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livlepretre · 3 years

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Hey so this is something I meant to ask a while ago, but I totally forgot about it until like five minutes ago. A few chapters ago, Klaus told Elena he hadn’t slept with anyone in years. Is this a head canon you have about Klaus? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I remembered you saying you thought he would have been sexually reckless in his very early vampire years. If you do think he’s been celibate more recently, is this because he was kind of a paranoid reclusive for a while there? I feel like what I’m asking has different responses based on which universe we are speaking about—whether that be canon, FE canon, or SWBS canon. Cuz like I could see you needing to add that in there so there’s no possibility Klaus has gotten other women pregnant recently in the SWBS narrative. Long story short, I guess I just want to know if there was a reason for this specific line and how you head canon Klaus’s sex life has been over the course of a thousand years.

oh my God YESSSS I love this ask haha

I think that Klaus lost his virginity to Tatia Petrova, and she was the only woman he ever slept with as a human. (She was also sleeping with Elijah, but I do think she was in love with both of them but Elijah was the one who offered that shot at getting married/having a better life, and Tatia was enough of a realist to try-- unsuccessfully-- to break it off with Klaus, but that’s a whole other headcanon.)

Her death fucked him up pretty much permanently. I think his whole “love is a vampire’s greatest weakness” thing is a result of this tragedy-- this was him turning his heart to stone after having it utterly broken. And of course... also turning his heart to stone in the wake of not even knowing how Tatia felt about him in the end-- was she using him? Stringing him along? Did she really love him back? He’ll never know, because his parents murdered her in the most gruesome and terrifying way possible.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge his appetites though. He and his siblings quickly descend into lusts of every sort-- their bloodlust and their sexual appetites intermingle, get confused-- Klaus dabbles with women, playing games with consent and seduction using compulsion, egged on by Kol, and even Elijah, and egging them on in turn. His lovers are often his victims, especially in those early days, when he had less control over his appetites and left a lot more bodies in his wake. It wouldn’t be very long before the list included men as well as women, and those early years would have been almost like a kind of frenzy-- a savagery fueled by the madness of the curse, the fact that their lives had been ripped apart by their parents whom they should have been able to trust, by the dark maw of his grief.

I think he and Rebekah would have become lovers sometime around 10, 20 years into being vampires-- the subtext of the show supports their incest-- they’re just too weird together!-- and I headcanon that he would have been the one to take her virginity. It would have to be far enough into their curse that by then all of the social mores prohibiting various cruelties and abominations like sibling incest would have been stripped from them-- they were already delighting in murder, torture, rape, etc by then for some time, slaves to their own damnations-- but soon enough after the turn that Rebekah wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone/had the opportunity to have a lover. I could see this being something that would spur Klaus’s possessiveness-- and he’s very possessive of Rebekah. I don’t even see it as romantic in any way-- I think sex for Klaus is largely a mechanism of control and dominance, and he exerts it over Rebekah, his favorite sibling, his pet, the very most. Any hint that she’s going to stray from him, or give her heart, loyalties, and affection elsewhere, and he uses his sexual hold on her to keep her there, and kills the lover for good measure. (Why just Rebekah? Because I don’t actually think the incest extends elsewhere... except maaaybbeee Kol/Rebekah... well, because 1) she’s the only girl and Klaus is definitely misogynistic enough to view this as a weakness or something he can control 2) she’s younger, and her personality is easier to control than Kol, who is a wild child and bucks authority on top of being as suspicious and paranoid as Klaus, or Elijah, who is Klaus’s equal and whose wrath Klaus is always always wary of.)

So, for a very long time, I think that Klaus sleeps around in a casually vicious way, with Rebekah as his only long-term, on again-off again lover (although, there are probably some mistresses here and there, and probably some witches too, who might last a bit longer, or who might make it out alive), until we get to Katerina.

Katerina. The woman with Tatia’s face. A duplicate, body and soul. She’s the greatest danger Klaus has faced since his turning, because she’s the one girl his heart might be vulnerable to. So he shores himself up even more. Strengthens that wall of stone around his heart, and keeps himself cold to her. He can’t resist taking her as his lover, of course, or keeping her as his mistress while he gathers the resources necessary to sacrifice her. But all the while, even while he has her in his bed every night, even as he’s plotting her murder, he’s seething with fury and jealousy. He’s envious of Elijah, who falls in love with her, plain and simple; envious of Trevor, even, for the same reason... because she is the one woman he wants, but he’s also too selfish to ever contemplate doing anything other than murdering her for the sake of obtaining his power, so she is also the one woman he cannot have. And he cannot ever allow himself to love her, because he will definitely kill her. And he’s furious when Elijah comes up with a plan to save her, because Klaus is also afraid of Katerina. Afraid of that possibility that if he falls in love, it will be a weakness, just like his love for Tatia was a grave weakness. The thing that was his undoing oh so long ago.

Of course, Katerina runs, and Klaus feels this proves him absolutely right about her.

A few more centuries pass. I think with time we see his bloodlust slaked, and more and more of his bedmates survive the encounters. He grows bored, and restless. There’s no more hope for ever breaking the curse, and so his life feels very static. He has nothing to look forward to specifically. He takes lovers here and there, and he falls in and out of Rebekah’s bed, but nothing touches that stone heart of his.

This changes pretty significantly in the 20s. By then he’s suffered a harrowing blow. The family is broken apart, and it’s just him and Rebekah-- really just him and Rebekah, indefinitely-- for the first time he can ever recall.

This is when Stefan joins the picture... Stefan, whom Rebekah adores, but who can be something different than every other lover Rebekah has had-- he can be that missing brother for Klaus-- who is looking for someone to fill the void now that Elijah (and Kol, and Marcel, but honestly not Finn because he’s been daggered for eight centuries) is gone. And because Klaus’s ideas about sex and power and sibling love are all screwed up, and because Stefan is charming and handsome and fun, Rebekah and Stefan’s affair quickly becomes Rebekah and Stefan and Klaus’s affair-- the three of them all tangled up together. And it’s precarious but Rebekah will take whatever she can have and Klaus is greedy for emotional fulfillment and Stefan is high all the time and having a great time having great sex so he doesn’t take any of it as seriously as he definitely should.

Then of course there is the separation.

I think during this long time period Klaus probably continues his pattern of casual sexual flings, but I doubt he really gets close to anyone. In fact, other than Rebekah or Katerina, I have the feeling that Stefan is the only other person he was sexually involved with that he really cared about. That’s why he wanted him back in 2010 when he ran into him again and the timing seemed right.

I guess this now gets into the present-- my feeling isn’t so much that Klaus has been celibate as a matter of choice or paranoia or anything (although, he is paranoid, which is why he hasn’t fallen in love again in a thousand years), just that he is simply so old that years might pass between flings and he doesn’t really notice. It doesn’t seem like that long for him necessarily-- years can feel like weeks at this point-- and he’s grown pickier as he’s gotten older-- someone has to interest him for him to pursue, and it takes more and more to interest him now than it did before.

Like, the show does suggest to me that Klaus may have been sleeping with Greta Martin, and that would fall directly in line with his MO-- we’ve seen him sleep with witches before, and we know that power does interest him. He’s not exactly upset by her death though, even though he seemed to like her-- also in line with how he refuses to become emotionally invested in his lovers.

I do think though that he was sleeping with Stefan in that summer they spent together-- again, Stefan is an exception to the rule, although he’s not in love with Stefan-- Stefan slides into that weird Klaus category of “brother,” which is a gray area muddled in with lover for him-- essentially the same place that Rebekah occupies, but without the same levels of (faint) protection that actually being Klaus’s blood sibling provides. It’s fascinating to me that Klaus would reinitiate the affair with Stefan without returning Stefan’s memories-- it implies that he wanted Stefan’s devotion pure and simple, like making him fall into his orbit again to see if it will happen again, but it also implies a selfishness and greed for Stefan’s devotion, because he wants it focused on himself and not at all to share with Rebekah.

I’m sure there was a wild week or two where they all resumed their relationship when Rebekah was reawakened before Klaus discovered Stefan had been lying all summer about Elena.

My last thought on all of this is to do with Klaus and Elena. I’ve pondered and pondered and pondered why Klaus would choose to kill Jenna when Elena had already promised to go along with him willingly, obviously for the sake of her loved ones, and I had to think he was angry with her and taking it out on her that he had to kill her at all-- because there was a part of Klaus that wanted her for himself, and he couldn’t have her because, once again, he’s way too selfish to ever consider doing anything other than securing his own power.

I suppose this takes us up to the present.

I put that line in SWBS but left it intentionally easy to misconstrue-- Klaus says he hasn’t had a woman in years, which makes it clear that there’s been no one he could have gotten pregnant, but there’s been some subtext with Stefan’s responses to Elena sleeping with Klaus that imply that he has that history with Klaus himself-- I think the only fic I have where I wrote it without assuming that Stefan and Klaus were sleeping together that summer was After the Fire, But Before the Flood, but that was only because I wrote most of it before season 3 aired/before that season 3 promo ignited the Klaus x Stefan alarm bells in my brain. So anyway, in SWBS, Klaus and Stefan have that recent sexual history, and Klaus was probably sleeping with Rebekah a bit before Mystic Falls too, but does Klaus even see her as a woman? Doubtful, honestly. There’s something else going on there.

I’m pretty fluid though in terms of what I think Klaus’s recent sexual history is-- sometimes like in Just A Glimpse, he’s been sleeping with Greta, sometimes the affair with Rebekah and Stefan is full steam ahead like in Fairytale Ending, and sometimes it all fizzles on him like in SWBS.

I do still think it’s hilarious and amazing that the only time Klaus canonically sleeps with someone in TVD it’s because Hayley negs him into oblivion with her (entirely fair and accurate) assessment of his artwork.

#klaus #klaus mikaelson #anonymous #swbs #fairytale ending #just a glimpse #atfbbtf

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shitty-marvel-fan732 · 4 years

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“I’ll Be Here”

Title: “I’ll Be Here”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Warnings: Nightmares, insomnia, mentions of past trauma (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 4,800...because I have no self-control

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been sleeping well, can Bucky find out why?

The first time I noticed Y/N's insomnia was during an early morning training session.

She was off to the side, sparring with Natasha as I worked on strength training with Steve. The two women were on the mats, wrestling with one another. I should've been paying attention to the weights in my hands -- something Steve would no doubt scold me for soon -- but as usual I was more interested in watching Y/N. Not because I was totally infatuated with her or anything, just because she was acting a bit off.

Right.

Usually Y/N and Natasha were well matched; the two assassins typically sparred for nearly the entire session with neither one getting the upper hand for more than a few moments at a time. Today, however, Y/N was lagging. Natasha managed to pin her in just a few minutes. What's more, Y/N took a few seconds longer than usual to get back on her feet -- normally she was quick to hop up on the off-chance that she was knocked down, but today it seemed like she was moving in slow motion. Confusion rippled through me at the sight of the usually confident and collected assassin lying on the mat looking defeated and tired. Y/N and Natasha exchanged hushed words briefly before Y/N stomped off, grumbling to herself.

I wasn't tired in the least -- namely because I hadn't even really been working for the last few minutes -- but I felt my curiosity slowly getting the best of me. I stalked off under the guise of getting some water, eyes trained on Y/N's hunched form. I sidled up to her as casually as I could manage and grabbed my bottle. She nodded curtly in recognition of my presence but didn't speak.

I felt my eyebrows crinkle together in confusion. Y/N wasn't like the rest of the team -- impossibly chatty and self-assured, she was never crabby or tired during training. Realizing I hadn't kept up the act well at all, I sipped from my water almost robotically. While I sipped, I tried to subtly study her face, wondering what could possibly be causing her to act so out-of-character. I noted with concern the deep, purple circles under her eyes and the far off expression on her face.

I opened my mouth to question whether or not she was alright, but was abruptly cut-off by Steve's shout to get back to training. Rolling my eyes, I flashed Y/N one last look of concern before jogging off towards my friend. I'd have to file this encounter in my brain for later.

After that I began to watch Y/N more closely, trying to figure out what it was that troubled her. She seemed to bounce back by the time I'd seen her later in the day, and I all but forgot my concerns. It wasn't until a few days later that her lack of sleep entered my consciousness once more.

It was movie night in the tower, and I was bored out of my skull. Everyone had gathered in the tower's massive living room for the weekly event -- Sam and Tony were arguing over which movie to watch, Wanda and Vision were sitting practically on one another's laps as they chatted idly with Nat, Steve sat scribbling on yet another mission report, and Peter was hanging upside-down from the ceiling as he patiently waited for the movie to begin. I was sitting furthest from everyone else, keeping to myself and idly observing the various conversations, when Y/N wandered into the room.

Though I still internally thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, it was instantaneously clear that something was wrong with Y/N. She looked similar to that morning in the training room -- large bags underneath each eye and a somewhat pained expression splayed across her features. Maybe it was the way she seemed to move more slowly across the room or just her general aura of dishevelment, but whatever the case she just seemed off somehow. I felt myself growing more concerned by the moment.

She plopped down into the spot next to me, and I instantly felt my heart rate pick up at the proximity. Heat flooded my face as my mind became a jumble, and I was suddenly thankful that the only other people with super hearing in the room were currently busy at the moment. I tried my best to stifle the stupid little flutters raging inside my belly as I murmured a 'hello'. Y/N rubbed her face tiredly before mustering up a smile and muttering a half-hearted greeting.

"You doing okay doll?" I asked concernedly. She chuckled lightly, shifting a little in her seat so her head was leaning against my flesh arm. She settled into the position with an ease and familiarity that both warmed my heart and sent me into a panic all at once.

It was strange, the effect Y/N had on me: on the one hand, she had this ability to calm my entire body with just a single touch, but on the other hand it also made my mind race with over-eager thoughts and feelings. Even now, the feel of the soft skin of her cheek through my shirt sleeve was enough to send tiny pricks of electricity throughout my entire body. But it wasn't the harsh, painful sensations my mind seemed to expect -- Y/N's touch was always gentle, welcomed. Even so, my mind raced with thoughts of why on earth she felt so relaxed around me. Was she just like this with everyone? Did it mean anything?

"Just fine Buck," her half-joking reply broke me out of my mental musings. "Why, do I look ugly or something?"

I immediately began floundering, shaking my head quickly and stuttering out apologies so fast I almost missed the soft giggles eminating from Y/N. Even though I was pretty sure she was kidding, I continued to ramble on, unwilling to let her think for a second that she was anything less than gorgeous. Thankfully, she only let me panic for a few moments before lifting her head fractionally and smiling at me.

"S'okay Buck, I know what you meant," she chuckled amicably before settling back into my shoulder. "I'm alright, just tired as always."

If anyone would've asked, I would've sworn my face was on fire. I hummed lightly in response, not trusting my voice at the moment. Thankfully, Nat saved me further embarrassment by rolling her eyes and laughing.

"Of course our little insomniac is tired," she quipped good-naturedly. "When's the last time you actually slept Y/N/N?"

I frowned down towards Y/N in concern. She just snickered at Natasha's question, flipping her off as she smiled sweetly. Nat chuckled once more, letting the subject drop and turning her attention back to her previous conversation. Evidently Tony and Sam had finally agreed on a movie, and the lights dimmed as the main titles began to play.

"You're not sleeping?" I softly questioned. Even though she hadn't been moving before, I could still feel the way she stiffened at my question, and my concern grew. She recovered quickly however, turning her head just enough to look me in the face and shooting me a wary look.

"Do any of us?" she questioned back. Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the screen, eyes darkened with a look I couldn't quite place and features as vulnerable as I'd ever seen. The sight of her, so close to my face and so open all but took my breath away. I opened my mouth to respond --

"Hey lovebirds, can you quiet down over there?" Sam interrupted loudly. I tore my gaze away from Y/N to find the entire team looking over at Y/N and I with amused and expectant expressions. Y/N buried her face into my arm at the attention, clearly embarrassed. Unconsciously, my arm wrapped around her frame and pulled her deeper into my side. I glared at Sam and flipped him off with my free hand. He and the rest of the team chuckled before turning back to the movie.

After the intrusion I was too distracted by the feel of Y/N being tucked into my body to question her any more. Also, she did end up falling asleep during the film, head resting gently across my chest and expression serene. She managed to sleep through the entirety of all 3 movies Tony insisted we watch. Normally I would've left part way through the first, but I would rather die than disturb Y/N as she peacefully slept. She clearly needed it, and the fact that she was cuddled up to me as she did it was just a happy coincidence.

I chalked her lack of sleep up to a generational difference. Maybe millennials had just learned to get by with less sleep? I wasn't totally up to date with the ins-and-outs of this new generation, but I was fairly sure that insomnia was a common problem. People could say what they liked about them, but I was honestly blown away by the amount of shit that people in this age had to deal with. College cost more than a house would've back in my day, employers were getting pickier and pickier about who got a job, and there was a near-constant threat of some kind of world-wide disaster at any given moment. Not to mention the fact that apparently the arctic was melting? Global warming disturbed me to no end, especially since it was one of the only reasons Steve had been found in the first place. Of course people slept less easily these days, why would Y/N be an exception?

Currently, we were on our way back from a routine mission. We were the only ones on the Quinjet, sitting across from one another as we flew home. Neither of us said much, both happy to decompress from things silently.

Studying her face as we sat, I felt the familiar feeling of concern bubble up in my chest at the sight. Her eyes were almost bloodshot, lids weighing heavily as she leaned against the side of the jet like she was fighting to keep them open. The purple bags that I'd first noted all those weeks ago had only seemed to have grown, now sagging low on her face which seemed paler than usual. Her expression was flat, mouth and brows drooping into a very uncharacteristic frown.

Though I was worried, I wasn't willing to break the comfortable silence Y/N and I had created in the jet. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut and snapped open for a few minutes before she finally succumbed to her tiredness and fell asleep. I breathed out a sigh of relief I wasn't even aware I'd been holding in as I watched her struggle. I wasn't a religious man, but I was suddenly thankful to whatever god listening that she was actually getting some sleep.

Settling back into my seat, I watched as she slept and internally planned a way to bring her out of the jet without waking her. Seemed simple enough -- she'd slept soundly enough all those weeks ago at movie night that I was able to gather her up into my arms and bring her to her room without waking her. It wasn't exactly difficult to convince myself to help her once more. Outside of the fact that I was legitimately becoming concerned about the amount of sleep she was getting, I would be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having Y/N in my arms once more. Last time she'd cuddled into me so tightly, like a kitten curling up on your chest. If I concentrated hard enough I could practically still feel her warm body against my torso. The mere thought raised a light blush to my cheeks and made my legs start to lose strength.

I seriously needed to get a grip.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost missed the sounds Y/N was making. The soft whimpers reminded me almost like the sounds dogs make as they dream -- small, high-pitched noises that squeaked from her lips as she slept. Her body was still slumped against the metal frame of the jet, but with one glance I could tell her posture had definitely tensed. Her fists were clenching and relaxing over and over, eyes squeezed closed tightly, and every now and then her whole body would jerk around. Fear and guilt pooled in the pit of my stomach as I realized what was happening.

Y/N was having a nightmare.

I froze for a moment, unsure what to do, until Y/N let out another cry of pain and terror, louder this time. My body was instantly by her side without even checking in with my brain first before moving. I pulled her onto my lap gently and began rubbing soothing patterns around the expanse of her back with my metal hand while the flesh one delicately cupped her face. She was trembling all over and her fists immediately wound their way into the fabric of my shirt and clenched as she hung on for dear life.

After a few moments I decided I had to wake her. Whatever was going on in her head was clearly causing her immense fear, and it felt like my heart was breaking with each jerk of her body or whimper of pain. I began softly calling her name, hands still moving gently across her skin as I tried to rouse her.

It didn't work.

My gentle prying hadn't woken her in the slightest. In fact her movements had become even more erratic -- she was now thrashing in my arms, futilely trying to fight off whatever she was facing in her dream. Mind whirling, I gripped her tighter and began calling her name louder.

She woke with a start. Her bloodshot eyes flew open and she instantly attacked me. Her fists flew quickly and landed solidly against my jaw as she scrambled off my lap. She jerked away, back landing against the farthest wall of the jet and posture defensive. Her eyes were wild with a kind of dangerous fire I recognized all too well.

I raised my hands up in surrender, not moving an inch from my place.

“Y/N, it’s me. Bucky. You’re safe, it was just a dream,” I explained slowly. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds, and I could practically feel the realization seeping through her. The fog of terror from her nightmare was slowly fading from her face, giving way to a look of vulnerable confusion.

“Bucky?” she breathed. Her chest was still heaving with each breath she took and her voice was small. Y/N’s eyes were wide as she searched my face for an answer, and I felt a wave of sympathy roll through me at the panicked, bewildered emotions that were written all over her face. I nodded slowly and began to lower my hands. Y/N sucked in a breath as the final flash of recognition crossed her features and she let out a sob.

I was up in an instant, arms winding around her shaking body and lips murmuring encouraging words into her hair. I could feel her tears starting to soak through my shirt as she clung against my chest and sobbed. A deep, unsettling weight made it's home in my belly as I listened to her cries. I pushed the feeling down as I comforted her, trying everything I knew to end her anguish.

Eventually her sobbing slowed, and the jet was silent once more, save for a few hiccups and sniffles every now and again. My hands were still absentmindedly rubbing against her back, but I took her silence as a good sign and I pulled my head back marginally so I could look at her more fully.

The sight of Y/N's face almost broke my heart in two. Her normally clear skin was now tear-stained and covered in red and pink splotches, and the area under her eyes was puffy. Her mouth was set in a deep pout that didn't suit her at all. Worst of all was the look in her eyes -- her Y/E/C irises looked like a storm cloud, pain and despair swirling within them in a way I was all too familiar with. They looked like the way I often felt during my more dark moments, and the idea that she was feeling anything close to that twisted the rock-like knot even deeper into my lower belly.

"Y/N…" I murmured emphatically. She sniffled, pulling one of her arms away from its place entangled in my shirt to rub some of the errant tears away from her face. I guided her gently back to one of the benches and we both sat without detangling ourselves from one another.

"Sorry," she whispered almost robotically. "I just...I had…".

"A nightmare?" I supplied quietly. She nodded, body beginning to lean away from mine as if she was going to pull away. My grip on her tightened marginally, unwilling to let her go just yet. She seemed appreciative at the silent offer of support, and her head rolled back into the crook of my neck easily.

"How long?" I asked evenly. Though I couldn't see her face anymore due to our position I could feel the way her body tensed at the query. My hands began running up and down her back once more, almost of their own accord. After a few moments her muscles relaxed a bit under my soothing touch, and I breathed a silent breath of relief at the progress.

"Since Ultron, I guess," she whispered so quietly I almost missed it. I felt my brows furrow even deeper at the admission -- Steve had filled me in about what had happened in Sokovia, but if I was recalling correctly that was almost 2 years ago. Guilt flooded my chest at the sheer length of time Y/N had been struggling without any help.

“I watched...there was a kid, and he…I couldn’t”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I cut her off quickly. Her only response was to burrow deeper into the crook of my neck, seemingly grateful to be spared the task of reliving the nightmare. Though the feeling of the soft skin of her face against my neck was enough to send those embarrassing flutters through my body, my mind was still working in overdrive to try and figure out a way to reduce Y/N’s pain.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I...I want to help".

I felt Y/N's small smile against my neck and I shivered at the gentle movement of her lips.

"I know you do Buck, but there's nothing to be done," she mumbled regretfully. Almost immediately afterwards she yawned and began stretching her limbs like a cat around my frame before settling back into my embrace. I couldn't help but chuckle fondly.

The only sounds that filled the jet now were the soft whirring of the engines and the sound of the air passing by the outside as we flew. For a moment I wondered if Y/N had fallen asleep again, but the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the quiet yawns she let escape every now and again told me otherwise. After a few minutes of silence I quietly spoke up once more.

"I get them too you know."

Y/N's face turned upwards just enough so she was looking me in the eyes. Her expression was guarded, but I could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"Really?"

Even though her tone was nonchalant I could easily tell that she cared more about my response than she'd like to let on. I nodded, swallowing thickly and glancing away from her.

"Yeah. I used to get them back during the war, but they really started up bad after everything with HYDRA," I explained as calmly as I could manage. I could practically feel the holes her eyes were burning into my face as she watched me intently.

"I still get them sometimes but not as much.”

“Wh-what did you do to make them better?” she asked curiously. I shrugged.

“I dunno. Therapy and time I guess,” I supplied. Her hopeful expression faltered slightly and guilt fanned through me. “Sorry, I know that’s not exactly what you probably wanted to hear.”

Y/N shook her head, yawning.

"S'okay Buck, you're just being honest," she mumbled against my shoulder. "Wasn't exactly expecting an answer anyways."

She let out another huge yawn. My hands paused briefly on their circuit up and down the expanse of her back as a thought filtered through my mind.

"You should sleep doll," I murmured softly against her hair. "I can tell you're exhausted."

Y/N yawned once more and shook her head stubbornly against my chest.

"S'fine Buck. I've been worse." her soft voice filtered up, slightly muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I frowned.

"Y/N…" I warned disapprovingly.

"Seriously, I'm fine!" came her sleepy, half-hearted protest. "Besides, if I do it'll just…"

She trailed off, but the weight of what she was alluding to covered the air in the jet like a thick, wet blanket. The tension in my brows relaxed marginally as I was hit with another wave of sympathy. I tightened my grip on her body into what I hoped was a comforting embrace. My heart lifted and those damned butterflies erupted into a frenzy as I heard her sigh contently. Not even a beat later I felt her burrow herself even further into my arms and I couldn't help but smile at the feeling.

"It's okay doll. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be here if it happens again," I ventured quietly. After a few moments of contemplation Y/N lifted her head from my chest, and I felt a flash of fear tear through my body. Maybe I'd crossed a line? What if she didn't appreciate my nagging, or thought I was overstepping the boundaries of the tentative friendship we had? I opened my mouth, poised and ready to spew apologies for intruding, but closed it seconds later as I caught the look on her face.

Her Y/E/C eyes were wide, unshed tears lining them as she looked up at me. Her expression was one of pure adoration, full of hope and cautious optimism. The sight of it almost knocked all the breath out of my body.

"Yo-you will?" she breathed, voice small and hopeful. Warmth filled my chest and I smiled.

"Promise." I vowed. Her face split into a lopsided grin and her cheeks flushed with the most adorable pink splotches I'd ever seen. She held my gaze for a few moments longer before her face disappeared into the confines of my chest once more. I settled back into the side of the jet with Y/N's form still gathered closely in my arms, utterly content and pleased with the way things had turned out.

In no time at all I heard her breaths begin to even out and the beating of her heart slow as she fell back asleep. I sat back, hands still absentmindedly running along her back as she slept with my mind racing as it tried to process the last few minutes. Normally after even the briefest interaction with Y/N my brain would be riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, over playing each second over again and internally cringing at my reactions. But it was hard to form any thoughts that were semi-coherent with her cuddled peacefully against my body. Instead, my mind was occupied by scanning every visible inch of her form, working desperately to try and commit the sights, sounds, and feelings to my memory.

It didn't take long before the jet landed back at the tower. I paused momentarily before carefully gathering Y/N in my arms and walking out. I made a beeline for her room, ignoring or silencing any of the team we met along the way with a single glance. After the struggle on the jet I’d be damned if one of them woke her. Not that they really tried -- everyone backed off pretty quickly once they noticed Y/N’s sleeping form, irritatingly smug smirks plastered across their features. If it weren't for the sleeping beauty in my arms I was certain that any one of them would've had a litany of teasing comments at the ready. Especially Tony. Poor guy looked like he might have an aneurysm if he didn't get to spit whatever sarcastic jab his brain was cooking up out soon.

Eventually I made it to her room, and settled her gently into her bed.

It wasn’t easy.

Even asleep Y/N was still one of the most stubborn people I knew. She grumbled petulantly in her sleep, and I practically had to pry her off my chest to get her onto the bed. Once I'd successfully detangled my shirt from her fingers' iron grip, I removed her combat boots and brought the covers up over her curled up form. She'd pay hell in the morning from Tony for sleeping in her dirty tac-gear and ruining the sheets, but I sure as hell wasn't about to wake her to change. After I was sure she was settled, I took one final glance at her peaceful face before turning to leave. I made it all the way to the door, finger hovering over the light switch, before I heard her.

"You said you'd be here."

Y/N was sitting up in her bed, eyes half-lidded and palms rubbing against them tiredly as she piped up. I smiled unconsciously at the sight of her sleepy expression.

"That I did," I chuckled softly. She raised an eyebrow curiously.

“So stay here...” she murmured. “Please.”

I nodded, crossing the room once more and dragging her desk chair with me as I went. I set it down next to her bed and settled in before motioning for her to continue sleeping. She blinked a few times, amusement and exhaustion lacing her features.

"No, you old man," she giggled quietly, patting the empty space next to her. "I meant here as in here."

Now it was my turn to blink in confusion.

"O-oh," I stuttered. "Is that -- I mean if you want…"

Y/N chuckled again, clearly as amused by my floundering when half-asleep as she was when she was awake.

"Just get in here Buck."

No need to tell me twice. I shucked off my boots and crawled into Y/N's bed beside her. I paused as I pulled her blankets over my body, uncertain as to what to do next.

I mean, she seemed like she liked being in my arms back in the Quinjet, but maybe it was different now that we were in her bed? It certainly felt different -- even though the space between us couldn't have been more than a few inches at most, it felt like there was an entire country between Y/N and I. Things were too close, too intimate. I was powerless to make even a single move under the crushing weight of the implications thick in the air. And yet my fingers were twitching against her mattress as they fought the urge to wrap her up in my embrace once more.

Evidently, Y/N noticed the distance between us.

She rolled over to her side so that she was facing me. Though she still looked like she was having some trouble keeping her eyes open, there was a glint of mischief and some other emotion in them as she surveyed my frozen form. I glanced down at her briefly, muscles completely stiff and immobile as I silently wondered what the hell I was going to do next.

Y/N giggled once more, the sound sending the butterflies in my core crazy. She mercifully closed the space between us as she settled into my side. Her head nestled against my chest and her arms threw themselves around my frame like I was a pillow. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, muscles relaxing considerably as I wound my arms around her and pulled her flush into my side.

"Thanks," she murmured sleepily. Her eyes were already closed and I could feel her heartbeat slowing as she fell asleep once more.

"Anytime Doll," I whispered fondly, nose nuzzling into the hairs atop the crown of her head. I yawned, suddenly extremely aware of just how tired I was. I leaned my head down against Y/N's and closed my eyes too, sure that for once I'd be guaranteed a good night's sleep.

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mysteryshelf · 7 years

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BLOG TOUR - Bones to Pick

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Bones To Pick

by Linda Lovely

on Tour October 16 – December 16, 2017

Synopsis:

Living on a farm with four hundred goats and a cantankerous carnivore isn’t among vegan chef Brie Hooker’s list of lifetime ambitions. But she can’t walk away from her Aunt Eva, who needs help operating her dairy.

Once she calls her aunt’s goat farm home, grisly discoveries offer ample inducements for Brie to employ her entire vocabulary of cheese-and-meat curses. The troubles begin when the farm’s pot-bellied pig unearths the skull of Eva’s husband, who disappeared years back. The sheriff, kin to the deceased, sets out to pin the murder on Eva. He doesn’t reckon on Brie’s resolve to prove her aunt’s innocence. Death threats, ruinous pedicures, psychic shenanigans, and biker bar fisticuffs won’t stop Brie from unmasking the killer, even when romantic befuddlement throws her a curve.

Book Details:

Genre: Humorous Cozy Mystery Published by: Henery Press Publication Date: Oct. 24, 2017 Number of Pages: 266 ISBN: 9781635112597 Series: Brie Hooker Mystery, #1 Get Your Copy of Bones To Pick by Linda Lovely at: Amazon Barnes & Noble Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

ONE

Hello, I’m Brie, and I’m a vegan.

It sounds like I’m introducing myself at a Vegetarians Anonymous meeting. But, trust me, there aren’t enough vegetarians in Ardon County, South Carolina, to make a circle much less hold a meeting.

Give yourself ten points if you already know vegans are even pickier than vegetarians. We forgo meat, fish, eggs, and dairy. But we’re big on cashews, walnuts, and almonds. All nuts are good nuts. Appropriate with my family.

Family. That’s why I put my career as a vegan chef on hold to live and work in Ardon, a strong contender for the South’s carnivore-and- grease capital. My current job? I help tend four hundred goats, make verboten cheese, and gather eggs I’ll never poach. Most mornings when Aunt Eva rousts me before the roosters, I roll my eyes and mutter.

Still, I can’t complain. I had a choice. Sort of. Blame it on the pig—Tammy the Pig—for sticking her snout in our family business.

I’d consorted with vegans and vegetarians for too long. I seriously underestimated how much cholesterol meat eaters could snarf down at a good old-fashioned wake. Actually, I wasn’t sure this wake was “old fashioned,” but it was exactly how Aunt Lilly would have planned her own send-off—if she’d had the chance. Ten days ago, the feisty sixty- two-year-old had a toddler’s curiosity and a twenty-year-old’s appetite for adventure. Her death was a total shock.

I glanced at Aunt Lilly’s epitaph hanging behind the picnic buffet. She’d penned it years back. Her twin, Aunt Eva, found it in Lilly’s desk and reprinted it in eighty-point type.

“There once was a farmer named Lilly

Who never liked anything frilly,

She tended her goats,

Sowed a few wild oats,

And said grieving her death would be silly.”

In a nod to Lilly’s spirit, Aunt Eva planned today’s wake complete with fiddling, hooch, goo-gogs of goat cheese, and the whole panoply of Southern fixins—mounds of country ham, fried chicken, barbecue, and mac-and-cheese awash in butter. Every veggie dish came dressed with bacon crumbles, drippings, or cream of mushroom soup.

Not a morsel fit for a vegan. Eva’s revenge. I’d made the mistake of saying I didn’t want to lose her, too, and hinted she’d live longer if she cut back on cholesterol. Not my smartest move. The name of her farm? Udderly Kidding Dairy. Cheese and eggs had been Eva’s meal ticket for decades.

My innocent observation launched a war. Whenever I opened the refrigerator, I’d find a new message. This morning a Post-it on my dish of blueberries advised: The choline in eggs may enhance brain development and memory—as a vegan you probably forgot.

Smoke from the barbeque pit permeated the air as I replenished another platter of shredded pork on the buffet. My mouth watered and I teetered on the verge of drooling. While I was a dedicated vegan, my olfactory senses were still programmed “Genus Carnivorous.” My stomach growled—loudly. Time to thwart its betrayal with the veggies and hummus dip I’d stashed in self-defense.

I’d just stuck a juicy carrot in my mouth when a large hand squeezed my shoulder.

“Brie, honey, you’ve been working nonstop,” Dad said. “Take a break. Mom’s on her way. We can play caterers. The food’s prepared. No risks associated with our cooking.”

I choked on my carrot and sputtered. “Good thing. Do you even remember the last time Mom turned on an oven?”

Dad smiled. “Can’t recall. Maybe when you were a baby? But, hey, we’re wizards at takeout and microwaves.”

His smile faltered. I caught him staring at Aunt Lilly’s epitaph. “Still can’t believe Lilly’s gone.” He attempted a smile. “Knowing her sense of humor, we’re lucky she didn’t open that epitaph with ‘There once was a lass from Nantucket.’”

I’d never seen Dad so sad. Lilly’s unexpected death stunned him to his core. He adored his older sisters.

Mom appeared at his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. She loved her sisters-in-law, too, though she complained my childless aunts spoiled me beyond repair.

Of course, Lilly’s passing hit Eva the hardest. A fresh boatload of tears threatened as I thought about the aunt left behind. I figured my tear reservoir had dried up after days of crying. Wrong. The tragedy—a texting teenager smashing head-on into Lilly’s car—provoked a week- long family weep-a-thon. It ended when Eva ordered us to cease and desist.

“This isn’t what Lilly would want,” she declared. “We’re gonna throw a wake. One big, honking party.”

Which explained the fifty-plus crowd of friends and neighbors milling about the farm, tapping their feet to fiddlin’, and consuming enough calories to sustain the populace of a small principality for a week.

I hugged Dad. “Thanks. I could use a break. I’ll find Eva. See how she’s doing.”

I spotted her near a flower garden filled with cheery jonquils. It looked like a spring painting. Unfortunately, the cold March wind that billowed Eva’s scarlet poncho argued the blooms were false advertising. The weatherman predicted the thermometer would struggle to reach the mid-forties today.

My aunt’s build was what I’d call sturdy, yet Eva seemed to sway in the gusty breeze as she chatted with Billy Jackson, the good ol’ boy farrier who shod her mule. Though my parents pretended otherwise, we all knew Billy slept under Eva’s crazy quilt at least two nights a week.

I nodded at the couple. Well, actually, the foursome. Brenda, the farm’s spoiled pet goat, and Kai, Udderly’s lead Border collie, were competing with Billy for my aunt’s attention.

“Mom and Dad are watching the buffet,” I said. “Thought I’d see if you need me to do anything. Are you expecting more folks?”

“No.” Eva reached down and tickled the tiny black goat’s shaggy head. “Imagine everyone who’s coming is here by now. They’ll start clearing out soon. Chow down and run. Can’t blame ’em. Especially the idiot women who thought they ought to wear dresses. That biting wind’s gotta be whistling up their drawers.”

Billy grinned as he looked Eva up and down. Her choice of wake attire—poncho, black pants, and work boots—surprised no one, and would have delighted Lilly.

“Do you even own a dress?” Billy laughed. “You’re one to talk.” Eva gave his baggy plaid suit and clip-on bowtie the stink eye. “I suppose you claim that gristle on your chin is needed to steady your fiddle.”

He kissed Eva’s cheek. “Yep, that’s it. Time to rejoin my fellow fiddlers, but first I have a hankering to take a turn at the Magic Moonshine tent.”

“You do that. Maybe the ’shine will improve your playing. It’ll definitely make you sound better to your listening audience. After enough of that corn liquor even my singing could win applause.”

A dark-haired stranger usurped Billy’s place, bending low to plant a kiss on the white curls that sprang from my aunt’s head like wood shavings. Wow.

They stacked handsome tall when they built him. Had to be at least six-four.

Even minus an introduction, I figured this tall glass of sweet tea had to be Paint, the legendary owner of Magic Moonshine. Sunlight glinted off hair the blue-black of expensive velvet. Deep dimples. Rakish smile.

I’d spent days sobbing, and my libido apparently was saying “enough”—time to rejoin the living. If this bad boy were any more alive, he’d be required to wear a “Danger High Voltage” sign. Of course, Aunt Lilly wouldn’t mind. She’d probably rent us a room.

I ventured a glance and found him smiling at me. My boots were suddenly fascinating. Never stare at shiny objects with the potential to hypnotize. I refused to fall under another playboy’s spell.

“How’s my best gal?” he asked, hugging Eva. “Best for this minute, right?” my aunt challenged. “I bet my niece will be your best gal before I finish the introductions.” Eva put a hand on my shoulder. “Paint, this young whippersnapper is Brie Hooker, my favorite niece. ’Course, she’s my only niece. Brie, it’s with great trepidation that I introduce you to David Paynter, better known as Paint, unrepentant moonshiner and heartbreaker.”

Eva subjected Paint to her pretend badass stare, a sure sign he was one of her favorite sparring partners. “Don’t you go messing with Brie, or I’ll bury you down yonder with Mark, once I nail his hide.”

Paint laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckle. He turned toward me and bowed like Rhett Butler reincarnated.

“Pleased to meet you, Brie. That puzzled look tells me you haven’t met Mark, the wily coyote that harasses Eva’s goats. She’s wasted at least six boxes of buckshot trying to scare him off. Me? I’ll gladly risk her shotgun to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eva gave Paint a shove. “Well, if that’s the case, go on. Give Brie a shot of your peach moonshine. It’s pretty good.”

“Peach moonshine it is,” he said and took my arm. A second later, he tightened his grip and pulled me to the right. “Better watch your step. You almost messed up those pretty boots.”

He pointed at a fresh pile of fragrant poop, steaming in the brisk air inches from my suede boots. “Thanks,” I mumbled. Still holding my arm, he steered me over uneven ground to a clear path. “Eva says you’re staying with her. Hope you don’t have to leave for a while. Your aunt’s a fine lady, and it’s going to be mighty hard on her once this flock of well-wishers flies off.”

His baritone sent vibrations rippling through my body. My brain ordered me to ignore the tingling that remained in places it didn’t belong.

He smiled. “Eva and Lilly spoke about you so often I feel like we’re already friends. ’Course head-shaking accompanied some of their comments. They said you’d need to serve plenty of my moonshine if you ever opened a vegan B&B in Ardon County. Here abouts it’s considered unpatriotic to serve eats that haven’t been baptized in a vat of lard. Vegetables are optional; meat, mandatory.”

Uh, oh. I always gave relatives and friends a free pass on good- natured kidding. But a stranger? This man was poking fun at my profession, yet my hackles—smoothed by the hunk’s lopsided grin— managed only a faint bristle.

Back away. Pronto.

Discovering my ex-fiancé, Jack, was boffing not one, but two co-workers the entire two years we were engaged made me highly allergic to lady-killers. Paint was most definitely a member of that tribe.

“What can I say? I’m a rebel,” I replied. “It’s my life’s ambition to convince finger-lickin’, fried-chicken lovers that life without meat, butter, eggs, and cheese does not involve a descent into the nine circles of hell.”

Paint released me, then raised his hand to brush a wayward curl from my forehead. His flirting seemed to be congenital.

“If you’re as feisty as your aunt claims, why don’t you take me on as a challenge? I do eat tomatoes—fried green ones, anyway—and I’m open to sampling other members of the vegetable kingdom. So long as they don’t get between me and my meat. Anyway, welcome to the Carolina foothills. Time to pour some white lightning. It’s smoother than you might expect.”

And so are you. Too smooth for me.

That’s when we heard the screams.

TWO

Paint zoomed off like a Clemson running back, hurtling toward the screams—human, not goat. I managed to stay within a few yards of him, slipping and sliding as my suede boots unwittingly smooshed a doggie deposit. Udderly’s guardian dogs, five Great Pyrenees, were large enough to saddle, and their poop piles rivaled cow paddies.

I reached the barn, panting, with a stitch in my right side. I stopped to catch my breath. Hallelujah. I braced my palm against the weathered barn siding.

Ouch. Harpooned by a jagged splinter. Blood oozed from the sensitive pad below my right thumb. I stared at the inch-plus spear. Paint had kept running. He was no longer in sight.

The screams stopped. An accident? A heart attack? I hustled around the corner of the barn. A little girl sobbed in the cleared area behind Udderly’s retail sales cabin. I recognized Jenny, a rambunctious five-year-old from a nearby farm. Her mother knelt beside her, stroking her hair.

No child had produced the operatic screams we’d heard. Maybe Jenny’s mother was the screamer. But the farm wife didn’t seem the hysterical type. On prior visits to Udderly, I’d stopped at the roadside stand where she sold her family’s produce. Right now the woman’s face looked redder than one of her Early Girl tomatoes. Was the flush brought on by some danger—a goat butting her daughter, a snake slithering near the little girl?

I walked closer. Then I saw it. A skull poked through the red clay. Soil had tinted the bone an absurd pink.

I gasped. The sizeable cranium looked human. I spotted the grave digger, or should I say re-digger. Udderly’s newest addition, a Vietnamese potbellied pig named Tammy, hunkered in a nearby puddle. Tiny cloven hoof marks led to and from the excavation. Tell-tale red mud dappled her dainty twitching snout. The pig’s hundred-pound body quivered as her porcine gaze roved the audience she’d attracted.

A man squatted beside Tammy, speaking to the swine in soothing, almost musical tones. Pigs were dang smart and sensitive. Aunt Eva told me it was easy to hurt their feelings. The fellow stroking Tammy’s grimy head must’ve been convinced she was one sensitive swine.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “The lady wasn’t screaming at you, Tammy.”

Tammy snorted, lowered her head, and squeezed her eyes shut. The pig-whisperer gave the swine a final scratch and stood, freeing gangly limbs from his pretzel-like crouch. Mud caked the cuffs and knees of his khaki pants. Didn’t seem to bother him one iota.

The mother shepherded her little girl away from the disturbing scene, and Paint knelt to examine the skeletal remains. “Looks like piggy uncovered more than she bargained for.” He glanced at Muddy Cuffs. “Andy, you’re a vet. Animal or human?”

“Human.” Andy didn’t hesitate. “But all that’s left is bone. Had to have been buried a good while. Yet Tammy’s rooting scratched only inches below the surface. If a settler dug this grave, it was mighty shallow.”

“Probably didn’t start that way.” I pointed to a depression that began uphill near the retail cabin. “This wash has deepened a lot since my aunts built their store and the excavation diverted water away from the cabin. The runoff’s been nibbling away at the ground.”

Mom, Dad, and Aunt Eva joined the group eyeballing the skull. Eva looked peaked, almost ill. I felt a slight panic at the shift in her normally jolly appearance. I thought of my aunts as forces of nature. Unflappable. Indestructible. I’d lost one, and the other suddenly looked fragile. Finding a corpse on her property the same day she bid her twin goodbye had hit her hard.

Dad cocked his head. “Could be a Cherokee burial site. Or maybe a previous farmer buried a loved one and the grave marker got lost. Homestead burials have always been legal in South Carolina. Still are.”

For once, the idea of finding a corpse in an unexpected location didn’t prompt a gleeful chuckle from my dad, Dr. Howard Hooker. Though he was a professor of horticulture at Clemson University by day, he was an aspiring murder mystery author by night. Every time we went for a car ride, Dad made a game of searching the landscape for spots “just perfect” for disposing of bodies. So far, a dense patch of kudzu in a deep ravine topped his picks. “Kudzu grows so fast any flesh peeking through would disappear in a day.”

Good thing Dad confined his commentary to family outings. We knew the corpses in question weren’t real.

Mom whipped out her smartphone. “I’ll call Judge Glenn. It’s Sunday, but he always answers his cell. He’ll know who to call. I’m assuming the Ardon County Sheriff’s Department.”

Dad nodded. “Probably, but I bet SLED—the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division—will take over. The locals don’t have forensic specialists.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “You spend way too much time with your Sisters in Crime.”

It amused Mom that Dad’s enthusiasm for his literary genre earned him the presidency of the Upstate South Carolina Chapter of Sisters in Crime.

Mom didn’t fool with fictional crime. Too busy with the real thing. As the City of Clemson’s attorney, she kept a bevy of lawyers, judges, and city and university cops on speed dial. However, Udderly Kidding wasn’t in the same county as Clemson so it sat outside her domain.

“Judge Glenn, this is Iris Hooker. I’m at the Udderly Kidding Dairy in Ardon. An animal here unearthed a skull. We think it’s human, but not recent. Should we call the sheriff?”

Mom nodded and made occasional I-get-it noises while she clamped the cell to her ear.

“Could you ask them to keep their arrival quiet? Better yet, could they wait until after four? About fifty folks are here for my sister-in- law’s wake. I don’t want to turn her farewell into a circus.”

A minute later, Mom murmured her thanks and pocketed her cell. “The judge agrees an old skull doesn’t warrant sirens or flashing lights. He’ll ask the Ardon County Sheriff, Robbie Jones, to come by after four. Since I’m an officer of the court, his honor just requested that I keep people and animals clear of the area until the sheriff arrives.”

Andy stood. “Paint, help me bring some hay bales from the barn. We can stack them to cordon off the area.”

“Good idea.” Paint stood, and the two men strode off. No needless chitchat. They appeared to be best buds.

I tugged Dad’s sleeve, nodded toward his sister, and whispered, “I think Aunt Eva should sit down. Let’s get her to one of the front porch rockers.”

Dad walked over and draped an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Eva, let’s sit a while so folks can find you to pay their respects. This skeleton is old news. Not our worry.”

Eva’s lips trembled. “No, Brother. I feel it in my own bones. It’s that son-of-a-bitch Jed Watson come back to haunt me.”

THREE

Jed Watson? The man Eva married in college? The man who vanished a few years later?

Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Eva, that’s nonsense. That dirtbag ran off forty years back. You’re letting your imagination run wild.”

Eva straightened. “Some crime novelist you are. You know darn well any skeleton unearthed on my property would have something to do with that nasty worm. Nobody wished that sorry excuse for a man dead more than me.”

“Calm down. Don’t spout off and give the sheriff some harebrained notion that pile of bones is Jed,” Dad said. “No profit in fueling gossip or dredging up ancient history. Authorities may have ruled Jed dead, but I always figured that no-good varmint was still alive five states over, most likely beating the stuffing out of some other poor woman.”

Wow. I knew Eva took her maiden name back after they declared her husband dead, but I’d never heard a speck of the unsavory backstory. Dad liked to tell family tales, including ones about long- dead scoundrels. Guess this history wasn’t ancient enough.

Curiosity made me eager to ask a whole passel of none-of-my- business questions, though I felt some justification about poking my nose here. I’d known Eva my entire life. So how come this was the first I’d heard of a mystery surrounding Jed’s disappearance? Was Dad truly worried the sheriff might suspect Eva?

I was dying to play twenty questions. Too bad it wasn’t the time or place.

I smiled at my aunt. “Why don’t I get some of Paint’s brew to settle our nerves? Eva, you like that apple pie flavor, right?”

“Yes, thanks, dear.”

“Good idea, Brie,” Dad added. “I’ll take a toot of Paint’s blackberry hooch. Eva’s not the only one who could use a belt. We’ll greet folks from those rockers. Better than standing like mannequins in a receiving line. And there’s a lot less risk of falling down if we get a little tipsy.”

Aunt Eva ignored Dad’s jest. She looked haunted, lost in memory. A very bad memory.

I hurried to the small tent where Magic Moonshine dispensed free libations. A buxom young lass smiled as she poured shine into miniature Mason jars lined up behind four flavor signs: Apple Pie, Blackberry, Peach, and White Lightnin’.

“What can I do you for, honey?” the busty server purred. I’m still an Iowa girl at heart, but, like my transplanted aunts and parents, I’ve learned not to take offense when strangers of both sexes and all ages call me honey, darlin’, and sweetie. My high school social studies teacher urged us to appreciate foreign customs and cultures. I may not be in Rome, but I’m definitely in Ardon County.

I smiled at Miss Sugarmouth. The top four buttons of her blouse were undone. The way her bosoms oozed over the top, I seriously doubted those buttons had ever met their respective buttonholes. No mystery why Paint hired her. Couldn’t blame him or her. Today’s male mourners would enjoy a dash of cleavage with their shine, and she’d rake in lots more tips.

“Sweetie, do you have a tray I can use to take drinks to the folks on the porch?”

The devil still made me add the “sweetie” when I addressed Miss Sugarmouth. She didn’t bat an eyelash. Probably too weighed down with mascara.

“Sure thing, honey.” I winced when the tray slid over the wood sliver firmly embedded in my palm. Suck it up. No time for minor surgery.

As I walked toward Eva’s cabin, crunching noises advertised some late arrivals ambling down the gravel road. On the porch, Dad and Eva had settled into a rhythm, shaking hands with friends and neighbors and accepting sympathy pats. Hard to hug someone in a rocker.

I handed miniature glass jars to Eva and Dad before offering drinks to the folks who’d already run the gauntlet of the sit-down receiving line. Then I tiptoed behind Dad’s rocker.

“I’ll see if Mom wants anything and check back later to see how you and Eva are doing.”

“Thanks, honey.” He kissed my cheek. I returned to Paint’s moonshine stand and picked up a second drink tray, gingerly hoisting it to avoid bumping my skewered palm. Balancing the drinks, I picked my way across the rutted ground to what I worried might be a crime scene.

Mom perched between Paint and Andy atop the double row of hay bales stacked to keep the grisly discovery out of sight. The five-foot-two height on Mom’s driver’s license was a stretch. At five-four, I had her by at least three, maybe four, inches. My mother’s build was tiny as well as short—a flat-chested size two. I couldn’t recall ever being able to squeeze into her doll-size clothes. My build came courtesy of the females on Dad’s side of the family. Compact but curvy. No possibility of going braless in polite society.

Mom’s delicate appearance often confounded the troublemakers she prosecuted for the city. Too often the accused took one look at Iris Hooker and figured they’d hire some hulking male lawyer to walk all over the little lady in court.

Big mistake. The bullies often reaped unexpected rewards—a costly mélange of jail time, fines, and community service.

Mom spotted my tray-wobbling approach. “Are these Paint’s concoctions?”

I nodded. “Well, Daughter, sip nice and slow. Someday I may file charges against Magic Moonshine. Paint’s shine is often an accomplice when Clemson tailgaters pull stunts that land them in front of a judge.”

Paint lifted his glass in a salute. “Can I help it if all our flavors go down easy?”

Mom turned back to me. “Have you met these, ahem, gentlemen?”

I suddenly felt shy as my gaze flicked between the two males. “I met Paint earlier. This is my first chance to say hi to Andy. I’m Brie Hooker. You must be the veterinarian Aunt Eva’s always talking about.”

Andy rose to his feet. “Andy Green. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Your aunts were my very first customers when I opened my practice.”

He waved a hand at Tammy, the now demure pig, wallowing a goodly distance away. “I’m really sorry Tammy picked today to root up these bones. I feel partly to blame. Talked your aunts into adopting Miss Piggy. It aggravates me how folks can’t resist buying potbellied pigs as pets when they’re adorable babies, but have no qualms about abandoning them once they start to grow.”

Andy’s outstretched hand awaited my handshake. I held up my palm to display my injury. “Gotta take a rain check on a handshake. Unfortunately, I already shook hands with the barn.”

Andy gently turned up my palm. “I’ll fix you right up, if you don’t mind a vet doing surgery. Give me a minute to wash up and meet me at my truck. Can’t miss it. A double-cab GMC that kinda looks like aliens crash landed an aluminum spaceship in the truck bed. I’m parked by the milking barn.”

As Andy loped off toward the retail shop’s comfort station, Paint called after him. “Sneaky way to hold hands with a pretty lady.”

Andy glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

Paint chuckled and focused his hundred-watt grin on me. “Bet my white lightning could disinfect that sliver. Sure you don’t want me to do the honors?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Somehow I doubt honor has anything to do with it.”

The moonshiner faked an injured look. Mom rolled her eyes. “Heaven help me—and you, Brie. Not sure you’re safe with the wildlife that frequents this farm. Forget those coyotes that worry Eva, I’m talking wolves.” She looked toward the porch. “How’s Eva holding up?”

“Better.” I wanted to grill Mom about Jed Watson, but I needed to do so in private. “Guess I should steel myself for surgery.” I took a Mason jar from the tray I’d set on a hay bale. “Down the hatch.” My healthy swallow blazed a burning trail from throat to belly. Before I could stop myself, I sputtered.

“Shut your mouth,” Paint said. Yowzer. My eyes watered, and my throat spasmed. I coughed. “What?”

“Shut your mouth. Oxygen fuels the burn. You need to take a swallow then close your mouth. None of this sipping stuff.”

“Now you tell me.” I choked. Mom laughed. “That’s the best strategy I’ve heard yet to shut Brie up.”

I wiped at the tears running down my cheeks. “Your moonshine packs more punch than my five-alarm Thai stir fry.”

Paint’s eyebrows rose. “My shine is smooth, once you get used to it. You want a little fire in your gut. Keeps life interesting.”

A little too interesting. I’d been at Udderly Kidding Dairy just over a week, and I already felt like a spinning top with a dangerous wobble.

***

Author Bio:

Over the past five years, hundreds of mystery/thriller writers have met Linda Lovely at check-in for the annual Writers’ Police Academy, which she helps organize. Lovely finds writing pure fiction isn’t a huge stretch given the years she’s spent penning PR and ad copy. She writes a blend of mystery and humor, chuckling as she plots to “disappear” the types of characters who most annoy her. Quite satisfying plus there’s no need to pester relatives for bail. Her newest series offers good-natured salutes to both her vegan family doctor and her cheese-addicted kin. She served as president of her local Sisters in Crime chapter for five years and belongs to International Thriller Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Catch Up With Linda Lovely On: Website 🔗, Goodreads 🔗, Twitter 🔗, & Facebook 🔗!

Tour Participants:

Stop by these awesome hosts to learn more about Linda Lovely & her amazing book, Bones To Pick. Plus, there are some great reviews, interviews, and giveaways!!

Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Linda Lovely. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on October 14 and runs through December 17, 2017.

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BLOG TOUR – Bones to Pick was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

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