 “Will you hurry up?” Forge leaned around the doorframe and looked up and down the narrow passageway for the tenth time in five minutes. Behind him Declan huffed an annoyed breath. “Jonas, it’s a safe with a lock and I can’t hear the tumblers with you yammering in my ear. It’s not as if we can beat it open.” Forge cracked his knuckles. “Maybe you should let me try sometime.” “Jonas, I love you, but shut up,” Declan growled. “Keep watch.” Forge heard the tumblers of the lock turn slowly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m watching,” he grumbled. Another few seconds and Forge heard the safe’s door open. He backed out of the doorway and eased the door closed. Moving quickly and silently he went to Declan and peered over his shoulder. “That’s it?”  There are many more snippets in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Endosymbiont is available in eBook and through Kindle Unlimited.
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Book Title: Dusty’s Snack Shack (Book One of the Short Orders Gay Romance Series) Author: Dann Hazel Publisher: The Original Press, LLC Cover Artist: Joshua Fippen Release Date: March 25, 2025 Tense/POV: Past Tense; 3rd person Genres: Gay MM Romance Tropes: Second Chance, Friends to Lovers, Vacation Encounters Themes: Long-Distance Romance; Importance of Community; Romance Across Social Classes Heat Rating: 4 flames Length: 60 500 words/215 pages It is part one of a new series, but can be read as a standalone It does not end on a cliffhanger. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 
At Dusty’s Snack Shack, desserts range from gooey to chewy. But Ken finds the treats at Dusty’s shop aren’t necessarily as sweet as one tantalizing owner! Blurb Sand, sun, and a steamy summer fling. That's all Dusty and Ken expected from their chance encounter at Myrtle Beach, when Ken purchases ice cream from Dusty’s Snack Shack. But as their bodies entwine, so do their hearts, leading them on a journey of unexpected emotions. With the bustling beach as their backdrop, and a sweet Saint Bernard that adores both men, they explore the depths of their passion and the pitfalls of falling in love. Then, as the summer winds down, their romance takes a precarious turn, threatening to tear them apart. Will their love withstand the crashing waves, or will it be washed away by the tide? If you enjoyed the passionate romance and twists and turns of Nicholas Sparks' "The Notebook," you'll love this beachside love story with a gay twist. Why wait? Grab your copy now before the tide changes! Excerpt “I won’t get to see you again before you leave?” The disappointment in Dusty’s voice was palpable. “Here’s the deal with me, Dusty. I’m not up to driving. Not tonight. I’m far too tired to start the long trek home, only to stop at some fleabag hotel along the way when I get sleepy. Which will happen sooner rather than later. I already feel exhausted.” “Then stay.” Dusty uttered the words before Ken finished his sentence. “Please. There’s no need for you to transfer to another hotel. I’d love for you to be my guest for as long as you wish.” “You have a life to live, Dusty, and a business to run—” Ken began. “That business will be closed for at least another day,” Dusty interrupted. “Probably longer. They’ve closed the entire block near my shop. Several other blocks have also been closed. Customers wouldn’t be allowed access to the Snack Shack even if I were allowed to open it. But I have to wait until city officials give the all-clear.” For a moment, Ken didn't speak. Then, Dusty heard a heavy, resigned sigh. “Your offer is tempting, Dusty. Really, it is. But let me ask you. Are you fucking positive?” Dusty laughed gently. “I’ve never been surer of anything else. Get your ass over here as quickly as you can.” Ken began a hearty chuckle. His chuckle grew into a laugh. “Why are you laughing?” “As you know, I wasn’t crazy about a Myrtle Beach vacation from the beginning. Now, I am adamant not to cut the damn thing short. I have four more days, for Christ’s sake! And I’m gonna take them.” Dusty turned into his driveway, which he'd almost overshot. “The beach can have a seductive effect on people, that’s for sure.” Dusty transferred the sound from the car’s audio system to his phone. He got out of his car, then headed to his front door. Benji, his tail wagging furiously, was waiting for him,. “But Dusty? I don’t want you to think the ocean is the only temptation.” Ken’s voice sounded plaintive and sincere, hinting of a vulnerability that Dusty hadn't noticed before. “It’s you, too. You’re a great guy, even if we did get off on the wrong foot. Those four additional days I have left? I would rather spend them with you.” Dusty was rendered speechless by Ken’s confession, delivered with great sincerity. Maybe, Dusty thought, the man’s much more sensitive than he often comes across. “Then it’s settled,” Dusty said. “I’m sitting on my sofa right now, caressing a big furry monster who would love to see you almost as much as I do. So get your ass over here as quickly as you can.” Ken laughed. “I’m approaching the Bayview parking garage now. I have to get clearance to retrieve my car, then I’m on my way.” He cleared his throat. “I will have to make a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up a few toiletries. That shouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes.” “Good idea. I don’t share my toothbrush with anyone.” Suddenly, Dusty felt overcome with gratitude—gratitude that Ken was alive. “Hey, Ken?” “Yes?” Dusty inhaled deeply, as though to sequester some immense feeling. “Be safe. Please. I know you’re upset. That doesn’t always make for safe driving. But remember I’m here, waiting for you. Call me if you need anything.” Ken swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Thanks, Dusty. You’re the best.” About the Author As a Florida-based author of both fiction and nonfiction, Dann worked as an educator on both the secondary and post-secondary levels. But since high school, when he served as a reporter for the school newspaper, he’s always had a passion for both reading and writing. Dann lives in Lake Wales, FL, with his husband, Josh (also a writer) and their adorable Eskie (American Eskimo), Flurry. She's definitely part of the family, with boundless energy and appetite! Dann is passionate about scenic walks and jogs around a local lake, enjoying Walt Disney World, staying healthy, reading, streaming movies and provocative TV series (especially those based on novels!) and current events. His pronouns are he/him/his. Social Media Links Website/Newsletter Sign-up | Facebook | Bluesky 
 “Maybe not. Things were disrupted, but it would have been just as easy to break in. Marcus Paulle, the Nottings, and Charlie Mills weren’t killed by a pro. They were hit with a blunt object to the head. It’s effective but messy—and makes many people ask many questions. I’m going to say this was done by someone who knew them, and to the killer it was very emotional, it was personal. It might have been a way to flush you out or let you know you can’t hide.” Val shivered. “At least when the threat was from a guy I was dating, I knew where it came from. No looking over my shoulder and wondering.” “Hey,” Wyatt said softly. He stood and moved closer to Val, took his hand, and pulled him out of the chair. “If they wanted in, they would have gotten in, but they didn’t. I’ve been dealing with this sort of crap, in one job or another, since I left college. You’ll be safe, I promise.” “How can you be so sure?” Wyatt took Val’s face in his hands and kissed him before saying “Because I intend to keep you that way.” He kissed Val again, with more urgency and intensity this time. “Now, I know you were looking at some items online, and I had some time to kill—no pun intended.” Val laughed and relaxed against Wyatt. “Yeah?” “Yeah. I found a store full of the most delightful goodies to poke around in while I was waiting to go to the airport.” “I’m guessing you don’t mean pastry?” Wyatt grinned and laughed softly. “Oh, hell no.” Run for the Roses is available in eBook, paperback and through Kindle Unlimited.     BLOG TOUR 
Book Title: To Tempt A Troubled Earl Author: Fearne Hill Publisher: NineStar Press Cover Artist: Melody Pond Release Date: March 4, 2025 Tense/POV: Third person/past tense/alternating POV Genres: MM Regency Romance Tropes: Adventure, Enemies to lovers, hurt-comfort, slow burn, opposites attract Themes: Humorous, aristocracy, scheming shenanigans on the side Heat Rating: 4 flames Length: 75 0000 words It is book 1 in a new series. It does not end on a cliffhanger. The next book is out later this year Buy Links Nine Star Press | Amazon US | Amazon UK 
A devil’s bargain, an uneasy alliance. Blurb A chancer and a rogue, Kit Angel is down on his luck. Presenting himself at Rossingley Hall in the dead of night, he begs an audience with the eleventh earl, the most enigmatic nobleman in Regency England. The visit has purpose. Kit, hungry to ruin the lord who ruined his sister, believes Rossingley is the only man who can help him. Lando Duchamps-Avery, eleventh earl of Rossingley, doesn’t trust the sinfully handsome stranger one bit. He does not care for the tales he spins, his hot temper, or his thick, ebony curls. And, most definitely, he is not in thrall to the delicious golden hoop dangling from Kit Angel’s left ear. Lando has his own motivations to ruin the same lord, and the two men form an uneasy alliance. As the dangerous plot they hatch unfurls, the suspicious earl and the shady scoundrel are increasingly thrown together. Whilst the wily earl gradually surrenders to his growing attraction, Kit can’t make up his mind if he wants to swive him, declare undying love for him, or throttle him. Bit by bit, as mutual desire swells between them, Kit wins over the earl’s body, his passion, and his trust. But in order to win the earl’s elusive heart? The scoundrel must risk losing everything Excerpt CHAPTER 1 ROSSINGLEY ESTATE, SUMMER, 1821 “You have visitors, my lord.” Inglis floated across the eleventh Earl of Rossingley’s sleepy eyeline, looking peevish. Lando swore the man had silken castors in place of feet. With white-gloved hands clasped together in front of his vexed frame, his head butler awaited his response. “And you have chosen to disturb me about this because…” Lando tilted his balloon of brandy this way and that, playing the flickering candlelight against the delicately engraved crystal. That the evening was late was an irrelevance. He and his butler were of the same accord; visitors at any time of day were unusual, unwarranted, and unwelcome. “A Mr Christopher Angel, my lord. And his sister, Miss Anne. The young man says it’s important.” One of a pair, the balloon glass had been a gift from dear Charles. “I know of no one named Angel. Begging the question ‘important for whom’?” “He didn’t make that distinction, my lord,” admitted Inglis. “But he gave the impression the matter is somewhat urgent.” Lando took a warming sip of brandy. The drink of the damned. He didn’t especially care for it, but he fancied it lent him a louche, philosophic air. “What is urgent is seldom important, Inglis,” he deemed, pleased with his wisdom. Rousseau himself might make a similar pronouncement. “If it’s alms he’s after, toss him a half-crown, some cold meats, and send him on his way.” The gloved hands wrung together. “I did try that, my lord. But he’s…ah…more insistent than our usual callers, and neither is he a pauper. And…” Inglis paused. Never let it be said the butler couldn’t milk a drama. “He…he mentioned one of his close relations. His uncle. One…ah…a former cavalry officer sadly no longer with us, God rest his soul.” As Inglis made the sign of the cross, Lando took another, more contemplative sip. So many good men had fallen during the wars in France, and a chap struggled to keep up. “Oh, yes?” Inglis cleared his throat. “Yes. A…ah…Captain Charles Prosser, my lord.” Like rancid vinegar, the fine liquor soured on the earl’s tongue. He fought to swallow it down. Perhaps he should have stuck to port after dinner. Maybe it would have better softened the dull ache now swelling behind his rib cage. Captain Prosser. His dearest Charles, his lover. His heart. Lando didn’t make his older lover’s acquaintance until after the wars, from which Charles returned hale and hearty. But where French bayonets and the battlefields of Trafalgar had failed, the insidious wasting disease prevailed. An annoying tickle became a cough, a cough tinged with blood. Slowly, inexorably, his lover faded away, their time together, in all of its perfection, too brief. A life only half lived; a conversation forever unfinished. Lando, not daring to be at Charles’s bedside at the end, heard the news of his passing from a mutual friend some two weeks after his lover had been buried beneath Kentish loamy earth. Three long years ago. Yet even now, at unprepared moments such as this—and was there ever such a thing as a prepared one?—that name still had a powerful hold upon the eleventh earl. If Inglis hadn’t broken the crushing silence, it might have persisted well into the night. “I have taken the liberty of passing the young man’s sister over to Mrs Sugden, my lord. The girl is in a state of great distress. And I have shown her brother to the small parlour. He’s…ah…not fit for the library.” Inglis’s waspish voice sounded as if coming from an awfully long way away. “My lord might wish to be more suitably attired before receiving him?” Tipping back his fair head, Lando forced another swallow of fiery amber liquid. For a second or two, it threatened to reappear, then he pulled himself together. Ridiculous. Three years gone and one mention of Charles turned him into a limp dishrag. Well, it was high time it didn’t. Time to make a clean breast of things. Time to stop bloody moping. Charles would have hated him squandering his salad days drinking alone and brooding in front of a dying fire. He cast his gaze down his spare frame. Fussy Inglis might wish him more suitably attired, but Lando gave not a fig. As purportedly one of the richest men in England, Lando could host a ball clad in only his underclothes, and the ton would declare it the latest fashion in Paris. He pinned Inglis to the spot with his pale eyes. “I’m decent. Uninvited callers find me as I am, or not at all. As you damned well know.” About the Author Fearne Hill resides far from the madding crowds in the county of Dorset, deep in the British countryside. She likes it that way. Her queer romance, Two Tribes, was a finalist in the 2023 Lambda Literary Awards. Author Links Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Bookbub Giveaway Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win one of five copies of Two Tribes (nominated for a Lambda Literary Award in 2023) 
My snippet this week is from Marked Yours, book 1 of Sentries.  Jimmy had said it would take time. Todd was willing to be patient and give Nick whatever he needed. Most days, Todd was delighted that what Nick needed was the safety of Todd’s embrace. Except when Todd couldn’t move. He’d barely been able to convince Nick to sit still while Jimmy pulled out tiny glass shards and cleaned the cuts, suturing a few. Twice Nick growled out a terse, “Leave me alone,” which made Todd chuckle. Months of him telling Nick he had the right to defend himself, and Todd, if needed, and he picked now to listen. After taking care of the worst of Nick’s wounds, Jimmy left them, muttering something about how they were two sides of the same coin and deserved each other. Todd wasn’t sure it was completely complimentary. There are more snippets of all varieties in the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group. Marked Yours is available in eBook and paperback.
BLOG TOUR 
Book Title: The Lake House Massacre Author: Chris Bedell Publisher: Baynam Books Cover Artist: Christy Aldridge Release Date: January 20, 2025 Tense/POV: Third Person, Past Tense Genres: YA LGBTQ Horror/Thriller (the main character is a bisexual male) Themes: Forgiveness vs Revenge, Trust Length: 30 000 words/172 pages Heat Rating: 2 flames It’s a standalone book. A sequel (Mother Mania) is coming out in March. There is a mild cliffhanger, but it wraps things up for the most part. The door is left open for the sequels. But a lot of questions get answers. Note from author: This book isn’t a romance book. But Tate’s ex-boyfriend, Nick, is a part of the plot. I can’t say much because of spoilers. Although I want to make it clear this isn’t a romance story because I don’t want people to expect a happy ending for Tate and Nick. It’s a horror/thriller story first and foremost. Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited 
18-year-old high school senior Tate Robinson and his friends are spending Winter Break at Tate’s family’s lake house. But there’s a serial killer on the loose. Blurb 18-year-old Tate Robinson should focus on having a relaxing winter break with his friends. Their parents all agreed to let them spend several days at Tate's family's lake house without adult supervision. Instead, someone wearing a scarecrow mask stabs Tate's friend, Elijah, on the second day of the trip. Everyone remains at the lake house. At least temporarily. The body count starts rising after Elijah's death, though. So, if Tate and company want to survive the trip, they must uncover who's after them. And quickly. Furthermore, Tate must deal with his former fling, Nick, who tagged along by showing up at the lake house uninvited. Tate and Nick were supposed to be taking a break...they wanted different things. Tate hoped to keep their relationship casual because he was afraid of getting his heart broken. Meanwhile, Nick craved a real relationship. But just because Tate and Nick could reconcile doesn’t mean they should reunite. With a killer on the loose, Tate can’t be too careful about who he trusts. Excerpt Tate walked away from Nick, then grabbed his jean jacket on the rack by the door. The wind howled, stinging Tate’s face once Tate left the house. So much for Elijah claiming it wasn’t cold. Tate should’ve realized that Elijah downplayed the temperature. Snow crunched under Tate’s sneakers while he shuffled towards the woods. Nick could make breakfast, which he all wanted, but when Tate returned to the house with Elijah, he demanded that Nick go. If redirecting Nick’s focus didn’t work, Tate would try another strategy. He wouldn’t give up until Nick left. That simple. “Everything okay?” Tate asked after trekking deeper in the woods. He just found where Elijah was. And Tate had no idea why Elijah would be staring at a tree. Elijah whirled his body around. “Just wanted some time to myself.” “No problem.” Tate huffed, breath becoming visible once he exhaled. “But are you certain everything’s fine?” “No. But it will be.” Tate glared at Elijah. “Don’t give me that look. Nothing’s wrong. I just have a crush.” “Care to share?” Tate didn’t care about seeming nosey. Being best friends meant they could discuss anything with each other. Tate might even be able to help Elijah. Having a disastrous love life didn’t mean Tate couldn’t be there for his friends. He would. Perhaps his strained dynamic with Nick might provide insight to help Elijah with his current romantic problem. Just a thought, anyway. “I like Sydney as more than a friend.” Elijah tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. Tate gaped. “Wow.” Elijah blushed. “Please don’t say anything to her.” “I won’t.” “I’m serious, Tate.” While Tate understood that awkward stomach feeling better than anyone else, he didn’t need Elijah hassling him. Tate had nothing to gain from outing Elijah’s secret. Doing so wouldn’t have benefited Tate. Spilling personal secrets was also a shitty thing to do. And Tate would never stoop that low. Not ever. Tate beamed at Elijah. “You have my word.” “Good.” “Do you plan on telling her how you feel?” Tate asked. “I was hoping to be alone with her sometime during the trip. Just don’t know where even to begin.” “I’m sure you’ll find the right words.” “Thanks. That means a lot.” “Don’t mention it.” “How are things with Nick?” Elijah asked. Tate shouldn’t have been shocked by Elijah’s question. If Elijah’s love life could be dissected, then Tate imagined his romantic life would be scrutinized, too. Only fair. Being asked a question didn’t mean Tate had to answer it. Not if he didn’t want to. A lump lingered in Tate’s throat. “Don’t ask.” “Okay then.” “I wasn’t saying that to be snarky. I was being serious.” “I’m sure everything will work itself out. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, situations usually seem worse than they are.” “Maybe.” Tate’s teeth chattered. Perhaps visiting his family’s lake house during winter wasn’t the smartest idea. Tate’s heart thumped louder and faster. Something stole his attention from the corner of his eye. More specifically, someone. A person wearing a scarecrow mask stood behind Elijah. But someone wearing a disguise wasn’t why Tate’s pulse hadn’t slowed down. Sunlight glinting against the metal object the stranger held was why sweat coated Tate’s brow. Tate screamed. “Behind you, Elijah!” Elijah spun around, back now towards Tate. The person in the scarecrow mask lunged forward, stabbing Elijah in the throat. Blood spurted from the top of Elijah’s neck before he collapsed. A bright red color stained the snow near Elijah’s head. Disbelief swelled inside Tate. Someone couldn’t have murdered one of his best friends—the idea was unfathomable to Tate. Yet the dread coursing through his veins remained as palpable as the desperation from Nick during their earlier argument in the kitchen. So, Tate had two options. Fight the person who killed Elijah. Or run. About the Author Chris Bedell is the author of over twenty small press books. He also graduated with a B.A. in Creative Writing from Fairleigh Dickinson University in 2016. Author Link Giveaway Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win one of two ebook copies of my YA LGBTQ novel The Killing Game. It’s another teen slasher novel. 
 To an observer it would appear Taren was casually looking around the patio at the restaurant decorations, glancing occasionally at Ian. It was probably obvious to people they were comfortable with each other and didn’t need the constant conversation that came with couples early in their relationship and dating. Ian wanted to lean back in his chair, enjoy the heat building in his pelvis, spread his legs wide, and invite Taren to do whatever the man desired. However, he couldn’t do that here, something that only fueled his excitement. The game was simple, Taren would push buttons, literally, and Ian had to endure the sensations coursing through him without outwardly letting on what he was feeling. His ass tightened and he forced himself to try and relax. “Are you enjoying our new little toy?” Taren asked, his voice low and husky. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. God, Ian loved when Taren used that tone of voice. He moved his hands to the arms of the chair, gripping hard. “I-I do, s-sir.” Just when Ian thought he’d eject himself from the chair and hump the table leg the massager stilled once more. His body slowly, very slowly relaxed, but the heat between his legs was insistent as ever. The waiter picked that moment to show up with their food and a pitcher of ice-cold water. Ian chugged a glass and refilled it, drinking half but a little more slowly. Taren stuck the remote into his shirt pocket. “Remind me later and I’ll bring up the website the piercing technician referred me to. You can look at all the goodies available.” Ian smiled between bites of dinner. “I’m looking forward to that. A lot.” He quickly added, “Sir,” before taking another sip of beer and a few more bites of salad. It was time to jump into another conversation. “I’ve been thinking about your friends.”  Last day to pre-order at $2.99!    This week's snippet is from my upcoming release, Force Majeure.  Kevin shoved back, forcing Ian against the wall, hand on Ian’s chest applying enough pressure to restrain Ian. He spoke in Ian’s ear, his voice low. “You sure weren’t arguing a few nights ago when I manhandled you, boy.” Kevin gave Ian’s chest a pat before he let go and took a few steps back. “Taren’s the only person who calls me that,” Ian spat. Kevin winked. “Hmm, we’ll see.” He sighed and opened the door. “Maybe I’ll look at other locations for my company.” Ian shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets so Kevin wouldn’t see them shake. “Go ahead. As you can see, we’re not hurting.” He had to concentrate on every word to keep from stammering. “Maybe that’ll change.” Kevin smirked and walked out of the room, nodding to Jocelyn coming back in, as he passed her in the door to the outer office. Head on over to the Rainbow Snippets Facebook group for more snippets! Force Majeure is available in eBook and can be pre-ordered for $2.99. Release day is March 18 and it will be in Kindle Unlimited.
 Without really giving it any more thought, Linden leaned forward, pulling Tyler toward him at the same time. He brushed his lips lightly over Tyler’s a few times, then ran his tongue across Tyler’s lower lip. When Tyler groaned and got one hand up and fisted in Linden’s shirt to tug him even closer, Linden slid his tongue between Tyler’s lips. Linden let go of Tyler’s hand and inched his arm around Tyler’s waist. Tyler stretched out and leaned back until he was more under Linden. He groaned and arched against Linden, grinding their hips together. Linden broke their kiss, moaned softly, and licked along Tyler’s jawline. He nudged Tyler’s head back farther and sucked lightly along his neck, pausing to swirl his tongue over Tyler’s Adam’s apple. Tyler’s hands roamed up and down Linden’s back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. They rocked together against each other, bodies heating, breath quickening, and in Linden’s case, heart hammering. Linden’s phone chimed. Reluctantly Linden pushed away from Tyler and murmured, “That’s Randy’s e-mail.” Tyler chuckled, and Linden felt his body vibrate beneath him. It was erotic, and Linden had to use every ounce of control not to rip both their clothes off and give whoever might be watching a real show. “Saved by the bell,” Tyler snickered. “You should check that, then we can pick up where we left off.” Linden flopped to the side and sat beside Tyler, pressed against him. He scooped up his phone and grumbled, “I’m going to get you for this, Randy.” That earned him deep, rich laughter from Tyler. “Me too. Should you really be kissing your suspects?” Linden swiped the phone’s screen and accessed his e-mail. He looked sideways at Tyler and smiled slyly. “It’s not standard procedure, and if you turn out to be guilty, I’ll make you regret it.” As he read the e-mail, he sat straighter and scooted away so there were a few inches of space between them. “What does it say?” Tyler sat up and turned to face Linden. “Linden?” “He found Dimas.” All Linden could think was how much he hoped he didn’t have to say the words. Tyler’s expression sobered immediately. He stared into Linden’s eyes, and Linden bit down on his lower lip for a second. “He’s not alive, is he?” Tyler asked softly. Linden shook his head. “I’m really sorry, Tyler.” Tyler stood up and paced away. “I need…. I….” His voice trailed off, and he stepped out of the pit and went to his apartment.  🌸 Soak up the springtime vibes with the Peachy PAs Spring Break Giveaway! 🌸 Entering is easy: > visit https://tinyurl.com/peachyspring1 to enter > follow me, and other authors, on Amazon > come back every day for bonus entries Prizes include a Kindle e-reader, paperbacks, and ebooks from participating authors. Good luck, bookworms!    As he’d done at the coffee shop, Forge stepped ahead and opened the door to his suite, waving grandly for Blair to enter. Moose trotted in, heading straight for a round, dark table a few feet from the door. There was a copper coffee set in the middle. Blair walked in and stopped, taking a look around. This man, Forge, was an enigma and the biggest study in contrasts Blair could imagine. Forge set the box on the table beside the coffee set. He tossed his car keys into the sugar bowl and lifted the top of the coffee pot, pulling out a dog treat. “Who’s my best boy?” Moose sat and woofed, catching the treat out of the air. He munched it happily, then sat and woofed again, making Blair laugh. Forge threw the dog another morsel. “Is that an antique?” Blair asked. “Yeah. One of Simon’s attempts to civilize me. Makes a convenient dog treat container. Boiled coffee is the pits. I like coffeemakers or a French press. Old is not always best.” Blair laughed when yet another treat sailed through the air. “He has you well trained.” Forge arched an eyebrow and nodded, grinning sheepishly. “You have a nice laugh. I like it,” he said and took off his leather jacket, hanging it on a coat rack near the door. “You can look around. Be comfortable. I only bite the tender parts.” When Blair sucked in a breath and stared, Forge held both hands in the air. “Joke.” “Funny,” Blair said. What he really wanted to say was damn. The sitting room had a deep green sectional couch facing the fireplace, with high end tables and a long, narrow table against the back. The floors, like Simon’s, were hardwood, finished to a soft luster. Instead of Oriental rugs, there were oval, braided lodge-type mats in deep burgundy and dark green. “No coffee table. Tail,” Forge explained and pointed at Moose. A stereo system, just as kickass as the one he’d seen in Simon and Ben’s suite, sat in one corner. Hanging on the walls were prints of nebulas and star clusters. Another section was a collection of photos of all sorts of dogs. Some of the photos were older, and all of them had different types of frames. Several were actually sketches, not photos. None of the dogs were purebreds. “Moose’s predecessors. The ones I have pictures of, anyway,” Forge said quietly. He moved about, unpacking the box. He carried the food containers into one of the bedrooms. “Declan did the drawings and paintings.” “Who is Declan?” Forge avoided eye contact and said, “The guy who is the artist.” There was more to it than that; Forge’s explanation was too thinly veiled. Blair felt how it bothered Forge to talk about this Declan person. He sensed it would be a case of waiting for more information to be offered. Asking for too much more right then wouldn’t get Blair anywhere. An American flag hung on each of the three walls between the bedrooms, encased in glass. Blair counted the stars on each. “Are these real?” “Yep, authentic, and were new when I bought them.” “And a real Confederate flag? You were a Reb?” Blair gazed at the flag, also in glass hung to one side of the fireplace. Wouldn’t it be just his luck to hook-up with a man who thought what that flag represented was okay. Beneath it was a framed newspaper article. Blair squinted at the heading, Little Big Horn. Forge laughed. “Hell, no I wasn’t a Reb. That flag is from Sherman’s March. Not our finest hour, by the way. I keep that and a few other things as reminders of bad times. People tend to get rid of pieces of history they don’t like. Problem is, then a generation or two later no one remembers the cruelty represented by those symbols, or worse yet, glorifies them. There are events I witnessed and I don’t want to forget why they happened in the first place.” He sighed. “So, I have a Confederate flag, a few Nazi propaganda posters, that article about Little Big Horn and a copy of a book Custer wrote, reminders like that.” Blair relaxed and moved closer to the fireplace and mantle. Mounted over the fireplace were two Calvary sabers, blades crossed. Above them were three rapiers, from ornate to simple in design. “Those are cool, they’re from Europe?” “French, 1700s.” “Are they yours?” Blair asked. Again, Forge avoided meeting Blair’s gaze directly. One quick headshake was the only answer offered. The name Declan popped into his head. No matter how hard he tried, Blair couldn’t get away from that name. Blair moved along the mantle, looking closely at the line of small, clear cases, each holding a gun. On each end of the rough stone mantle sat a bugle. Blair rested his fingertips on the mantle near one of the bugles. “This one’s old, Civil War?” “Hmm, maybe. I was a bugler during World War One, that was handed down to me from an older soldier.” “Older than you?” Forge chuckled. “Not really, but he looked older. The other one I used in Korea.” That made Blair smile. “You play the trumpet, too?” A quick glance back and Blair saw Forge grin and shrug.    |
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