Of course this is an adult LGBT romance, m/m, but this excerpt is PG-13 at most, maybe a few mild swear words in conversation but nothing raunchier. However, I promise  the story does have it’s share of sizzle; trust me!

The Maltese Terror by Deirdre O’Dare, ISBN 978-1-60272-092-3  Copyright © 2007 by Deirdre O’Dare, Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber  buy link: www.amberquill.comAmberAllure/bio_ODare.html

Excerpt:

Set Up:  Landscape architect Nick has flown to Denver for an important meeting. He becomes  lost on the highway in to the city during a storm due to construction on the road and gets stuck.  In lieu of a Triple A tow truck, a local rancher is dispatched to rescue him. That is Caleb Storm, a somewhat  reclusive man who is part Native American.  He has just found Nick here.

*****

The man standing there looked huge, tall, solid, and either very bulky or enveloped in all the clothes he could get on.

“You must be the fellow who called in to emergency, right? You picked a hell of a night to get yourself lost.”

“As if I had a choice in the matter,” Nick replied, feeling a little testy over the stranger’s laconic comment. “This state has the most screwed-up freeway I’ve ever been on in my life. How’s a guy supposed to find his way when you can barely make out your hood ornament in front of you?”

The stranger ignored Nick’s complaint. “Get your stuff and come on. I’ll take you back to the ranch tonight. If the storm clears out early like it’s supposed to, you can probably get your car out tomorrow.”

Nick stuffed Cedric back into the carrier and then grabbed his bag and the dog’s things. Apparently seeing him struggle, juggling three items, the stranger grabbed Nick’s bag, the biggest one. He tossed it into the jump seat area in the back of the king cab. Then he saw the puke green carrier.

“What’s that? You aren’t traveling with a cat, are you?”

Upon hearing the word cat, Cedric let out a sharp, aggravated bark. The tall man bent over to try to peer through the mesh. “You’ve got a dog in there?” His tone indicated total incredulity at the notion.

“Yes, I’ve got a dog in here. Normally he stays home, but my pet-sitter wasn’t available this week, so he had to come with me.”

“Did you shrink it or what? I couldn’t fit a quarter of one of mine into that overgrown pocketbook.”

Nick didn’t bother to respond. This guy is sure arrogant. He followed the tall Coloradan to the looming truck. The man jerked open the passenger-side door. Metal shrieked on metal, but it came free. Nick scrambled into the seat. The heater was going full blast. Damn, that feels good.

He set Cedric’s carrier on the floor between his feet, tugged down the zipper of his parka and muttered a swift prayer of thanks. They weren’t going to be sitting in a cold car all night after all.

It took them almost an hour to get to the ranch the Coloradan mentioned. He must know the road because Nick couldn’t see a thing through the snow-speckled windshield.

Suddenly drained now that the real crunch was over, Nick didn’t feel like struggling to make conversation. Except for telling Nick where the thermos was and asking him to pour a cup, the big man also remained silent the whole time. Nick excused him with the admission that driving in these conditions was seriously demanding.

Not until they staggered together into the kitchen at the ranch did Nick get a good look at his Samaritan. Nick was five-ten and worked out enough to keep a trim physique, but even the body builder types at his gym couldn’t stand up to this man. Nick simply stood and gawked as the rancher peeled off the heavy padded coverall, hung it and his hat on some big spikes by the back door and then kicked off his soaked boots. Standing there in stocking feet, he stretched, his fingertips brushing the ceiling. Next he rolled shoulders almost as wide as the doorway, then flashed Nick a rueful grin.

“Guess we might take time now for introductions. I’m Caleb Storm. I was born in this house thirty-six years ago come July. I’ve lived here all my life, except the four years I was in the Army. My folks left the ranch to me when they passed on. Only have one sister and she isn’t cut out for ranch life. Life story in a nutshell.”

Nick nodded. “I’m Nick LeGrande. My trade is a kind of mixture of landscape architect, site planner and crazy dreamer. Home base now is in Philadelphia, but I grew up in western New York. I was trying to get to Denver from the airport when the blizzard hit. I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere, but you couldn’t see past the hood half the time. I grew up with snow, but it wasn’t anything like this. Do you get these white-out conditions a lot?”

“Off and on. We’ll have a real blizzard at least a couple of times most winters, sometimes more. I know it can be dangerous, but I work around it best I can. Right now I’m just hoping none of my heifers decide to drop their calves tonight. A wise, old range cow might make it with her baby, but the green young ones won’t.”

Nick had only the vaguest idea what Caleb was talking about, but then, it really didn’t matter. He was too caught up in studying the bigger man to think about anything as esoteric as cattle giving birth. Normally he didn’t pay a lot of attention to other men’s appearances, but this Caleb Storm was an exceptionally arresting specimen.

His hatchet-sharp face, though rough hewn, was balanced and striking. A pair of keen gray eyes looked as if they never missed anything, however insignificant. Never try to lie to this man. The unexpected thought flashed through Nick’s mind.

In the flat light of a single ceiling fixture, Caleb’s hair was shining blue-black, probably well past his shoulders when he didn’t have twisted up in that odd bunch at the back of his head. The wind had torn a few strands free. They drifted down over the bright striped yokes of his western cut shirt.

A sharp, squeaky bark from Cedric recalled Nick’s attention to the carrier at his feet. A ragged looking dog with strange, blotchy markings had ambled over to sniff at the carrier. Inside, Cedric was working himself into a complete frenzy. He didn’t get to see other dogs too often and this one really seemed to push his buttons. The carrier bounced like a bark boat on a windswept pond as Cedric spun in circles, folding himself almost double to do it. Each bark got a little more shrill.

“Why don’t you let your dog out? He’s going to bust that pocketbook wide open in a few more minutes anyway.”

Glancing askance at the splotchy dog that still nosed around the carrier, Nick reached down and tugged the zipper open. Cedric shot out like a fluffy, white cannon ball. The bigger dog sat back in surprise, eyeing the flying bundle of fur with suspicion.

Caleb obviously shared the sentiment. “What the hell kind of dog is that? It looks like a dust mop on roller skates, and I’ve seen bigger cats. If I hadn’t heard it make definite doggie noises, I’d never guess it was canine.”

Nick had to come to his pet’s defense. “He’s a Maltese. Although they’re actually related to spaniels, some call them Maltese Terriers. Breed’s been around a long time. Cedric has a pedigree as long as your arm. He’ll slow down in a minute. It’s been a traumatic day for him.” Dropping to one knee, Nick snapped his fingers. “Come here, Cedric.”

Cedric came barreling back across the room and launched himself into Nick’s arms. The speckled gray dog approached with a good deal more dignity. Nick started to lift Cedric out of the other dog’s reach.

“No, it’s okay. Chey won’t hurt it. She may think it’s a puppy and pretty near love it to death, but she won’t hurt the little critter. Maltese Terror, huh? If that don’t beat all.”