Hunks After Halloween--A Different Breed

Another Halloween is past. Last night I pondered what makes this holiday so popular, especially among readers. My favorite, vampires? Wolves? Werewolves? Warlocks? Ghosts? No matter what the entity, a creative energy flows within and without writers who weave those paranormal romance tales.

But what about another breed of hero—the rough-and-tumble rodeo guy. He commands attention wherever he goes. Fiercely protects his loved ones. Casts a powerful love spell over any heroine ready for a wild ride. Takes many a fall but manages to get back on his feet. Sexy whether the sun’s up or down.

Jack Dodson is such a hero. He lives as hard as he loves, and he’s not used to focusing on one female at a time. All of that changes when he reconnects with Kimberly Taylor and realizes how much and who he’s really been missing all these years.

Whenever Kimberly Taylor’s around her childhood friend—former champion roper and rider, Jack Dodson —the sexual tension between them crackles more than lightning in the Texas summer sky. But both have learned the hard lesson that business must sometimes come before pleasure. Jack’s now co-managing a local ranch and bent on getting his life back together after a series of upheavals, injuries and dead-end relationships. Western outfitter Kim wants to slay her sexual demons and find out if Jack can bring the satisfaction so many have promised but never delivered.

During her vacation visit with the Dodsons she uncovers a sex-slave ring operated by the man who may become Jack’s next father. Rabid curiosity clashes with criminal minds and escalates the drama in a small town where love and loyalties are harder won than any rodeo trophies.


Roughrider -- Dirty secret is discovered

Shawna Moore | MySpace Video





Excerpt from ROUGHRIDER –


Another morning, another empty place beside me in bed. I stifled a yawn. Jack sure knew how to keep a woman awake and lull her to sleep. Each stretch of my arm and leg brought only a cool, dry sheet. Not a trace of body heat. I forced open my bleary eyes and looked around the room.

Jack had long since gone and taken his radio.

Less than three hours ago I’d drifted off connected physically and emotionally to a man for the first time in my life. Galen had always pushed me to my side of the bed. Told me I got too hot and kept him from resting.

And that lying, cheating bastard had kept me from exploring my truest passion for two years. Can’t run a business to save my life? Since kicking his ass to the curb I’d opened a second boutique featuring The Cowboy’s Connection’s brand of Western wear. Profits were up at both boutiques.

The gnawing in my stomach intensified. Skipping meals or eating like a bird could lose me a couple pounds of excess body fat but I couldn’t hope to make it through another day only on reserves.

The red numbers bored into my brain. Six thirteen. At this ungodly hour I craved two things—Jack and a tall glass of orange juice.

I sank onto the pillow. Orange juice or another hour’s sleep? Orange juice to wash down one of those crisp pastries Sue fried up and placed in the cow’s head canister. More rumbling. Damn. Why wouldn’t my body let me alone for a change?

From the cedar chest, I claimed the sleep shirt that never made it past my head last night. I tossed it back down. No. That thing was as sheer as the lacy curtains in the front room. Instead I slipped into a pair of jeans and grabbed the pink, clingy t-shirt from the chest of drawers. No bra was necessary for breakfast alone. Shame on me maybe, but if anyone hadn’t ever seen a braless woman they didn’t get out much in the world.

Or eat at The Lone Star.

The lime green flip-flops stayed in hiding so I padded barefoot toward the bedroom door. A turn of the key gained me access to the hallway and I plodded ahead, one foot in front of the half-numb other.

Voices carried up from the lower level. A man’s tone came louder and harsh enough to strip lacquer from every floor in this farmhouse.

“You don’t know where she went yesterday? Well I have a pretty damned good idea, Gloria.”

“Stop shouting or you’ll waken her.” Each word came out as though wrung from Gloria’s throat.

“I’ll do more than wake her when I find her. She has no right prying into other people’s business.” A masculine cough.

My heartbeat lodged in my throat. Paul Westcott. A cupboard door slammed. I hurried into my room, closed the door and locked it. Reaching the window, I shoved it the rest of the way open and worked myself out, feet first. A gust of warm wind slapped my face and upper body.

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Happy day-after-Halloween and reading,

Shawna Moore
TO HELLE AND BACK AGAIN -- Ellora's Cave
TORMENTED -- (Recommended Read) -- Ellora's Cave
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave
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