Tuesday, 29 April 2014
After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass Kelly has had enough of men and the big city. She needs a change and a challenge. On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the outback town of Mundabucka. Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again.
Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing stirring in town. It’s the annual Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?
Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International Airport. In front of her was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating. Unlike Cairns it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral sundress she was wearing.
She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.
“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a ‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’
She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”
“Who?” came a voice from behind her.
Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement. Men. Amusement. Not happening.
“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”
City chick? “I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”
The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.” He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile wider.
Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”
Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”
“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family. Sort of.
He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”
“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”
Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet and back up to her eyes. “What’re their names?”
“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?
“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be important to you.”
The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders. “Mitzi and Bert.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he reached for her bag.
“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smart ass man.
Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”
“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place. Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair, a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was reluctant to get rid of.
“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”
“I’m not most women.”
Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”
She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”
“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from here.”
“Great. Let’s go.” She desperately wanted a shower. “Where’s your car?”
“Yeah, I rode here.”
“Well, how am I supposed to get to McNally’s?”
“On the back of my horse.”
What the? She hadn’t ridden a horse in her life and wasn’t about to now. “What about my stuff?”
“Phil will drive over later with it.”
Cass placed the chicken cage on the ground. “Fine, I’ll go into town with Phil.”
“No worries. He goes off shift in six hours.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Six hours?”
“Yep, he’s stationed here in case of emergencies.”
Cass looked around at the vast expanse of nothingness. “Like what? Aliens landing?”
Monday, 28 April 2014
So, I was talking to a very good and wise friend about various things, as we do, and the subject came up about underwear and the three minute rule. What? You don’t know what the three minute rule is? To be honest, I didn’t know about it either. We were talking about underwear and how you may notice it on someone and wonder how comfortable it is or isn’t but essentially after three minutes it’s no longer an interesting topic and underwear is just underwear. It is probably even more so a three minute deal when you live with someone all the time and what’s covering a derriere is same old same old so a three minute look sums up the interest level.
I dunno. I think I want more when it comes to underwear consideration time when it comes to important to look at underwear be they on significant others or sexy men. I don’t want to be restricted to a glance or a seen-it-all-before-look. I believe when it comes to the perusal of underwear there should be no rules. Just my thoughts as someone who constantly wanders around the house in my underwear for longer than three minutes. I couldn't live with someone who was timing me and my underwear.
Say no to rules.
Say no to rules.
Saturday, 26 April 2014
So, I've been thinking about the name for a female nemesis. I've also been dealing with this situation. Writing versus life. Then the name of the nemesis was given to me by something happening in my life. I'm calling her Temerity Cann©. Why? Because someone in real life is pissed that women can be strong and bold enough to fight against dickheads.
So, thanks so much for shoving the word 'temerity' in my face. You know how much you mean to me.
Thursday, 24 April 2014
"Jacqueline, is that the best you can do?" He sent a sent a smashing blow towards her nose.
She only just dodged the black, fisted boxing glove by retreating backwards, lightly on her feet as the rush of air from the power of it shot over her nose. Refocusing, she aimed an uppercut at his stomach. "Don’t call me Jacqueline."
He bowed his body backwards, deflecting the punch. "Jackie, then."
Jack Katz smiled. She knew this man of old. The games he played she enjoyed. "Do you want me to beat the shit out of you?"
Magnus Wellsby snorted at that. "Like you could. You’re just a girl, Jaq-ue-line."
Whack. Her fist connected with his jaw. Jack had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes momentarily blink in pain. She followed up with a hook to his stomach. The involuntary sound of oomph from him made her smile. He never gave away any feelings or emotions unless caught off guard. Like now. "You’re getting old, Squiggly." She danced around him punching the air waiting for him to re-group. "How old are you anyway?" He was her colleague, boss and mentor. He annoyed the hell out of her with his attitude and fascinated her with the mystery that surrounded him. One minute he was obvious, the next obtuse and confusing. Jack called him 'Squiggly' due to his dark, bushy eyebrows that looked like they had been haphazardly drawn on. Those, and his curly hair, made her think of squiggles. Of course he was the least ‘Squiggly’ man she had ever met. There was a deep, magnetic intensity about him that was both powerful and frightening. Calling him Squiggly, in her mind, slightly leveled the playing field they were on.
"Why? You interested in me?"
She bounced back and forward in front of him. Could he knock her on her ass? Absolutely. Would he? Absolutely. That was their relationship. Equal, yet not so. Jack wasn’t silly enough to think she knew everything about the dark haired man. In some ways it was probably best not to. There was a scary, intense edge to him hidden behind a charming smile. "Well, when the paramedics come it would be helpful to be able to give them your approximate age." It was then she caught her sneakered toe on the edge of a rubber exercise mat and hit the floor, landing hard on her side. The fall jarred her. She rolled over and looked up at her opponent. Jack knew being vulnerable at any stage with him was dangerous.
He laughed. "On your back, where you should be, Katz." Magnus charged her, giving no quarter.
Jack scrambled onto her knees and crawled fast along the ground. It wasn't dignified but it wasn't meant to be. She was only looking to get enough distance between them in order to get to her feet. Once up, Jack repositioned her stance. Left foot forward while her right was behind giving her strength. Her red gloved fists guarded her face. She liked boxing. It was good cardio that kept her reflexes strong and Squiggly was a good opponent. Unlike other men she boxed with, he treated her like an equal and pulled no punches. Neither did Jack. "Bring it on, Squiggly-man." Magnus charged her, fists flying, making her continuously back away. She knew she needed to get in a position where she could force him back but it was hard. He just kept coming.
"This enough for you, Katz? Do you need more? Something harder or deeper? More out of control? I know you like it like that."
She did. But not boxing. They both knew that. "I’d wear you out of we had sex." Jack was starting to sweat, trying to avoid contact with him.
He laughed at that. "I may not want to have sex with you." Magnus threw a long armed punch.
Jack managed to avoid it. Just. "That’s true. I’ve often wondered whether you like men better."
**Story 2 in the Jack Katz Zombie Hunter series
Friday, 18 April 2014
So, I'm picking up Rosie, a kelpie with a dash cattle dog in her, next Tuesday from the homeless shelter after I come back from a trip to the middle of nowhere. Yesterday I bought food and stuff so I had everything when she wanders in. Last night I put together what initially appeared to be a simple dog bed. Simple-my-arse. First of all the instructions were completely wrong for me. I think they were written for someone else...like a man. I did almost consider calling a very good male friend and requesting him to 'fix it please'. But I didn't. I girded my loins and with Allen key in hand I put the dog bed together upside down. $#^%!!!! I looked at it, upside down and thought, "That's fine. I can live with that." Then I looked again and thought "%^&*!!! Damn it, I have to pull it apart." Once apart I assessed all the pieces very, very carefully and even retrieved the instructions from the bin and after careful consideration I put it together upside down - again. %^&*!!!! What!!! I stopped and had a coffee and assessed the problem deciding it was a either a left or right brain puzzle and I hate puzzles and I absolutely knew that the instructions were wrong - stupid instructions - and none of this could possibly be my fault . And yes, I did consider super gluing that sucker together or tying it up. After another cup of coffee and a lot slapping around the face, I struggled for another 40 minutes to get the thing together. After a lot of swearing and maybe the generous application of hammer to metal, the dog bed was done. See? Easy. No problem.
Sunday, 6 April 2014
I was reading this book, part of a series, by a well known paperback writer and I was about four pages into it when I found out a character died. Just like that. He's dead. I flicked back a couple of pages to make sure I hadn't missed anything and that pages weren't stuck together. I checked the series number of the book to make sure I hadn't skipped a book in between - but no, the character was dead. I avidly read on trying to work out what had happened, how the heroine was coping and wondering what she would do next now that this person had left her life. I liked that the heroine was pretty stoic, albeit heartbroken, about it and that she was getting on with her life wondering what she was supposed to do as I was wondering what she was going to do.
To me, this is a good writer and a good book. Make me think. Make me wonder. Too few people write those books and when you find them, that's golden for a reader. It beats the hell out of shag the heroine for 99 pages with a plot on one page to suggest credibility.