Tequila Dirty

ISBN Digital: 978-1-62830-482-4
Page Count: 79
Word Count: 17795
Rating: Spicy(PG13)

The Hard Stuff

Something bad has happened in Dusky Beach, and Rita Deltone, a tough talking waitress from Lemon Run, Florida, is smack in the middle of it. Waking in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her hands tied to the bed can't be good. Yet, she knows all too well the dirt road she took to get down so low and doesn't mind taking the long way around in the telling.

Liam Donell is the new detective in town. His partner is on vacation so he has to handle all the dirty work. The suspect sure has a strange story to tell. But this Rita chick is pretty smokin’. In fact, she's so hot, he's not making the best decisions regarding the case. Then it turns ugly.

An unlikely couple, Rita and Liam try to make the best of a bad situation with steamy, hilarious, and surprising results.

Rating: Spicy
Page Count: 0
Word Count: 17795
978-1-62830-482-4 Digital


None of this would have happened if I hadn’t met Ruben Drake in the Kettle of Fish. And none of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t the kind of woman who drank too much at dumpy dives. But I am and I did, so this is where I’m at. Here with you now, all trussed up, flat on my back in this white on white room. With you setting over there in that plastic chair, taking it all down in your little schoolboy notebook. You with the cold hard glitter in your skeptical eyes. You with your neat, clean hands. Those busy writing hands, tired now from your life of duty, from all the hard luck stories you’ve summarized and dismissed in your goddamn reports.

See, where I’m from you learn at a young age not to talk about such things with strangers. And where I’m from, everybody who ain’t family’s a stranger.

Right now, it’s sunny back home in Lemon Run, the air still and hot. Light bounces off the cement sidewalks and cinderblock houses, flooding the open spaces, piercing the heart of the murky lake. The air smells like citrus, tangy and sharp. Dirt blows around, gets in your eyes. No rain in sight, it’s the north Florida dry season, but the fruit don’t care.

If I’d done what everybody else done in Lemon Run, I’d be at the packing plant right now. I’d be weighing squishy grapefruit and tossing bruisers into the juicer barrels. Or I’d be stacking the lumpy skinned oranges and tangelos in the proper crates, lugging them three at a time to the loading bay. I’d probably be laughing at the crazy things everybody at the plant come up with while we’re all being mindless together. In and out of the production line, sweating and swearing, trying not to be too beat down by the heat of the day. I’d be listening to the radio and singing along with the oldies station. Planning a beer run with one of the guys. Thinking about the long dirt road of my life ahead.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.