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Check out our exclusive excerpt below!
When he woke it was to the smell of wood smoke and frying fish. Tiny orange sparks drifted up from a fire and burned out against the night sky. Lucky rolled over.
His companion had obviously regained enough strength to build a fire in the lee of two nearby gravestones. The man leaned up against the taller of the stones, with his goggles shoved up on his head to hold his hair back from his face. He’d helped himself to the catfish from Lucky’s basket, spitting them on a stake and setting them over the flames to cook.
With the light playing over his features and shining across the silver streaks in his blond hair, it became horribly obvious to Lucky that this man didn’t just sound a lot like Dalfon Elias. There was no mistaking the white scar that cut through his left eyebrow like the tail of a comet or the hard lines around his mouth and brow that made him appear far older than his twenty-five years. That was him, in the flesh and looking rough—the front of his coat tattered and bloody, a bruise darkening his cheekbone. And of course, the smug bastard just gazed up at the stars as if he hadn’t a care in the damn world.
Lucky wanted to knock that easy smile right off of his face. At the same time some part of him still longed to wrap his arms around Dalfon and tell him how much he’d missed him. If that didn’t make Lucky a fool, he didn’t know what did. Dalfon had promised a fine life for the two of them together in the west; then he’d left Lucky waiting at the Edgewater Coach Station.
And Lucky had waited.
He’d stood for hours on the muddy street, anticipating that wonderful moment when at last Dalfon might appear. He’d watched the sun rise as high as his hopes and then sink down into the dirt.
Now Dalfon had the gall to show up and trot alongside him like he didn’t know Lucky from Adam. Despite all that, Lucky’s heart pounded in his chest and as much joy as rage roused in him at the sight of the man. Lucky wasn’t certain if he felt more angry at Dalfon or himself for harboring so much longing.
“You gonna lay there staring all night or come over and eat something?” Dalfon called.
Lucky glared at him thinking that, yes, he was more mad at Dalfon then he was at himself. Maybe madder than at anyone else he’d ever met.
“Seems a waste not to eat fish while they’re fresh,” Dalfon added. “If you aren’t hungry, I don’t suppose you’d mind me helping myself.”
That was the last straw. Lucky jumped to his feet and stomped to the fireside. “Those are my fish.”
“Don’t think I said otherwise, did I?” Dalfon replied with a smile.
The man was infuriating! But Lucky couldn’t think of a rejoinder that didn’t make him sound like a foul-mouthed brat.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Ginn Hale lives in the Pacific Northwest with her lovely wife and their ancient, evil cat. She spends the rainy days admiring local fungi. The stormy nights, she spends writing science-fiction and fantasy stories featuring LGBT protagonists. (Attempts to convince the cat to be less evil have been largely abandoned.)