Hi everyone! Welcome to Day 5 of the Paws with a Cause Donation Event! Today, my guest is Lynn Lorenz!
I hope you enjoyed the last four day’s posts and if you didn’t see them, just scroll down when you’re done here and enter to win some more prizes! Then hop over to all the other blogs for even more fun and games. There are 59 Blogs most of which have multiple bloggers, so for eight great days, you can hop around and read stories about pets, discover books about pets, and generally have a great time. Blog posts here at Beautiful Boys Books so far include me, Cat Cavendish, PG Forte, Katya Armonk, and today, Lynn. Each of us is awarding a prize at the end of the week, so enter to win on each day!
Today, it’s my delight to welcome my friend and mentor, Lynn Lorenz. If you read romance fiction, chances are you’ve devoured more than one book by this award-winning author. Today, Lynn is talking about one of my favorite books, and the favorite of thousands of readers, Edward, Unconditionally. You have to meet Winston! And Lynn will be giving away a copy of Edward, Unconditionally to one lucky commenter, so leave a comment WITH YOUR EMAIL!
Edward, Unconditionally
Lynn Lorenz http://www.lynnlorenz.com
Publisher: Loose Id
When I first pictured Edward Beauregard III, he showed up with Winston, his English bulldog. They appeared in my head, together, inseparable, and I knew the title in that odd moment – Edward, Unconditionally. Because who loves you more than your dog? Lovers come and go, especially for Edward, but the one constant in his life is Winston. The little dog loves his Edward, and no matter how long the separation, Winston is always thrilled to see his master. Winston loves Edward and Edward loves Winston. Unconditionally.
So this book is about unconditional love, and for Edward, who never thought he’d find it.
Blurb — Edward has the power to heal with the touch of his hands. When he’s sent to Spring Lake, Texas on a mission to heal his estranged grandmother, he learns that just because you have the power doesn’t mean you have to use it. And when Edward and Winston, his English bulldog, meet Jack, the chief of police, they threaten to complicate Jack’s life more than Jack’s ready to accept.
Excerpt —
“Well, Winston. What do you think about Texas?” Edward drawled in his soft Georgia accent as he cast a sidelong glance at his best friend and constant companion.
Winston, a six-year-old English bulldog, didn’t answer. He was far too busy hanging over the edge of the passenger door, his face in the wind, pink tongue lolling from the side of his gaping mouth, as Edward drove down the rural blacktop at sixty-five miles per hour.
“We’re definitely not in Georgia anymore.” Edward sighed. “I’ve never seen so much livestock in all my life.” He shuddered. Another field of black cows dotted the rolling hills. “Although, I’ve always wanted a brown and white cowhide Louis Quatorze chair. It would be très chic, n’est-ce pas?”
Winston eyed him sadly.
“The only good thing about Texas is the cowboys. I do love me some cowboy.” Edward gave a low, “yum yum yum,” and wiggled his eyebrows at Winston.
Winston favored him with a soft woof, then returned to flying his tongue in the wind.
“You like them too, huh? Maybe you’ll find a cow dog.”
Woof.
“Honestly, you’d probably have better luck out here than I would.”
Edward picked up the map he’d folded, laid it on the steering wheel of his Miata, and glanced at it. Spring Lake had been circled in red, and the road they were on had been highlighted in yellow.
Who’d ever heard of a Farm to Market Road? He’d exited I-10 westbound and turned south onto the two-lane road, all the while wondering where the market was or if he’d come to the farm by following the road to its end.
The idea of being on a farm gave him the heebie-jeebies. He was so not a Country Living kind of guy. More like Metropolitan Design. Sleek leather, minimalistic window treatments, grass-mat flooring. No livestock in the house.
Not lace curtains, tacky multicolored chintz, and those god-awful oval rugs from the fifties. So Lucy and Desi move to Connecticut.
He shuddered again.
But duty called. Well, not exactly duty, but his mother, Lillian. When Lillian Rawlings Beauregard bellowed, Edward Paul Beauregard, the Third, answered with a controlled, if tight-lipped, “yes, Mother.”
And if Edward valued his trust fund, and he did, he did what he was told. He gave a silent but respectful, “fuck you,” to his late father for requiring Edward to reach forty before he inherited. As if at thirty, or now at thirty-five, Edward didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life or that he’d outgrow being gay. Never mind that he’d never finished college or that he’d had numerous careers, each one more exciting than the last.
Who made the stupid rule that you had to do one thing for your entire life? Or even for a few years? Life was meant to be lived, not to wallow in a rut.
He’d be the first to admit he’d led an unconventional life. A wild life, even. Scads of parties, beaucoup champagne, madcap friends, overseas adventures, and numerous lovers. For his father, that was right where it had begun and ended.
Edward’s lovers.
Like his latest debacle. No, he didn’t always pick the best men. Okay, he never picked the best men.
“Can I help it if I’m drawn like a moth to the flame whenever there’s a bad boy within reaching distance?” he asked Winston.
Woof.
Edward glanced at his dog. “You did not just roll your eyes at me.”
Woof.
“Since when have you started channeling my father?”
Woof.
Edward gave a long-suffering sigh.
With the gay half of Atlanta buzzing over Edward’s latest spectacular breakup, and oh yes, they always had to be spectacular—this time in the middle of the dance floor at this season’s gay black-tie ball—Edward needed a quiet place to lick his wounds. Hurt and embarrassed, Edward had crushed his slice of seven-layer chocolate Doberge cake in that cheating bastard Derek’s face, whom Edward had taken into his heart and into his condo.
Secretly relieved to get out of town, Edward had made his excuses for the rest of the social season, packed his matching Louis Vuitton travel bags, and hopped in the convertible. Then he drove to Houston from Atlanta, with instructions from his mother to visit his grandmother and find out what was ailing her.
And heal her.
*****
“Hell and damnation!” Edward flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror.
A large white car with blue and red flashing lights followed him, and he could hear the wail of a siren. For a moment, he thought about not stopping but decided Texas wasn’t the place to try to elude the cops. Didn’t they use cattle prods here?
“You don’t think that’s the welcoming committee, do you?”
Woof.
“I didn’t think so.” Edward slowed down and eased off the road as far as he could without going into a ditch big enough to eat a Buick.
He reached over, picked up his jacket, and fished out his wallet. Taking his proof of insurance and the registration papers from the glove box, he sat back and waited, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the wheel.
“You don’t think Barney Fife was using gaydar, do you?” Edward chuckled as he watched the cop car pull behind him.
Winston scratched at the door.
“
You need to go walksies, Winston?”
Woof.
Edward grabbed Winston’s leash, dug under the red bandanna that decorated Winston’s neck, and clipped the end to a leather collar. Getting out, Edward pulled on the leash, and Winston hopped down.
A deep, irritated voice came out of the air. “Driver. Get backin your vehicle.”
Edward waved at the cop to let him know it was all right and walked around the car with Winston. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, Winston,” he intoned as the dog, head down, nose in action, sniffed his way along the grass at the side of the road.
“I said get back in your car. That’s an order.”
Good Lord, there was no need to get pissy about it.
Edward called over his shoulder as the dog pulled him farther away, “My ID is on the seat if you need it. I just need to walk my dog.”
* * * * *
“No. No. No,” Jack muttered. This was not happening to him. He’d given that guy a direct order, and he wasn’t used to being disobeyed. Jack shook his head, and the motion started the pounding again.
“Fuck!” He opened the car door, got out, slid his hat on his head, and put his hand on the butt of his semiautomatic. There was no way in hell he was going to take this crap from some… He stopped, doing a double take at the young man and his dog.
“What the—” he muttered under his breath.
The man and the dog wore matching red bandannas tied around their necks. Jack blinked. The dog, one of those ugly-as-hell bulldogs, waddled down the side of the road. Immense balls swung with every step as he pulled his master after him like a cowboy holding on to a stubborn cow headed for the barn.
His owner wore the tightest dark blue jeans Jack had ever seen cover a man’s behind. His ice blue shirt was Western cut, but the piping had brown leather fringe. At least, Jack thought it was leather.
“Oh my God.” Jack held back a snicker. Was this guy for real?
Jack headed to the car, leaned over the door, and picked up the packet of papers.
“Get over here. Now,” Jack ordered as he looked at each form. After checking the name, Jack tossed the registration on the seat. It matched the name on the insurance card, which he added to the pile.
He picked up the leather wallet. Soft, supple, it reeked of Italy and money. He had no idea how much it cost, but it was probably more than he’d spend on a good leather jacket. Looking up, he watched the driver approach and come around the car with the dog pulling hard on the leash and growling.
Jack looked at the dog and frowned, then up to the man’s face. Early thirties, five feet ten inches, short black hair, and deep brown eyes that stopped Jack in his tracks.
The growling grew closer, louder, then white-hot pain erupted as the dog chomped down on Jack’s ankle and shook his leg like a…well, like a dog with a bone.
“What the fuck!” Jack jumped back, dropped the wallet, and drew his weapon.
“No! Don’t hurt Winston!” the guy yelled, lunged forward, and grabbed Jack’s weapon arm.
Jack’s mind screamed ambush, and his adrenaline kicked into overdrive. He hopped backward as he jerked his arm away from the man and tried to kick the dog off his leg at the same time. Everyone was growling, and everyone had a piece of him.
“Let go of me!” Jack shouted. “Stop it, or the gun might go off!”
“Don’t shoot!” The man’s grip tightened on his arm, now more frantic than before. Jack flexed his bicep and pulled the guy into him, his gun pointed at the sky.
Through gritted teeth, Jack said, “If you let me go right now and get this mutt off me, I won’t shoot you both.” They weren’t quite chest to chest; the guy was shorter than Jack by a good four inches. Jack wanted to kill the son of a bitch right then and there. Then the damned dog.
“Promise?” Breathy and soft, that one word shivered down Jack’s spine and held him in its grip.
“I promise.” He had no idea why he was making promises to this man. He didn’t have to promise a damn thing; he was the law.
The man let go and stepped away just as the dog shook Jack again, its massive head snapping from side to side. Jack hopped backward and his arms pinwheeled in the air. He lost his footing, went down on his side, hit his head on the ground, and a new wave of pain erupted as his elbow jammed down on the blacktop.
The gun went off.
The front tire on the car hissed and flattened.
Someone screamed.
The man grabbed the dog, cooed to it, and Jack felt the dog’s teeth release his leg.
No one was going to believe this. Thank God his patrol car wasn’t one of the ones that had the new dash video cameras and that this moment wouldn’t be captured. And shared among all his men for them to laugh at him.
If it were up to him, no one would know about this either.
Standing over Jack with the dog in his arms, the man looked down at him. The bulldog’s tongue licked around its mouth as if savoring the taste of Jack’s flesh and blood, looking very pleased with itself.
From his spot on the ground, Jack said, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
He shoved his gun back into the holster and pushed himself up to sitting. After pulling up his leg, he rolled up his cuff, pushed down his black sock, and examined the bite. Two puncture wounds just above his ankle leaked blood, his pants were shredded, and his dignity was shot to hell.
Would it be murder? First degree or manslaughter? How much time would he have to do?
“I’m going to have to impound your dog. He doesn’t have a tag.” Jack grabbed his hat and shoved it back on.
“You can’t do that!” The man clutched his dog to him and stepped back. “Winston can’t go to jail.”
“Yes, I can. I’m the fucking chief of police. I can do anything I fucking want to. And if you give me any more lip, I’ll toss you in a cell and throw away the fucking key.” Jack pushed to his feet. “Now, put the dog back in your car.”
Finally, the guy did what Jack told him to do. The dog hopped in, and as the man shut the Miata’s door, he murmured to the dog, “Stay right there, Winston.”
Woof.
Jack glared at the dog, then said, “Now, hands on the car and spread your legs.”
“What?”
Jack grabbed the man’s arm and spun him around. “I said, spread your legs,” he growled as a flash of power and control shot through his body. Uh-uh. Not good.
“But I hardly know you. I’m really not that kind of guy,” he drawled over his shoulder.
As the bulldog kept his eyes on Jack, probably looking for a chance to bite again, Jack slid his hands over the guy’s back, hips, and down his legs, lingering on firm muscles, absorbing the heat of the younger man’s body. “Anything you want to declare?”
“Just my sexuality, Officer.”
“That’s chief of police.” Unfortunately, he was clean. Jack had hoped he’d find something on the dude, just to add to the list of charges. “Put your hands behind your back.” Jack pulled out his cuffs.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Put your hands behind your back.’”
“Am I under arrest?” This time the younger man did as he was told. Jack slapped the handcuffs over his wrists and then walked him by the arm over to his patrol car.
“This is for your protection and mine. I’ll take them off if everything checks out.”
“Promise?”
Jack caught a flicker of fear in his brown eyes; then it was gone. Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Stay here; don’t move.” Jack leaned him against the bumper.
Sliding behind the wheel, he picked up the radio and took a deep breath. The man had made him so mad
Jack had lost his professionalism, lost his control, and had cursed. Not cool.
Christ, Jack had been so rattled, he hadn’t followed procedure. For all Jack knew, he could be wanted in three states. That shirt alone should get the guy arrested.
He stole a look at his prisoner, decided it was time to pull himself together and act like the cop he was, put down the mic, and got out of the car. He strode over to the Miata and picked up the driver’s license and wallet lying on the ground, then gathered up the other papers.
Jack stared at it. “Edward Paul Beauregard the Third? Are you joking?”
“No.” The man stood straighter.
“The Third?” Who puts that on their license? Senior, junior, maybe, but the little III behind the name seemed so pretentious.
“Yes. I’m Edward Beauregard, of the Atlanta Beauregards,” he drawled, as if it should mean something to Jack.
“Well, Mr. Beauregard, I’m going to call in your license and see if you need to be sitting in the back with that crazed mutt of yours.” Sitting in the car again, he picked up the mic and read off the numbers to his dispatcher. If it came back positive, he’d put the guy in the back of the car. With his damn dog.
“He’s not a crazed mutt. He’s registered.” Beauregard tilted his nose upward.
“Registered as a lethal weapon?”
“Lethal weapon. Cute. I had no idea sheriffs were sofunny.”
Jack let the sheriff comment slide. “Does he always attack people?”
The man looked Jack up and down, then purred, “Like me, I guess he can’t resist a man in uniform.”
*********************
Thank you, Lynn. Everyone, be sure and leave a comment with your email to enter to win a copy of Edward, Unconditionally!
And here’s all you need to know about the wonderful organization we’re supporting with this Hop!
Paws With A Cause® enhances the independence and quality of life for people with disabilities nationally through custom-trained Assistance Dogs.
PAWS® increases awareness of the rights and roles of Assistance Dog teams through education and advocacy. Founded in 1979, Paws With A Cause is dedicated to helping its clients who are challenged by many disabilities, such as Cerebral Palsy, Muscular Dystrophy, Seizure Disorders, and Hearing Disorders to name just some. Each of our dogs are trained to meet the specific needs of our clients. Tasks may include opening and closing doors, picking up objects, pulling a wheelchair, turning lights on and off, and alerting a person to particular sounds like a telephone, doorbell, smoke detector and many others. Our dogs change lives by enhancing the independence of our clients. By just opening a door, a dog opens up the world for a person with a disability and your donations will go to making that happen. PAWS thanks you so much for your donation and allowing us to open more doors.
Paws With A Cause
4646 South Division
Wayland, MI 49348
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