Bulled Over by Catalina Ferrer #FREE

by Sarah | Jun 21, 2013 | Book Spotlight, Guest Authors, Writing

I have read this short story, and I’m all to happy to promote it for Catalina during her FREE weekender!!  Pick up a copy and enjoy this sexy little paranormal!!

[amazon_link id=”B00DCCYDV0″ target=”_blank” container=”” container_class=”” ]AMAZON[/amazon_link]

Blurb:

What happens when in a weird twist of fate–or karma–the bullfighter becomes the bull?

Conchita Peron, a bullfighter still trying to earn respect in a male-dominated profession, vows to kill Asesino, the bull that took her father’s life. But what she doesn’t know–and may not realize in time–is within the bull’s body resides the soul of the man she once and still desires…that of the very handsome and very dead matador Antonio de le Vega.

Will she set aside her thirst for revenge in time to see the heart under the hide?

Excerpt:

“Senorita, you really should be resting, not drinking. You need a clear head for tomorrow.” Mateo—once mozo de espada to Antonio, now Conchita’s—gave her what had to be the twentieth warning glance in the last hour.

It was becoming harder and harder to ignore him.

“A few shots of tequila never hurt anyone,” Conchita shot back and punctuated her statement by throwing her head back and downing another small glass of the scorching amber liquid.

“Ah. But a few shots of tequila and a pitcher of beer…” Her assistant wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Liquid courage may help you now, but it will not help you tomorrow when you are in that arena facing the most feared bull in Mexico.”

Conchita hated that her friend and mozo could see right through her, and she hated even more that he was right. But she’d be damned if she let him know that.

“Just go. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. The hotel is not far. I don’t need a chaperone.”

The man hesitated, his hands perched on the edge of the bar, his butt half off the seat. “Are you sure? You promise you are leaving soon? It is already ten p.m. You should get a full night’s rest—”

“God!” Conchita interrupted, slamming her empty shot glass on the bar. “Don’t mother me, Mateo. I’ll be fine. I’ve fought more bulls than I can even remember right now. What’s another one?”

“The streets this late at night—”

“Are fine,” Conchita stated with a warning note in her voice. “If I can fight bulls, I can fight men. They are nearly one and the same. Horny fuckers.”

Mateo blinked in surprise and his lips twitched at one corner, but he rose from his seat. “Till tomorrow morning then. Ten a.m.”

Conchita felt bad for being so harsh with him. In an industry that showed her very little respect, he had been good to her, had stood by her patiently for three years. She’d never regretted hiring him after Antonio’s death and he didn’t deserve her attitude. She needed to get her head on straight and focus her bad attitude where it belonged: on the bull.

“Yep. Ten. I’m leaving soon. I promise,” she said, then added, “Goodnight, Mateo.”

“Buenas noches, Conchita.”

He doffed his baseball cap, nodded one last time, and was gone.

Conchita watched him go, vowed to finish the half mug of beer still in front of her, and then she would leave. She knew better than to overindulge the night before a fight, but she could hold her liquor as well as any man and her nerves were strung tight. No, liquid courage wouldn’t get her far tomorrow, but it would help her sleep tonight.

In the absence of her friend, she became more aware of her surroundings: the tinkle of glasses as the bartenders shuffled, grabbed, and washed them, giggles from women in the corner as they eyed the men playing pool, the sound of balls hitting balls, voices from the men at the other end of the bar.

“I bet you a hundred pesos she loses,” one man said.

“I don’t know. Revenge is a strong motive. He killed her papa and her lover.”

Conchita spewed beer all over the counter in front of her. Her lover? What tabloid had they been reading? Dios!

“Matadoras don’t have lovers. They are all lesbians. They want to be men!” a third man declared drunkenly.

It was a battle not to turn and look at the men having this discussion, but Conchita forced herself to be still. She caught the bartender’s eye as he approached her, a white rag in hand.

The conversation continued, but she feigned disinterest.

“I heard Asesino had to be pulled off a cow, tasered and roped and drugged. His amorousness knows no bounds,” man number two’s voice came again.

His amigos chuckled as though that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

Conchita gestured for another pitcher of beer, wanting an excuse to stay and listen to the men’s conversation.

“An amorous bull is a fierce bull!”

“His cock was this long!”

More laughter.

Conchita cast a sidelong glance at the men and her eyes widened at how far the speaker held his palms apart. Did he really think it was that long?

“But you see,” man number one said, leaning forward as though he had a secret, “he is full of testosterone and missing his cow bitches. Now that he’s had a taste of cow cooch, he’ll be dying to get back there, bursting with sexual frustration, and this will make him vicious. He will kill her right away!”

The bartender placed the pitcher in front of her and Conchita quickly poured herself a mug, downing it as quickly as she could as the man’s words roiled with the yeast in her belly.

“Jorge, you saw him today, didn’t you? Didn’t you see the bull?”

“Si! Si! I saw him arrive yesterday. He’s in the barn! Massive, fierce, angry! The poor matadora. Let’s hope she’s been practicing.”

Conchita gulped, swallowing more beer as she did so. And she continued to drink and listen, drink and listen, as she clutched the red sachet under her shirt.

“Two hundred pesos says she defeats him.”

Gracias a Dios! At least someone had faith in her.

“No, no,” another man protested. “One hundred pesos says his cock is this big!”

Conchita summoned the bartender for a shot of tequila.

Catalina Ferrer lives in an undisclosed location and prefers to remain mysterious. She loves readers, however, and invites them to like her Facebook page to stay up to date on further releases from her. She promises not to spam you to death.

More than a Job by Lynette Endicott

by Sarah | Jun 19, 2013 | Book Spotlight, Guest Authors, Writing

| Trailer | [amazon_link id=”B007F4D0CO” target=”_blank” container=”” container_class=”” ]Amazon[/amazon_link] | Desert Breeze Publishing |

BLURB:

Paige Hamilton is forced to seek a new life when her consuming, 24/7 job ends at the hands of a new company owner. But Paige is a survivor, and begins to build a new life, one that may even have room for romance. When the handsome stranger is the first to help her through the transition she falls fast and hard for Joshua Robinson.

Then she discovers he is the cruel owner, and that the company she’d loved — the company that cared so much about the adults with disabilities who lived in their homes — is in a downward spiral that puts the life of one of her friends at risk.

Romance, job loss, life coaching, hidden family treasures, and a secret about an uncle she’d never met — Paige learns that life is More Than a Job.

 *~*

EXCERPT:

Paige rounded the corner and jogged toward the Elm Street house at a steady pace. She felt great. She was breathing, zoning into the rhythm of her steps, head up, taking in the blue sky, the leaves with their fall colors, the mums bright splashes against the green lawns. The tension from her most recent separation from Josh began to recede.

Suddenly her heart pounded at a more rapid pace. She couldn’t register, couldn’t accept, what her eyes told her was true. Don sat on the porch in his wheelchair. Someone she didn’t recognize stood behind him — as the chair rolled toward the steps. Not the ramp. The steps.

Don waved his arms frantically.

She lengthened her stride and shouted with all her breath, “Wait! Stop!”

I will never make it in time. Pounding faster than she’d known she could run, she closed in on the house. The man in the gray sweat suit behind Don looked up, paused.

Maybe she would make it after all.

The man turned and went back into the house. He must have pushed away from the chair as he moved. He certainly hadn’t set the brakes. The chair rolled forward in slow motion, tottering at the top of the three steps, then turning, tumbling, crashing upside-down at the bottom as she arrived at Don’s side.

I can’t panic. She peered into Don’s startled, pale face while she fished out her cell phone. She knelt beside him, twisting around so he could see her face from his crumpled position on the ground.

“Hey, guy, this is no way to start the day.” She kept her tone light while checking him visually for injuries. No blood except for a scrape on his forehead. Good. She dialed 911. “I’m not going to move you, Don.”

Alert, he looked into her eyes.

“This chair is too heavy for me. Anyway, I want a doctor to check you over. Okay?”

Don blinked twice, his signal for yes. She covered his hand with hers while she talked to the dispatcher, giving the address, stating the nature of the injury, keeping her voice calm and steady.

Where were the staff? She plugged her headset into the phone and dropped it into her pocket.

“I’m going to talk with this man while we wait,” she told the dispatcher. “Yes, I’m trained in first aid, but I don’t think I should move him. He fell on his neck and head, and I don’t want to cause more injury.” She turned her attention back to her friend.

“Don, I know you must hurt.” Several minutes had passed since his fall. Why hadn’t anyone in the home noticed he was gone? “Does your head hurt at all?”

One blink. No.

“How about your neck?”

Don hesitated. Maybe.

“Your legs?”

Two blinks. Yes.

She looked closer. He’d skinned one knee in the fall. At least he’d been buckled into the chair, controlling the injuries some. Maybe.

Sirens blared in the distance, and a female voice emanated from inside the house. “Bert, where’s Donnie?” Without waiting for an answer, the woman commanded, “I told you to wait with him by the front door.”

Suddenly a young woman appeared at the door and screamed out, “Bert, what have you done?”

She stayed on the porch, but turned to Paige. “Is he all right?” She didn’t move from the door, as if afraid of the answer.

Paige kept her voice calm to keep her anger at bay. “I don’t know yet. I called an ambulance.”

She didn’t know the staff person, and the staff person didn’t know her. For all she knew, Paige was a stranger kneeling on the walk with a man the other woman was supposed to assist. Why didn’t she assume some responsibility?

“I need you to page your supervisor — and bring me Don’s medical book,” Paige said, hoping her no-nonsense tone resulted in quick action. “It’s the red one with his name on it, in the medicine cabinet.

“I don’t know how to page my supervisor.” The girl looked young and scared and had to be brand new. Her small, frightened voice confirmed Paige’s fears. “This is my first day alone. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

The ambulance turned the last corner. Paige stepped out to the curb to signal the driver, but directed her words to the girl. “The list is by the phone. Call the on-call pager. Tell the person on call that Don fell and needs to go to the hospital. Get someone here to help you right away.”

She didn’t have time to worry about the young woman for the next few minutes. She ended the call to the dispatcher with thanks. She briefed the paramedics and showed them how Don communicated. When they finally had him on a stretcher, a neck brace in place, she realized someone needed to go with him, and no one had come. She would have to go.

The ride to the hospital lasted just long enough for her to make three important phone calls. She called Don’s mom first.

“Meg, it’s me. Paige.” Before Meg could chitchat, she hurried on. “Don fell at the house. I’m taking him to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. He’s conscious and giving me a hard time as usual, so I’m sure he’ll be fine. He has a couple of scrapes. But I knew you’d want to have him checked over.” She didn’t explain how she happened to be at the house. Meg didn’t ask.

“Oh, Paige, I’m in St. Louis. It will take me three hours to get there. Tell him I’m on my way, okay?”

“I’ll tell him, and I’ll stay with him until you get here. We’re going to Community Hospital, so you can check at the ER there.”

“Let me talk to Don before I leave, okay?”

“Sure.” Paige held the cell to Don’s ear. “It’s your mom,” she told him, and was reward with a smile as he listened to Meg’s encouraging words.

When Paige couldn’t hear the rumble of a voice, she took back the phone.

“Anything else, Meg?”

“No, I’m on my way. I’ll see you as soon as I can get there. I know he’s in good hands until I can be there in person.” Meg sounded rushed but not panicked. Good.

“Drive safe, then. We’ll be waiting as patiently as we can.”

Paige’s next call was to the on-call pager. “This is P.J. Fields. Hopefully by now your staff person’s told you Don’s wheelchair rolled down the front steps at Elm Street.” She wondered if her frustration came through her voice. Part of her hoped so. Maybe she could stimulate some action. “Since no one else was available to do it, I got his mom’s permission and I’m taking him to Community. Someone needs to meet us there.”

Finally, she called the Day Program, explaining that Don would not be in today and that they would have to check with his case manager for more information….

Then they were at the hospital. Paige climbed from the ambulance and walked beside the cart on the way to an examining room. A paramedic described the injuries to the ER doctor while she made small talk with Don. The EMT had dressed his scrapes, but he’d had no other treatment. The doctor listened, made some notes, and turned to leave the room.

Paige put her hand on the doctor’s sleeve to get her attention. “Wait, please. What are you going to do next?”

The doctor frowned, tapped her foot, seemed uninterested and in a hurry to leave. “We’ll observe him for awhile, see if anything becomes apparent.” Paige had seen such disinterest, heard the bored tone, far too often when seeking medical care for people who couldn’t speak for themselves.

She’d learned to be persistent. “It was a nasty fall. I saw it happen. The risk of both head trauma and neck injury are there, don’t you think? He’s at very high risk for osteoporosis. Anyone who can’t bear their own weight is at risk. Any bone could be broken.”

“Yes, either is possible. We’ll watch him for signs of head trauma.” The doctor looked at her with a little more attention, but said nothing about a possible neck injury or broken bones. Paige bit back her anger. The doctor probably didn’t think a spinal cord injury would make much difference in Don’s quality of life. His chart said he was quadriplegic already, so the doctor probably had no idea he had full sensation. He wasn’t paralyzed; he just didn’t have full control of his muscles.

“He can’t respond easily,” Paige persisted. “Probably only a CT scan will tell you want you want to know. Won’t you consider it?”

The doctor really looked at her now. “Dr. Curtis,” she said, extending her hand, “and you are…?”

“I’m Paige Hamilton, a friend of Don’s.” Time to bluff if he was going to get any attention. “I’ve been on the phone with his guardian and mother. She’s on her way, but she wanted me to tell you she hopes you will do a scan.” Well, if she knew the details, Meg would certainly require a scan.

“His guardian has requested it?”

“I’m worried, too,” Paige pressed on. “He seems less responsive than usual, and I’ve known him for ten years. Aren’t you concerned?”

“How is he less responsive?” Finally she had some attention.

“He keeps dozing off, and he doesn’t open his eyes to answer my questions until I’ve asked two or three times. He could be in pain, of course, but it could be caused by something more.”

Dr. Curtis sat down and wrote the order, and within minutes Paige sat in the waiting room outside the x-ray area, where they would check Don for broken bones and other injuries.

Paige sat back to relax, to close her eyes for a moment. Only a moment, because suddenly everyone around her moved very fast. First the technician told her the doctor needed to talk with her right away. Then the doctor who came wasn’t the first one, but a neurosurgeon.

“He has a bleed on his brain,” he told her. “We are going to do emergency surgery to evacuate the blood. If we don’t, the pressure can cause serious injury or even death. We are taking him to prep him now.”