The Munsters had their niece, Marilyn. Buzzard’s Breath has Emily Redfeather. Being the only ‘normal’ one in the bunch ain’t for the faint of heart.
Emily Redfeather, Brittney Redfeather and Jo Parker are buried under the chaos in Buzzard’s Breath, Arizona. Between Emily getting stuck running a no-kill animal shelter, Jo’s great-aunt accidentally killing Jo’s mother and Brittney’s father blowing up the farm truck while trying to kill gophers with dynamite, the girls have their hands full sorting out the family crazies. Sanity is so tough to come by in today’s dysfunctional version of the Munster family that the girls band together to form their private sanctuary in the midst of the chaos—the Marilyn Club.
After years of dancing around their feelings for each other, Hawk and Emily struggle to find a way through the obstacles preventing them from pursuing a relationship. But the dangers of Hawk’s career stand in their way and anyone he gets close to could end up dead. As they work to solve a murder that Jo Parker’s Aunt Maddie is up to her neck in, Hawk and Emily realize they must either find a solution to their relationship challenges or put their feelings behind them and move on.
About the Author
Kayce Lassiter is a second-generation native Arizonan, and a Butterscotch Martini Girl, who was born to deaf parents and grew up on a dairy farm. She is country through and through, and writes what she knows—snarky contemporary romance in a country setting—what she calls "Cowgirl Fiction”. And just for fun, she likes to throw in some magic now and then. She is a consummate smart-alec, which shows in her humorous, heart-tugging stories about everyday people complete with broken hearts and all the flaws that come with being human. Some of her characters will make you laugh, others will touch your heart, but they will all take you to a world where dreams are possible and hearts can be mended through the power of love. Kayce lives in rural Arizona with her three horses, three neurotic dogs, and one rat-killing duck named Tubby who thinks she’s a dog, and lays her eggs in the wading pool.
Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Kayce Lassiter 2017. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
“Dead? What do you mean she’s dead? I just got a letter from her a week ago. How can she be dead?”
“Maybe she wrote the letter before she died.”
“Yep, she was probably still alive when she wrote it.”
“Probably?” I groaned. A headache thumped at the base of my brain.
This is going nowhere.
My dad didn’t always make sense on a good day. The fact that he thought his sister was dead wouldn’t make this one of his good days.
Am I really having this conversation on the phone—and from the office, no less? Holy cow, this is freaking painful. But I’ll get further if I just go along with him.
“Okay, Norman. How did she die and where is she?”
“I don’t rightly know how she died, Emily. She’s just dead.”
“Where is she?” I shouldn’t be short with my dad, but he was so trying at times like this.
When he didn’t answer, I went back in for another shot. “Daddy, where is Aunt Beatrice?”
My father, for some unknown reason, always said he preferred it when I called him Norman. But through the years, I’d found ‘Daddy’ worked best when I needed him to focus on what I said. I’d long suspected it was the name he secretly treasured, so I saved it like an ace-in-the-hole for when I really needed it, despite his protests.
Dad hesitated before replying, “Aunt Beatrice?”
I closed my eyes to keep from screaming.
The quiver in his voice was a sure indication he wasn’t as steady as he tried to make me believe. He walked a thin line.
My father had been an insurance salesman for many years, but had retired when he’d sustained a serious head injury in a car accident the summer after I moved to Tucson. For the most part, he functioned okay and got along well in the small town he lived in, but often drifted into a fantasy world where he claimed to be an ex-DEA agent. Everyone in town knew of his injury and loved him, so they went along with his fantasies and sometimes humored him more than they should.
His best friend these days was a chimpanzee named Chaz someone had dropped off at the farm well before Dad’s accident. He’d taken to the creature right off the bat and delighted in telling everyone Chaz used to be his partner in the DEA.
I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried again. “Daddy, tell me where Aunt Beatrice is.”
“She’s right here, sitting in her rocking chair.”
“In her rocking chair? She’s in her rocking chair?” My mind reeled as I skimmed through all the possibilities. “Are you sure Aunt Beatrice is dead?”
Aunt Beatrice was my father’s sister and he lived with her on the family farm where they’d grown up. My mom had died of lung cancer shortly before my fifth birthday, so Dad and Aunt Bea had raised me along with half the children in town. They were always taking in strays, whether they had two legs or four.
Sounding like a man discussing the weather, he replied, “She’s dead all right. I’ve seen dead before and she’s definitely dead.”
“Yes, Daddy. You remember Beau—your son. Where is he?”
“Oh, Beau. He stayed at his girlfriend’s house last night.”
“Great.” Fine time for my brother to find a girlfriend.
I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask, “Daddy, how long has Aunt Beatrice been sitting in her rocker…dead?”
“Let’s see. She was there yesterday, but I don’t think she was dead. No, I remember her crocheting and we talked a bit. So, she must’ve been alive yesterday, or was it the day before? Hmmm. No, I think it was yesterday. Yes, definitely yesterday. She must’ve died today then…I think…maybe.”
Holy crap. Really? Can this be any weirder?
Frustration and panic had me by the throat and my stomach clenched. In a flash of inspiration, I had an epiphany and decided to come at it from another direction. “Daddy, think hard. Is Aunt Beatrice in the same clothes she had on yesterday when she was crocheting?”
The silence stretched on forever.