Colonel Marty is back and under the gun. The church elder from Blues in the Night returns to rescue bullet-riddled lovers from the frontlines in the Korean War and back home in Louisiana. Can the retired Army nurse make it through the fire to her wedding day? Read on for a free excerpt from Blues 2: The Colonel.
Dear Readers,
I’m pleased to announce the release of my fifth book, Blues 2: The Colonel, a lesbian military romance with cover art by S.A. Hunt, available excusively at Payhip. The first in series, Blues in the Night, will soon be available at Payhip, free of charge for a limited time. Follow me on Twitter for notification.
Some of you are shaking your heads and asking, Why is she skipping Amazon altogether? You’ll find the answer here. Thanks to Guy Kawasaki, I’ve decided to explore alternative indie publishing venues. I hope you’ll support me in this choice and buy a copy.
As an author, I appreciate Payhip’s secure setup, easy editing, simplified sharing and new developments. They even pay the VAT (Value Added Tax), so Blues 2 can be had everywhere. As a reader, I hope you’ll take advantage of the blue Preview button in the top right corner of the cover, three available formats (epub, mobi and pdf) and the convenience and comfort of Paypal.
What about ratings and reviews? you ask. See the Blues 2: The Colonel page, the Blues series page and my author page on Goodreads. Need an editorial e-copy? Contact me here .
Now, how about that excerpt?
Blessed be,
Belinda
EXCERPT
I’m gettin’ too old for this, thought Marty as she threw her eighty-five-year-old frame to the pavement and low-crawled from the gas pumps to the glass-walled convenience store. From her vantage point behind the ice cooler, she peered around and assessed the situation. The shooter’s back was to her, good. No sign of the cashier or Martha, not good. The shooter probably had them down on the floor, with at least one bleeding from a bullet wound to God-knows-where. Not Martha.
Marty was bird Colonel Dr. Marty G. LaFleur, U.S. Army, RN, Retired. She’d served in Korea and Vietnam then rotated through Stateside base hospitals. She’d retired to her family’s farm in Livingston, LA and gotten her master’s and doctorate at LSU, then taught at McNeese State University, whose nursing school and partner hospital’s Regional Cardiac and Trauma Center were as respected as she was. It wasn’t Boston, Chicago or New York, but it was home, and a lot more comfortable for her old bones in winter. She’d only had to contend with a couple Category Five hurricanes, but she’d just tucked her citations and uniform into her rolling duffle, packed a few flats of food and water from her pantry, saddled up with her animals and their gear in her Jeep Cherokee and holed up with the skeleton crew and local media at St. Patrick’s Hospital. Once the winds passed and EMS, the Calcasieu Parish Sheriff’s Marine Division and the high-wheeled Louisiana National Guard vehicles began their operations, Marty swung into action, evaluating and assisting with trauma cases and anything else that presented itself. Just another day at the office.
Due to the incredibly stormy night, there wasn’t much traffic on the knee-deep street or at the store on its elevated pad, just her Jeep and the cashier and shooter’s cars. At least that minimized additional casualties. Although she was in a great position to tag the shooter should he run to his car, she couldn’t see inside for the counter and merchandise. No sooner had she eased around and gotten a half decent view, thanks to the corner mirrors by the drink coolers, then she heard the tap of the handgun’s muzzle against the store’s glass door and looked into the eyes of the idiot. Slowly raising both hands out and over her head, her cane dangling from the right, she limped inside, the shooter keeping the gun on her as he indicated that she should join the other two women on the floor by the reach-in coolers.
As she passed him, Marty pretended to stumble and tased the shooter with the custom cap on the tip of her cane. Then she punched him in the face, knocking his head back against the hard tile floor. Tucking his gun into the waistband of her jeans, she turned to check on the victims. She found Martha lying in an expanding pool of blood, her face pale, clothes soaked and a hole in her chest. And barely there, but definitely a pulse. The cashier was out cold with an ugly lump on her head and a slightly stronger pulse. Marty grabbed some hand sanitizer and a couple boxes of tampons off the shelf, ripped off the packaging and packed Martha’s wound open, then pulled out her phone and dialed one while she applied pressure.
About the Author
Belinda Y. Hughes is the author of Blues 2: The Colonel, Blues in the Night, Confessions of a Red Hot Veggie Lover 1 and 2 and Living Proof. She enjoys cozy mysteries, hot romances, aromatherapy bubble baths, beading, baking and hiking in the woods. Upcoming books include Blues 3: The Twins, another lesbian military romance, in which Sam and Ace will take advantage of newly expanded MOS opportunities to further their military careers while trying to maintain their love lives. A new series involving natural health-themed cozy mysteries will begin and there might be some poetry and erotica. Follow Belinda on Facebook, Goodreads, Pinterest and Twitter to stay abreast.
Belinda Y. Hughes Books 