Thanks for having me today to talk about
my newest release, and a Prepper romance, Finding Mercy. Stick around to the
end, I’ll give you a sneak peek at my current WIP in the Evans Point series,
Dry Spell and a chance to win a copy of one of my other military-based
romances, Cinderella Wore Combat Boots.
Finding Mercy is a story about doomsday
preppers and second chances. This mini-series takes place in the fictional town
of Evans Point Wyoming, approximately one and a half hours outside Jackson
hole. The town is outside a decommissioned Army airfield and sits on top of a
massive bomb shelter built in the 1940’s (modeled after the actual town of
Alliance, NE).
In 2010, tornadoes tear through the
small community, flattening most of the town. When the storms end, the
residents rise from the debris with a mission to never be unprepared again.
They begin to refurbish the old shelter, and expand. As the railroad pulls its
headquarters out of the town after the disaster, the residents band together to
create businesses to support the economy of the small town and their on-going
project. The town builds solar panel roofing tiles, water filtration systems
and free dried foods with a shelf life up to 25 years, using online websites
catering to doomsday preppers
Justin is a Veteran, a former combat
medic who has run from reporters and questions he can’t anwser, seeking solace
in the middle of nowhere, where he tries to forget the role he played that
killed all but four men in two Army companies. Mercy Evans is an anchorwoman on
forced leave of absence for a story that went horribly wrong, resulting in the
suicide of a young woman. When she discovers Justin is the missing hero
everyone has been looking for, she sees a way to save her career. Little does
she know that falling in love will complicate her plan.
Excerpt:
Fingers pressed against his throat, feeling for a
pulse.
“This one’s alive.” Someone hoisted the weight of a
large chunk of wreckage from his torso. Two sets of hands slid under him. “On
the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
They moved in unison, rolling him onto a stretcher.
“No,” he begged. He wasn’t alive. This couldn’t be
real. Another protest gurgled from his throat and he began to convulse, unable
to hold his limbs still.
“Hold him down so I can sedate him.” Hands grasped
his wounded limbs. Bone cracked and shifted under their grip. He tried to arch
up, but remained restrained by several soldiers. He yelled and thrashed. They
grabbed both sides of his face, holding him still.
Justin screamed. The sound was so inhuman; if he
hadn’t been the one who’d made it, he wouldn’t have believed it came from a
man. A stick with a needle. Burning.
As the seizure eased, they released their hold. He
turned his head toward the medic who’d drugged him. The man blurred in and out.
Justin’s vision came back into focus as a burned picture of a woman and baby
caught the breeze and tumbled across the baked earth next to where the medic
kneeled. Justin swallowed and his eyes blurred with tears. Sanders hadn’t even
gotten to hold his daughter.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Let me die. Please. Let me die. Pain rode his nerves like an
electrical wire, sending jolts of agony to the tips of his fingers and toes. He
opened his mouth, but nothing came from his throat. Boom, boom, boom.
His heartbeat slowed as the sedative did its job.
“Get him on the chopper.”
Regardless the drug, every step the medics took hurt
as they hauled him toward reprieve. Broken bones, burns, but nothing compared
to what played through his head. He’d killed them all and survived to see his
handiwork. Nothing could be worse than that.
Blurb:
You’ll die
in three minutes without oxygen, three hours without shelter, three days
without water and three weeks without food. But could you live a lifetime with
a broken heart?
Mercy Evans has come to Evans Point hoping to collect herself and find a way to
resurrect her career as an anchorwoman for Cheyenne’s news station. Sergeant
Justin Redway has come to Evans Point to try to forget his past and survive all
he’s done.
One is a battle-damaged veteran, the other a desperate woman who will go to any
extreme to get his story. When their worlds collide, sparks fly and old wounds
open. As the chasm between the fated lovers widens, it might be too big to
cross.
One town, two lovers, and a second chance at finding mercy.
A Look at the WIP:
“Identification.”
She reached in her
pocket and pulled out an inactive reserve card. “I just got out of the Army a
month ago. I’m headed to California and running low on funds. I’m a meteorologist,
or that’s what I used to do in the Army. I’m hoping I can pick up a job doing
the same thing.”
That state again. He held his hand up, not wanting to hear a word
about the West Coast. “That doesn’t explain why you were climbing over the
fence onto private property.” He glanced down at the card. SSG. Addison Smith. Army? She didn’t look like any female soldier
he’d ever seen, but then again, he didn’t get out of Wyoming much. “So, Ms.
Smith, care to tell me what any of this has to do with you breaking the law?”
“I knew if I could get
video of this storm, I could sell it for a profit and have change to spare when
I got where I was going. Plus it would look great on my resume. Best shot was
from up there. Just trying to make a little money to get home.”
The hair on his neck
stood on end. There was a funny electricity in the air, like he clinged to high
voltage. Jake ignored the warning and focused on the pretty woman before him.
“So you were going to stand in the rain and film, hoping something would
happen?”
“Actually,” she said,
“something is going to happen.” She used her thumb to gesture behind her. “See
all those bumps in that cloud that dip down like a bunch of breasts? That’s a
cumulonimbus. Those pockets hold hail stones. A supercell is created when a
cold and warm front collide. I’ve been tracking this weather, watching and
waiting. And look at how low they are—the little wisps and the rotation?
Incredible. I can’t put words to it. It’s....”
He looked up and noticed
not only the rotation, but the twister that dropped down as she spoke. “A
tornado.” Though he could appreciate the graphic description, breasts in the
clouds and all, but there were much bigger things than tittles in the sky to
worry about. He grabbed her hand. “This way.” Jake dragged her at full run a
hundred yards down the interstate toward a culvert that ran under the highway.
They were lucky she’d stopped so close to it, or they’d be out of luck.
She glanced back. “Oh. A
tornado. Wait.” She lifted her camera and he jerked her around and all but
shoved her through the fence and down into a dried out stream bed. He gave her
another push toward the galvanized pipe under the pavement, big enough for two
people to squeeze into. “Get in there.” The beast roared behind them, drawing closer.
Jake unclipped his flashlight and slapped it into her hand. She looked back
again, but this time she didn’t hesitate, diving into the dark tunnel, the
bright beam bouncing before her. He crawled in after her.
Leave a comment under this post for a
chance to win an e-copy of Cinderella Wore Combat Boots. For more about my
available novels, please visit my website at www.authordljackson.com
