeptical, of course. But in two days, the Jersey came home with a broken tail and they never saw the bob-tail red one, again. Haha!

I could tell you how I use magick in my life, but I won’t scare you. It’s normal for me, I was raised to believe there was more in this world than you can explain. Where I grew up in New Orleans, the old-timers went to mass in the morning and made a mojo bag in the afternoon. I do light candles and I do wear gem stones and I do use herbs. The rest, I’ll leave to your imagination. But all of these things have led me to spice my stories, not only with hot sex, but also with folklore and spirits and hoodoo grannies and traitures and things that go hump and bump in the night – haha.

Let me give you an appropriate excerpt from HER MAGIC TOUCH – the 3^rd in the Hell Yeah! series and my personal favorite. You do know the 9^th Hell Yeah – Noah’s story will be released late this fall, it is entitled SKYE BLUE and Aron’s mystery will mostly be solved. The 7^th Hell Yeah! Forget Me Never will be available in audio book form this month and the first two Hell Yeah! are now available in Spanish and also in a sweeter version, toning down the sex, for mainstream. I love the McCoys and your response and acceptance of them has been a source of joy for me,. Thank you.

Here's the Amazon eBook link: http://amzn.to/11b1aw6 

My Website  http://sablehunter.com/

My facebook page  https://www.facebook.com/authorsablehunter

My amazon author page  http://www.amazon.com/author/sablehunter

My email – sablehunter@rocketmail.com

A BIT OF HER MAGIC TOUCH

    Joseph tossed and turned, his body felt like it was going through a heat.  Ripping off the covers, he let the cool air from the ceiling fan blow away the tatters of his dreams.  Something wasn’t right.  His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness.  There was a movement across the room.  “Who’s there?”

     The rays of the full moon gave very little light, for clouds passed hazily over its pearly surface.  The room was eerily quiet and Joseph felt like he was looking through a glass darkly – into a realm of lights and shadows.  Straining to make out who was walking so slowly toward him, he was shocked to see it was the angel from the hospital – the goddess from his dreams.  Again he asked - “who are you?”  Not that it mattered; she was someone he wanted to know, desperately.

      “Joseph.  My Joseph,” her voice was warm and sultry and caused his heart to race with desire.  As if on cue, the clouds passed from over the moon and the room lightened, becoming bathed in a heavenly glow that illuminated everything around him – including the vision advancing toward him.  It was her!  Joseph licked his lips.  She wore a thin white gown that emphasized every exquisite curve of her body. He could see large, round nipples that pushed at the gauzy fabric like they were trying to get his attention – they were damn successful. 

     Unable to resist, he held out his hand.  “I want you, angel.”  His beautiful visitor walked up to the bed and placed her small hand in his.  He raised it to his lips and kissed the tender center of her palm.  With her free hand, she released a single toggle at her breast and the filmy material floated to the floor.  Joseph’s mouth went dry and he felt his cock become engorged with passion.  Gracing him with the sweetest smile, she pulled the sheet back; then sent his blood pressure into orbit as she ran her hand down his chest to tangle in the short curls above his manhood.   

     Joseph was panting with desire.  Fascinated by her perfect body, her flowing hair and her incredible loving eyes, he held out his arms and she climbed into the bed with him, fitting herself to his body as if she were created just for him.  He pulled her over on top of him, her hair creating a sensual curtain that enclosed them in magic.  “I live for your kiss,” she whispered to him as she offered him the gift of her lips. 

     Sucking at her tongue, Joseph reveled in the joining of their mouths.  Nothing had ever been more perfect than this!  Enclosing her firmly in his embrace, he ran his hands up and down her body – learning the curves, the dips, the valleys – memorizing the silken smoothness of her perfect skin.  “Sit up, beautiful,” Joseph urged.  “I want to see all of you.”  His wish seemed to be her command, because she straddled his body and sat up, revealing to Joseph’s hungry eyes two round full globes topped with dark colored nipples that were clearly aroused and eager for his attention.  She wiggled her pussy against his abdomen and cupped her breasts in her own palms – leaning over to rub one nipple over his lips – Eve tempting Adam.  Joseph took a bite of the apple – opening his mouth and latching on to the tempting tit like it was the food of the gods. 

     “Oh, yes!” she keened as he sucked to his heart’s content.  As he fed at her breast, his siren caressed his chest and shoulders, running her hands over his face, revving up his sexual appetite like the engine of a powerful car before a race.  “I want more!” she announced as she took hold of the headboard and moved herself up his body.  Joseph was entranced as he realized she was about to sit on his face – demanding something from him he was more than willing to give.

     Paradise!  Joseph made himself at home in her pussy, licking and sucking and nibbling at the cherry of her clit.  She tasted like honeysuckle – sweet and wild. Her aroused moans and groans were making him more excited than he could ever remember being, and he repaid her enthusiasm by reaching up and taking both nipples in his fingers and working them until she began to ride his face with the same erotic rhythm.  Much to Joseph’s delight, his angel’s juices began to flow – coating his face with her passion and ensuring that his cock was as hard as a steel beam.  God, he couldn’t wait to fuck her!

     “Now!” he growled.  “I’ve got to have you now!”  He pushed on her waist, angling her down.  Joseph was so near to cumming he wondered if he would manage to actually get inside of her treasure house before he exploded.  Looking up into her beautiful face, he was gratified to see she was as hungry for him as he was for her.  Her eyes were glazed over with passion, her cheeks were flushed – and her breaths were coming in little pants specifically designed to turn him inside out with longing. 

      Steadying his angel with hands on her hips, he lifted her high enough to accept his rampaging organ.  She was as eager as he and reached between them, taking hold of his cock and guiding him into the hot depths of her body.  “Joseph,” she moaned.  “It feels good – so good to have you inside me,” Immediately, she began moving – sensuously, gracefully, and passionately – like she couldn’t get enough of him  

      “That’s it, baby – take me – make me yours - please.” Joseph groaned as she rode him with abandon – her head thrown back, blatantly relishing his hard cock throbbing deep inside of her.  His encouraging plea caused her to meet his gaze and she smiled, causing Joseph to erupt – he had never come so magnificently – jetting hotly into her body.  And as his hips jerked, she cried out his name, “Joseph!” and shattered.  Her body began to shake and her pussy fisted down on him in rapid, repeating milking motions – the most intimate caress known to man. 

     God in heaven!  Joseph pushed his hips upward, striving to put himself as deep in her as he could – Lord, he wished he could stay inside of her forever.  No orgasm in his past even came close to the rapture of this one.  Enchanted, he watched her come down from her high – her palms covering those gorgeous breasts, rubbing her own nipples – her pussy still working his cock in tiny aftershocks.  And when she focused on him – giving him her attention – laying down on his chest and resting her head on his shoulder – Joseph felt the most intense happiness of his life.  Folding his arms around her, he squeezed.  She kissed his neck, he kissed her temple – and sleep stole their thoughts and brought them contentment.

     Daylight broke and Joseph reached for her.  His hands closed on empty air.  God, he could still smell her!  Sitting up, he started to swing his legs off of the bed – and he remembered.  He was paralyzed.  And impotent. 

     “Fuck!”  It had been a dream.  Again.  That incredible woman, that incredible release had been a figment of his deteriorating reason.   “Damn! Shit!”  He almost cried from the crushing weight of disappointment that crashed down on his heart and soul.  He wanted her – so bad.  But, she wasn’t real.  She was just a dream.  And Joseph wanted to die.                
          
     She was going to have to change the sheets.  Cady looked at the huge wet spot staining her pale pink bottom sheet.  Her encounter with Joseph might have all been in her mind, but her orgasm and ejaculation were real enough to force her to strip her bed and do a load of laundry.  Good Gracious!  Cady could never remember having that type of climax in her sleep.  For a moment, she allowed herself to sink down on the bed and relive the ecstasy she had experienced in his arms.  Could sex actually feel that good?  Feeling her face flame, she covered her cheeks with her palms.  Whew!  Forcing herself up, she resumed her task.  Jerking off the bottom sheet, she threw it over in a pile and started to take off the mattress liner as well.  The sudden ringing of her cell phone halted her movements and she instantly knew her grandmother was on the line.  “Nana!” she greeted her warmly.

     “Acadia, my love,” the ancient voice was forceful with will, if not with strength.  “How are you?”

      Cady sank down on the edge of the bed, again - the events of the night before still primary in her mind.  Attempting to put them aside so she could have a legitimate conversation with her relative, she forgot the incredible insight of the woman on the other end of the line.  Before Cady could answer her question, Nana answered it for her.  “You are going to him, aren’t you?”

     Even though she knew it was useless, she stalled for time.  “Going to whom, Grandmother?”  Anytime she switched to the more formal address for her Nana, Cady betrayed her guilt at whatever her grandmother was interrogating her about.  

     “Your destiny, child; you are about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life.” Nana’s voice had dropped an octave and took on that tone of prophecy that Cady recognized from countless times before.  “You’ve been dreaming of him, haven’t you?”

     Surprise cascaded over Cady.  Nothing her grandmother could do should come as a surprise, but invariably this mysterious woman could catch her off guard.  There was no use to hedge – she was caught.  “Yes.” She didn’t have to tell everything she knew, either.

     “That is normal, Cady, we have all done it.  Women of power can bring their dreams to life,” she stage-whispered to make her point.  “I can promise you this – whatever you experienced last night - - - so did he.”  Having delivered the message she had intended, a soft click met Cady’s ears and then a dial tone.  Her grandmother was gone. 

     Cady was stunned.  Joseph had dreamed the same dream?  About her?  Would he remember their encounter?  Her hand automatically flew to her hair – to her face – would he recognize her?  Did he know it was Cady Renaud who was making love to him?  Flashes of her aggressive behavior caused her to flush with a combination of excitement and embarrassment.  How was she going to face him now? 
  

Thank you for reading

Sable

*Any references to contest/giveaways have expired*