Pinch of Naughty (16 page)

Hi. I’m Gem Sivad. My pen name represents my dual-personality. I’m dull as ditch-water in real life, with a “yours, mine, and ours” family of five kids, and a full time husband who keeps me grounded (most of the time).

But my author side lives in the southern part of an enchanted kingdom where she enjoys the slow pace of life that gives her time to study the world and imagine incredible adventures.

Gem’s sexy, gritty romances, usually contain more than a pinch of naughty and definitely include a splash of fun.

Although she has hermit tendencies, occasionally she comes out of the writer’s den to meet readers at book signing events. Hope you see her there. But in case you miss each other, you can find Gem at the cyber locations below.

For book release updates (or if you’re an avid Words with Friends junkie like she is) hang out with Gem on Facebook @
facebook.com/GemSivadAuthor
.

Visit the Gem Sivad website @
gemsivad.com
for snippets from the current works in progress. And of course, by subscribing to Dreamcatcher newsletter@
http://gemsivad.com/subscribe/
you’ll never miss a Gem Sivad contest or giveaway.

Nice meeting you,

Gem Sivad

Historical Westerns

Unlikely Gentlemen series:

River’s Edge

Outrageous Pride

Cerise Amour

Eclipse Heat series:

Quincy’s Woman

Perfect Strangers

Wolf’s Tender

Tupelo Gold

Five Card Stud

Breed True

Trouble in Disguise

Whispering Grace

Historical Paranormal

             
Jinx series:

             
Cat Nip

              Blood Stoned

Contemporary Paranormal

             
Bitter Creek Holler series:

             
Call Me Miz

              Miz Spelled

              Ursus Horribilis

Contemporary Romantic Suspense

             
Smoke, Inc. series

             
Cowboy Burn

              Rhythm

Blurb:
Five days after Christmas, when the bills are pouring in and the joy’s already escaped, Harley-Jane Arthur has a plan. Use her artistic talent as entertainment at an upscale kids' party, make enough money to pay January utilities, and maybe have some cash left over for her barn roof repairs. After that, she’ll buy a bottle of Red and toast New Year's Eve as usual—alone.

But... after she leaves for the party, the balmy weather turns to rain, which turns to sleet, then ice, then snow. Janie’s stuck in a blizzard with no trains, planes, or Uber. Then her luck changes. While trying to grab a taxi, she unwittingly sees a murder, after which she skids on her cheap boots that have no purchase, down an icy road, landing in a heaping pile of love.

Gable Matthews, a.k.a. Cowboy, has been waiting patiently these last few years for Harley-Jane to wake up from grieving for her husband. When she's stranded during a snowstorm, he figures this might be his chance to get her attention.

Snowbound together, Gable and Janie discover passion hot enough to melt the ice. But nothing comes easy for them. There’s an unpredictable snow storm, a wonky furnace, and a taxi-cab-stealing killer, all trying to interfere with their love.   

Yes, that’s me making that noise, starving artist, Harley-Jane Arthur.
I tried to quiet the impolite rumble of my stomach but it wasn’t cooperating. I’d passed on the cake earlier for fear I’d smear icing on my work. I regretted it now.

“Thank you so much. I think Carlie will agree, you’ve made this an unforgettable party.” John Carson, my employer for the day, helped me into my coat after handing me a plump envelope.

“We wanted something unique. And you made it so.” Laura Carson, mother of the birthday girl, enthused over the day’s events.

Though I wanted to count the money before I shoved it in my pocket, being relatively couth, I tried to concentrate on the parents instead.

“It’s always hard to come up with something special for birthdays between Christmas and New Year’s Eve,” I agreed.

“You are more than welcome to stay. The girls would love it.”

I had to suppress a shudder. I’d just spent three hours entertaining a dozen ten-year-olds, many of whom had parents who’d elected to leave the kids for a sleepover rather than brave the storm.

Staying was not an option.

To get away from the pre-adolescent mania, I’d walk if I had to. But, hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary. I frowned down at new faux leather boots I’d worn when I’d not been expecting the balmy fifty-five degree weather to turn into a winter blizzard.

Evidently, neither had the weather forecasters. The icy whiteout had caught everyone unprepared. I peered outside the window at the street that looked more like a sheet of glass every moment.

“Thanks for the offer, but you won’t have to find a corner for me. I called an Uber driver and he’s on his way. He’ll get me to the T-Line.” I admit, I actually felt desperate as I watched for a glimpse of the car.

“Well,” Laura offered hesitantly. “The forecasters are now calling for more wind and snow. I doubt if the train will be running much longer.”

“Then I’d better hurry,” I muttered. I spotted a car valiantly laboring up the street and hurried away from the window.

“Carlie and her friends will always remember today because of you. Thank you so much.” Laura walked me to the door still oozing praise. I hoped she’d tell all her friends.

Inside my right glove, my fingers ached from three hours of non-stop pencil grasping. The envelope in my pocket made every moment worthwhile.

Five hundred dollars, twenty-five sketches, one per girl, one each of Carlie and friend, and one group picture I’d transfer to canvas and paint when I arrived home.

“You have a great New Year,” drifted after me as I stepped into the cold and heard the door click shut behind me. I immediately doubted my decision.

“It is ffffreezing out here,” I complained to no one. Just as well I didn’t intend it for ears. The wind took that moment to shift directions, blast me with ice shards, and smack me in the face with my own words.

Before I stepped from shelter, I pulled my phone out and called for backup.

“Looks like I might be late getting home tonight, Kenny. Can I get you to do my chores?” Cell service faded in and out as I begged my neighbor for help and received confirmation my livestock would be tended.

Even over the storm, I could hear the excited conversation in the background. Then the voice at the end changed.

“Where are you? Gable’s downtown. He can come and get you.” Kenny’s mom offered help in the form of her brother.

Cowboy Matthews to the rescue. Yippee ki-yay.
“That’s not necessary,” I answered quickly. “Tell Kenny I said thanks, again.”

Lifting my tote, I used it to shield myself as I left the porch, stepped ankle-deep into a drift, and waded through piles of wet yuck to get to the sidewalk.

“Damn, damn, damn.” With every step the new boots made it clear they weren’t created for snow walking. Icy water seeped through fake leather, wetting my socks and feet. The view from the Carsons’ window hadn’t prepared me for this.

After I disconnected, not thirty seconds later my phone pinged. I knew the caller without checking the ID. My voice was more than a little breathless when I fumbled to answer.

“Hi, Gable. Beth said you were downtown. I’m already on my way home. I just needed Kenny’s help because I’m running laaate—”

The wind chose that moment to whip around the corner and push me farther along the sidewalk. My voice wavered as I adjusted my stance, trying to find balance.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re on your way home. Where are you?”

“I’ll be at the T-Line and on the train before you can get here. Thanks for the offer.”

“The address,” he growled, ignoring my refusal.

“Mount Lebanon,” I answered, giving him the name of the suburb without specifics. I disconnected and faced a more immediate challenge than Gable Matthews—not freezing to death in the winter storm.

Good thing I called for a car earlier.
Before I had time to shove the phone into my pocket, it chimed again. I fumbled with it, ready to tell Gable again that I didn’t want a ride. He big-brother-bossed his sister around, and by extension, sometimes, me.

“Stuck downtown. Can’t get up the hill to pick you up.” The Uber driver delivered the bad news and disconnected.

I started to turn, intending to go back to the Carson house. Without warning, blizzard winds billowed around me, catching the canvas tote and pushing. Relentlessly, I slid down the hill, away from the birthday party and toward the train station. I managed to stop, but literally could not get back up the sidewalk. I contemplated crawling, but my feet started another downward slide before I decided.

After sleet had fallen earlier, it had coated the sidewalks and turned the streets to ice. Then, icy rain had changed to snow, covering the slippery mess with a thick, wet blanket. The wind cleared some spots, revealing the treacherous base. In other areas, snow varied from thin crusts to drifts.

“This is not good, this is not good at all,” I whimpered, trying to maintain my balance on the slick surface under my feet.

A Stop sign marking the spot where two streets intersected loomed in front of me. I slammed into it, clinging to the metal pole as I tried to get my bearings. I’d never visited this gentrified suburb before today.

I’d walked from the T-Line up the street, but the houses looked a lot different under snow and ice than they had earlier in the day with their elegant holiday decorations displayed under a warm sun.

I squinted through the snow, identifying a group of people on the other side of the street. Lights suddenly cut through the storm as a taxi fishtailed its way to the curb and the huddled group lunged for the handle.

I lunged too. But before I could reach the spot, they’d all climbed inside. Whether they saw me or not was a moot point. The last one inside slammed the door and the cab took off.

“Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered as the vehicle surged out of a rut and dirty snow hit me in the face.

Halfway down the block, another taxi idled in the middle of the street. Maybe my luck had changed.

“Mine,” I vowed and plunged through the storm, moving in the direction of the blurry beacon on top of the car.

I slid to a halt on one side of the vehicle at the same time two figures, one man leaning heavily on another, loomed out of the storm’s fury and reached for the same cab from the far side.

I attempted to jerk open the back door but a gale force wind threatened to knock me off my feet. Nevertheless, I clung to the handle, determined to get inside and stake my claim.

“I’ll share,” I gasped when I finally won my struggle and wrenched it open.

“No you won’t.” One of the men on the other side shoved his companion into the seat before I could slide inside.

I glared at both men clearly outlined by the dome light in the cab, ready to fight for space in the cab.

But the first man sprawled drunkenly all over the seat. I was ready to climb in and make room for myself anyway when the driver chimed in. “Cab’s taken.”

Ready to argue, I leaned in farther, but the driver accelerated, rocking his tires enough to threaten me.

I gave up, backed away, and let the force of the blizzard rip the door from my hand. Instead of climbing into his stolen ride, the second man closed his door, and rapped on the top of the taxi.

“Take off.” Spinning tires and lurching heavily, the vehicle moved away, leaving me staring across the open space at the cab thief. The next gust of wind whipped the hem of his trench coat and he slid on the ice-covered pavement.

I peered through the swirling snow, uncharitably glad to see him fall on his ass. He gave me such a dark look, I had no desire to offer assistance as he began to rise.

The wind took away the decision to help him when it slammed me with enough force to send me sliding down the sloping road.

Hope there’s no traffic at the bottom of the hill.
I slowed my descent down the twisty, narrow road by grabbing cars that residents had parked in the street. In more than one, the security alarm blared and lights flashed, warning the homeowners that a demented artist skidded down their hill.

Once, the wind shifted and carried the sound of a man’s curse. I realized that someone, probably the cab thief, followed in my tracks. That freaked me out, and instead of concentrating on keeping my balance, I tried to increase my speed, which turned out to be a mistake.

I fell, landing on the canvas tote, which acted like a sled, shooting me downward at an alarming speed until I collided with a garbage can covered in snow. I’d rounded the bend in the road before I crashed, and as I leaned on my elbows, catching my breath, I could see the lights from the T-Line in the distance.

I could also see the F-150 idling in the middle of the cross-section between streets. The door opened and a size thirteen set of boots, followed by a sinewy length of hardened steel, stepped down.

I silently willed the wind to catch Gable Matthews’ trademark Stetson. But it didn’t. He pulled it lower, stepped closer, and peered down at me.

“Need some help?”

“How’d you know where to find me?” I croaked, reaching up a hand so he could pry me out of the drift.

“Lights flashing and horns blaring. Knew it was you.” He pulled me up and sheltered my body with his as he walked me to his truck.

I ignored his oblique reference to the time he’d deactivated my car alarm after it had blared loud enough and long enough to wake my neighbor—one of those six degrees of separation things—his sister, Beth.

I didn’t miss his drawled sarcasm. But, I didn’t have the breath for a snappy response left in me. Being not much more than five feet tall, it was always a struggle for me to reach the running board on the giant’s truck.

This time I lost my battle to climb up. Cold had settled in my knees and I thought they might never work again.

Gable slid his arm under my legs, lifted me into the big Ford pickup, parked my fanny on his heated seat, tucked my canvas tote in the back, and shut the door before I knew what he’d planned.

Ahh…
I actually moaned out loud as he jogged around to his side.

The door opened, the truck tilted toward the driver’s side, and a blast of cold air accompanied Gable as he swung up and inside. As soon as he settled under the steering wheel, he handed me a towel.

I’d been melting. Water puddled around me on his leather seats. Embarrassed, I wiped my face, and tried to blot the ice from my hat. He pulled the hat off, unleashing the mess of brown hair that tumbled out and around my shoulders.

“Great, now it’s wet, too,” I complained.

Before I could protest, he gathered it in his hand, pulled it away from my face, and squinted down at me. “Mud, I think.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb. “You been playin’ in a dirt pile?”

“I’ve been earning money for a new barn roof,” I muttered stiffly, reaching for my hat.

“Your hair’s a mite damp. Best let it dry.” He laid my knit cap out of reach on the dashboard closer to the heat. “Mind telling me why you’re skating around up here in a blizzard?”

Beth laughed at Gable’s tendency to micromanage anything he involved himself in. Sometimes he forgot I wasn’t his sister and tried to boss me as well. Apparently, this was one of those times.

“Kids’ party. I was the entertainment. The mud’s from the tires of a taxi I tried to chase down.” I shut up, then thought of more explanation.

“And if you’ll recall, it was fifty-five degrees this morning.” I decided I’d better tone down my indignation since he’d come out in the storm to find me. Plus, I remembered I had to get home. “You can just drop me at the train station,” I murmured.

“Quit running a half hour ago.”

“Oh.” That sounded dumb. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to ask him to drive to the country. The wind whistled and roared around the truck, sounding more like a locomotive than a storm. Home seemed farther away each moment.

I shivered inside my wet coat. Gable muttered a curse, cranked up the heat, turned on some music, and put the truck in gear.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed being out of the cold. There was no reason to ask where we were going. We’d go wherever Cowboy Matthews wanted to go. My eyes popped open again when I remembered the other stranded pedestrian.