Sunday Snippet: Underfoot

So… the new season of Banshee started and blew my mind with the first episode. I have no idea why I'm so drawn to the show, but it never fails to push just a little further than I think it will. The opening scene equaled sheer perfection.

The Librarians is still making me smile and I’m getting ready to start Miss Fisher's Mysteries on Netflix this week. I've heard super awesome things about the series and can't wait to get into a new to me show.

OH! The CW also renewed ALL their fall dramas and I read the showrunners for The Flash and Arrow plan a once a year crossover for the two shows. WOOHOO!! Seriously happy for that news.

Bitten starts next month on Space and my unblocker app and Chromecast is going to be busy each week while I stream the episodes multiple times from the website. (Then watch again when Syfy airs them. :D)

And that's enough about TV, right?

Tonight's post is from Underfoot, a novel showing how my male characters gets his groove back… with a little help.

Here's the tagline:

Nona Rack, a footloose artist and Jane of all trades, breaks down beside reclusive author West Wentworth's house at two am during a blinding snowstorm. The cranky writer lets her stay, even though she's underfoot, and before he knows it, he's discovered a new muse.

And a snippety peek…

Nona Rack turned down the road and slowed down. The snow blew in a crazy back and forth pattern, making it damned hard to see anything ahead. She cut her brights and pumped the brakes, easing to a crawl and hoping like hell she didn't start sliding on the icy crunch under her tires. As soon as the thought hit, she fishtailed and skidded sideways, going off the road and dipping into a low-lying ditch. Her car stalled and she pounded her gloved fists on the steering wheel.

Lowering her chin, she rested her forehead on her hands. "Dammit. Why didn't I tell Moose to wait until next week?" She heaved a sigh.

Right. Because she needed to pay bills and get new spark plugs for her vehicle. Painting a collage of her friend's favorite rock bands gave a quick five hundred bucks. Not finishing until after one in the morning landed squarely at her feet. She could've left when it started snowing, but she'd been in a zone and didn't want to quit until she finished.

Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she thought about calling Moose, but decided against it. He'd been on the road for two weeks and only had three days off before heading back out again. By the time he got out to her location and back home, he'd have burned a couple of hours. He and Madge needed some alone time.

Peering out the window, she scanned the area. A lonely two-story sat off to her left, all darkened and gloomy. No other homes appeared to be in the vicinity on that side of the street. A sprawling ranch sat well off the road to her right. She leaned forward, squinting against the snow coming down. She caught the warm glow of a light in the window. Or not. She couldn't quite tell from inside the car.

Letting out a groan, she reached behind her and jerked her hood up over her head. "Argh. No help for it. Gonna have to see if I can get some help." She shut put the car in park and removed her keys from the ignition.

Crawling out of the car, a frigid blast of wind hit her in the face, an icy spray of snow dusting her skin. But a single lamp burned at one end of the home. Someone had to be up. She shivered and used the flashlight app on her phone to look for a driveway. Finding one, she followed the winding lane, quickly drifting over with snow, to the front door of the house. Taking her glove off, she rapped loudly on the door.

Poor West (my hero) won't know what hit him once he answers the door.

That's it for this week. Happy reading!

Skylin