Sarah Black
New Releases
Death of a Blues Angel by Sarah Black
Read an excerpt:
The Blues Angel was a seedy little dive from the outside, gray metal door off an alley in the black part of downtown, but when you pushed the doors open against the grit and wind, the club smelled like a little bit of Mississippi, transplanted to DC.
There was a pot of collards cooking somewhere, and fatback frying in an iron skillet, and old men with Delta voices were talking and laughing, bottles and glasses clinking on a tabletop. Bluesmen were famous for letting the pain out with the help of a little corn whiskey, and he heard the whine of a harmonica, somebody fingerpicking a guitar, then the low, sexy sound of a bottleneck slide.
Deke walked past the bar, and the battered tables with the chairs turned upside down on top. There was a bunch of old men back there next to the stage. A woman in a flowered dress, an apron tied around her ample waist, was giving them a what-for. "Put that moonshine away, you want some supper. Blind Pete's been sniffing at the kitchen door for an hour."
"Maybe he's not sniffing at the greens, girl," and the old men cackled and slapped the tabletop. The man who had spoken was missing both his front teeth, and the woman swiped at his head.
"Don't you talk to me like that, Blue Otis. I've a mind to give your ham to the dogs."
The white boy set down his guitar. "We're clearing the table right now, Mama Rose. Just everybody get your napkins tucked under your chins. You don't want to be spilling gravy down those fancy silk shirts." This must be Rafael Hurt, and he looked like an angel, so young and pretty and so out of place in this company of dark old men that Deke took a step back into the shadows to watch.
His skin glowed like a pearl. His hair was that silver-white color that most boys outgrew about age five, and he'd let it grow long and shaggy, like one of the Beatles. He was passing out napkins to the old men now. One of the men was wearing dark glasses, with a white cane hooked on the arm of his chair. The boy tucked his napkin up under his chin, spread it out to cover his shirt. Rafael looked up suddenly, straight to where Deke was standing in the shadows, and the wild blue of his eyes hit Deke like a punch in the stomach. "Mama Rose, looks like you got some company." Then he handed the third old man his napkin and went to stand behind his own chair.
The woman was sliding plates onto the table, huge fried ham steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy, and big steaming piles of greens. She looked up sharply and Deke stepped forward, holding his bulky camera and press card. He hoped that she couldn't tell he was nearly drooling on the floor at the smell of her food.
"We're not open yet, son," she said.
"Ma'am? Are you Sally-Rose Johnson? I'm Deacon Davis with the Washington Post. My editor sent me for a story." He knew he didn't sound very enthusiastic.
The third old man picked up his fork. "Rafe, sit down and eat." He pointed his fork at Deke. "Come on over here, pull up a chair and have some supper. Bruce Charters sent you?"
Sally-Rose raised her eyebrows and went back into the kitchen, and Deke pulled up a chair, waited for the white guy to scoot over and make room for him. This third old man seemed to be the one in charge. Somebody had made a real effort to bring some Christmas spirit into the club, with fat, colored light bulbs strung around the door frames and a cornhusk angel floating in each window. Deke noticed that the husk faces were darkened with coffee, and they were hanging by a string taped to the window frame. Grim. He wasn't really feeling the Christmas spirit.
The fat man with the dark glasses sprinkled the hot pepper vinegar over his greens, then he passed the bottle to Deke. He had the tip of one finger near the edge of his plate, and that's probably how he felt where the greens were. Deke didn't realize he was staring until the white boy, what was his name, Rafe? Rafael? cleared his throat. "You gonna use that?"
Deke sprinkled some vinegar, passed the bottle, and had the first delicious forkful in his mouth when Sally-Rose stood next to the table, folded her hands at her breast, and began the prayer. "Praise Jesus, and we thank you for this food and our family, together..."
Rafael slid those blue eyes his way, his face too innocent, then he dropped his eyes to his plate and folded his hands until they all said Amen, and Deke could swallow. Blind Pete was already on his second plateful before Deke was able to drag his attention away from his food to a little disagreement brewing at the table. "Uncle Jimmy, I don't think it's a good idea. And I don't want that kind of attention. He's not a bluesman. Look at those soft hands. I bet he's never even picked up a guitar."
Deke looked up and they were all staring at him. He put his hands in his lap. "Uh, no, I'm not a musician. I'm a reporter. And a photographer. Photojournalist, actually, is what they call it."
Rafe made a tiny snorting noise next to him, but he was looking at Deke with an open face, his eyes a little eager, like a puppy who was hoping for a friendly pet.
Blue Otis patted his mouth with his napkin. "You ever done radio, son? You got a strange sounding voice for a black man, like one of those men on the radio."
He shook his head. "No, I'm from out west. West Texas. Accents are different out there."
Eyebrows flew up around the table, but Rafe kept his eyes on his plate. "You don't even look black to me."
Deke gave him a dirty look. "I'm part Indian, Comanche, but I'm still blacker than you are."
The blue eyes glared at him full on. "What's that supposed to mean? Nobody said I was black."
"You're playing the blues. You're sitting here in a blues club."
"So what? I'm sitting with my family having supper. And nobody invited you to come in here and start giving me dirty looks." He looked back down to his plate and scooped up a forkful of potatoes. "I don't think you know dick about the blues. I bet you don't even know a blues story."
"What's a blues story?"
"It a story you tell on yourself. You know, about something you did, that makes you look a fool. Uncle Pete, tell that story about Texas. The one about the mule."
Blue Otis cackled. "You ever been to San Antonio, Deacon? To the Black Bull? It's a gambling club, dice, cards, like that, down by the river."
Deke shook his head. "I've been to San Antonio, but I must have missed the Black Bull."
Blind Pete leaned back in his chair. "Well, I'd say that's probably a good thing. Cause otherwise you might not be sitting here today, making Rafael mad with your big mouth. Me and Blue Otis, we escaped with a howling mob on our heels. They was getting ready to shoot us, stab us, lynch us, some damn thing, and it was all the fault of a Texas mule."
Partners in Crime by John Lanyon and Sarah Black
Read an excerpt:
Murder at the Heartbreak Hotel
Peter looked down at the young man in his bed. "I don't allow myself this pleasure very often," he admitted. Jacob's dark hair was tangled and damp against the white linen pillowcase, and Peter pushed it back, smoothed it down just so he could touch Jacob's face again. "And never before with someone who was my guest."
"I didn't come here for this, Peter, I promise you."
Peter traced the lines of Jacob's chin, his jaw, ivory skin already dark with whiskers. He had an appealing little dent in his chin, and his mouth was full and smiling. What an unexpected blessing, to have a man looking at him with gentle, patient eyes, to have a man open and waiting underneath him.
Peter leaned over him, and Jacob smiled with his eyes wide open. Peter smiled, too, and kissed him. His mouth was sweet and Peter could feel Jacob's hands reaching for him, tugging him closer, arms moving around his neck, those long, slender fingers sliding into his hair, a tender touch on his scalp. Then he felt Jacob's hands moving down the long length of his back, Jacob's chest against his, the coarse black hair tickling his skin, and Peter reached for his hips, pulled him up, still kissing him, reached to the bedside table for a condom.
He knocked over the EMS radio he had turned off earlier, when he opened his bedroom door and invited this stranger inside. It hit the hardwood floor and the battery popped out, but he didn't stop to pick it up, not with urgent hands tugging him close, and Jacob's beautiful dark eyes inviting him in, saying, Take me, I'm yours. Tonight I'm yours.
Fearless by Sarah Black
- Buy from Amazon.com
- Buy from BarnesandNoble.com
- Buy the e-book from Liquid Silver Books
Read an excerpt:
Colton stayed in bed until the morning cool had almost burned off, his head on Diego's pillow. When he couldn't stand the quiet another minute, he got up and pulled on yesterday's jeans, and walked outside to the courtyard. The old man was there, sitting in the shade, along with one grumpy old woman with thick glasses who was cooking at the outdoor stove and Ramon, who gave Colton a sour look and pointedly looked away.
Manuel tilted the ancient straw Stetson back on his head and waved his coffee cup at Colton. "All the women and ladyboys have gone back to Mexico City. That just leaves the dumb, ugly boys and the old men." The woman cooking glared at him from across the top of a frying pan full of chorizo.
Colton scratched his bare stomach. "You sound like my granddad." He went over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.
"I knew your granddad a long time. I met you before, too, but you don't remember it. When you was just a skinny, dirty little runt running wild with all the other little Mexican boys. It was that paint, remember? That little colt?"
Colton thought back. It was the year he was seven, maybe eight, that he'd found a newborn colt out in the desert, the mother dead from a lightning strike. He'd hid the colt in an old stone ruin, and soon every boy within ten miles knew about the colt and was taking turns feeding it. Nothing stays secret in Sonora, though, and it wasn't long before men started showing up to his granddad's place, trying to put a claim on the mother.
St. Sebastian and the Ravioli of Love — An Amazon Short
p
New books from Loose ID, LLC:
Border Roads by Sarah Black
Border Roads — Available Now
Read an excerpt:
Clayton
Clayton dumped his gear on the end of his bunk and stripped off his utility uniform. It was stiff and grimy with a week's worth of dried sweat and blowing sand. He got a clean pain of skivvies out of his bag and set them on his pillow, grabbed a towel and the bar of soap out of his kit.
Luke must already be in the shower. A clean T-shirt was folded on his pillow, and his gear was neatly stowed under his cot. A pocket knife lay on the olive green sleeping bag, with a little carving in dark red wood. Clayton picked it up.
Luke was carving a fallen angel, a man with wings spread and torn by the wind, tumbling from the sky.
Clayton walked down to the shower room. Luke was letting the water spill down over his head and back, his blonde hair plastered to his skull. It had been a miserable patrol. They'd taken small arms fire from three directions, and their lead Humvee had rolled over a piece of red det cord attached to a mortar buried in the road. The heat and the noise, and the weight of their flak jackets and Kevlar helmets left them all with headaches and stiff necks.
Read a review:
From the Two Lips Reviews site (www.twolipsreviews.com), by Tara ReneeBorder Roads is the tale of a group of men returning from the war in Iraq and their attempts at assimilation back into the lives they led before the war. Chris struggles daily just to survive. One night at a lonely diner he pays a young woman to spend the night with him. Something in Melody helps him cope with his new reality and he cannot leave her behind so she accompanies him to a new life in Arizona. Clayton and Luke only had a brief time together as lovers before Luke is nearly killed. His face destroyed, Luke's future is bleak until Clay comes for the man he loves. Their hunt for peace takes them from the heat of the desert to the wilds of Alaska and then back again. Mike is on a mission to write about the struggles at the Mexican-American borders. After a rocky beginning he learns about the power of the desert and the will to survive.
More...
The Lincoln County Wars by Sarah Black
The Lincoln County Wars — Available Now
Read an Excerpt:
The restaurant was packed. Half the town had turned out to either offer their support or to enjoy the vicarious thrill of trouble brewing. Maybe some of them had been lured by the smell of barbequed ribs on the big smoking pits out back of the restaurant. Baxter was working the grills, and he'd been surrounded by a pack of boys and dogs since school let out.
Merry rolled in and sat with Eddie and the guys from the platoon. Graham could hear her laughing, a ribald cackle that made everybody in hearing distance smile in response. Tommy came through about seven, but he didn't sit down to eat. He didn't have his uniform on, but from the top of his Silver Belly to the toes of his black lizard skin boots, he was the law with a capital L. He gave the crowd a slow, narrow-eyed scan, then walked slowly around the room, stopping here and there to shake hands. More than a few sweaty foreheads were mopped up with handkerchiefs after he passed.
Eddie came up to Graham and threw an arm over his shoulder. "What's the status of the next batch of ribs, bro?"
Graham looked at the buffet table. "Good grief. You guys have eaten half a cow and most of a goat. Let me go check on the grill."
Eddie walked out back with him. "Baxter, we got another batch of ribs ready to eat?" Baxter nodded, his face sweaty and tired beneath the bright purple bandana he had tied around his forehead.
"You take a break. I'll watch the grill for a bit."
Read a review:
From the Two Lips Reviews site (www.twolipsreviews.com, by Isabelle Spencer
Capitan, New Mexico — Present Day
As a lifetime resident of Lincoln County, Graham Callahan knows change comes slowly to their part of the world. Sexual diversity is something Graham can't see his small town openly embracing just yet, so he tries to advise his fellow cook and friend, Baxter, to be patient and wait. After all, waiting is something Graham is a master at. For a year and a half now, he's been waiting for the local National Guard unit to return with his brother Eddie and his lover, Tommy Lathrop. However, the unit's been back two months and Graham still hasn't seen Tommy.
Newly elected sheriff Tommy Lathrop is home from Iraq but coming close to death has made him wish for things to be different. From the moment they met as children, he and Graham had been two peas in a pod and had done everything together as the best of friends. That all changed one night when they were nineteen and drunk on bourbon, they became lovers in the dark and practically strangers in the daylight. Ten years later, there are times Tommy almost wishes he could just have his best friend back rather than his secret lover.
Colorado Gold by Sarah Black
Colorado Gold — Available Now
Read an Excerpt:
He reached for her, tugged her across the bench seat until he could kiss her. His nose and lips were cool from the October air, then she could feel his mouth warm up and soften. "I love to make out in pickup trucks. The first time I ever kissed a girl was in a pickup. It was her dad's, just like now."
"I haven't been kissed in a pickup before. I don't think I have, anyway. I might have forgotten."
Brian held her face in both hands. "I'm gonna be your first for lots of things. If you let me be. And if you forget, I'll just keep doing it again and again. Every first time, it's gonna get better and better. Oh, God, Jess, I could drive out of here with you right now, head straight into my mountains and never come back down."
Homesickness was swamping his face, and Jessica could feel an echo of it deep in her own chest. "Tell me about the mountains."
"Oh, Jess, you would love it up there. The world slows down enough you can hear yourself think. The air smells good, like all those trees, the Blue Spruce and those big Lodgepole Pines. I have this one valley, in the summer it's covered with wildflowers. There're so many flowers you can't help but walk on them. Early in the morning the mother deer bring the babies there, wildflowers for breakfast. This little stream goes down through it. The water comes down from the mountains, snowmelt, and moves through the valley to Opal Lake." Brian was talking faster and faster, and Jess turned around in the seat and put her hand on his knee. "The lake is down in a basin, and the streams come down on three sides. Even in the middle of summer those streams are so cold they'll turn your feet numb in a second. When I was a kid, I loved to jump in with my bare feet. Nobody could stay in that water as long as I could." He looked down at his feet, but they weren't there, and Jess watched his face twist up in pain.
Read a review at Literary Nymphs Reviews Only