Twisted Tuesday: When you set out to write a romance and wind up with a mystery.

 

Many of you don't know the story behind the story of Dust Trail Blues. I've always loved to travel, which is probably a good thing since I was raised in a military household and moving was pretty much a given. One of my bucket list goals is to see all fifty states and I'm proud to say that I'm only one start short of that goal, Alaska. Of course, this elusive state is determined to be my white whale. Planning a trip there has been met with an assortment of roadblocks that range from comical to WTAF. I doubt I need to type one out...it's pretty self-explanatory. It is going to come to a point where I just reroute the next trip home from the West Coast to include a little detour into Alaska. 

Dust Trail Blues is pretty much set in the opposite of Alaska, at least in terms of US states. South Mississippi formed the backdrop for this story from soup to nuts, or in this case, from the first goat I spotted standing on top of a spectacularly wrecked car in a salvage yard to the blackberry festival and all the amazing treats that are served at one. There is nothing in the world like Southern cooking. The flavors tumble like spicy acrobats across your tongue, with many of the truly iconic recipes requiring 'long hours of layering in the soul' or at least, that's what my grandmother used to call it. 

I don't remember a time when her kitchen was silent, and I don't mean of the normal chopping and cracking sounds. Her kitchen was a place of conversation, but more than that, it was a place of song and storytelling, laughter and lessons that you never even realized you were learning until you found youself having to use them and realizing you're not afraid.

Getting to go down south with a friend of mine to her hometown and see the places she worked and hear her stories of being the clown at the 4H rodeo and how you knew not to fish at the spillway if there was a particular alligator stretched across it. We picked and ate blackberries off the vine, fully intending to take some home to make cobbler only they didn't exactly survive the drive back to my friend's mom's house. 

We settled for 7-Up cake for dessert that night, liberally sprinkled with maraschino cherry juice and dotted with cherries. Yes. A Shirley Temple dessert and so much fun because I'd never even heard of 7-Up cake before. There are a lot of things in Dust Trail Blues that Nash has never experienced, from homemade blackberry toppings on ice cream to a pizza parlor with a comic strip drawn in panels all over its wall. Three generations of that family have contributed to the overall collection, with people reading them while they waited for their meals to arrive. 

Even in our high-tech, everything digital, everything fast, fast, superfast world, people still slow down and linger, just to see what was added since the last time they dined there and what direction the story took. 

We stayed at a horse farm in this awesome trailer, had our bait stolen by some truly sneaky fish, and made several treks into Gulfport to wander the beaches, play mini-golf and Skee-ball for the first time in years. I swear, the prices you can get for those tickets still haven't changed. It's penny candy and plastic spider rings, unless you want to spend more money than the big prizes would cost, trying to win enough tickets to choose one. 

In the evenings, after we'd sat on the porch swing swapping stories with me smoking up to help keep the mosquitoes away, (it didn't work, by the way) I'd slip off to my room and listen to the sounds creep in from outside while I wrote. Not only was South Mississippi the inspiration for this story, but it was also where the first draft was written. We've gone back several times since this book was published, including a ten-day span last year, and each time I collect more experiences. One of these days I'm sure to revisit Nash and Justice again to see what they've been up to and maybe even collect a few of the potential breadcrumbs I've left in other books. You never know who might put in a guest appearance.  

How much time passed he couldn’t be sure, just that the sun had drifted through the sky until he was no longer shaded and the bright light made it difficult to focus on the page. The sun beat down relentlessly and he ran a wet bandana over his face, hoping to cool himself down a little only to discover that the handkerchief was nearly dry. With growing trepidation he realized he was down to his last bottle of water. Trying to focus clued him in on the fact that his head was beginning to throb and as he struggled to get his final thoughts on the page, he knew his focus was waning and that scared, panicked, hard to breathe feeling was beginning to set in, warning him that he needed to head back.

Tucking the sketchpad away, he intended to do just that, but as he turned, his eyes caught sight of headlights that reminded him of cat’s eyes. He’d already found a shifter that looked like a pistol grip, a cord preselector gearbox, and even one shifter that looked like a golf ball.  He hurried to harvest it, expecting it to be the same quick eight little screws it usually was only to discover that these contained ten. Slumping heavily against the side of a wrecked Packard once he was through, he sucked in air, and fumbled to down that last bottle of water.

Fuck. It was more than just lukewarm. It was hot and didn’t quench anything. Turning, he tried to find the trail back, only to discover that focusing on anything was difficult. Stupid, so stupid, Justice was going to chew him out. Taking several deep breaths, he turned again, and shambled towards what he thought was the route he needed to take, only to see nothing he’d seen before, so he sat, put his head down, and focused on slow, rhythmic breathing in the shade of open trunks covered in tangled vines. It was a little cooler here and water from the last rain was still collected in a puddle partway beneath it. He dipped his bandana in, rung it out over his head, felt it slide down the back of his t-shirt and make him warmer with its heat. So stupid. 

Breathe slower, he reminded himself, and focused on just that. After a while, his vision cleared a bit and he was breathing close to normal again. Cautiously, he eased himself to his feet and froze, eyes level with a fringe of vine. The sight through the vegetation was almost surreal, but when he gently brushed the vegetation aside it was to discover that it was very, very real. Curled on its side, the skeleton looked like it had been there a long while. The shreds of clothes still clinging to it were tattered and torn. Moss covered some of the bones while others were so bright a white it was clear the sun had bleached them. It’s mouth was hanging open, the lower jaw looked to barely be connected to the upper, teeth shattered with a good section of the jawbone missing. He staggered backwards, unable to tear his gaze away from the horrible sight as he fumbled for his phone. Somehow, he got it out without dropping it and mashed the square around Justice’s name. Three rings, four, five, six, just when he was sure it would go straight to voicemail, Justice’s voice came over the line.

“I … I found a body,” Nash stammered. “A skeleton, it….”

To Nash’s horror a field mouse popped its head up through a hole in the fractured skull, and he lost it then, turning his head away and vomiting most of the water he’d consumed through the day.

“Nash! Nash!”

He could hear the frantic note in Justice’s tone, even as he wretched again, dry heaving, shaking, gripping the phone tightly. He sucked in a breath through his nose and the stench of vomit helped him focus, move away, shake his head a little as he brought the phone back up.

“It’s in the trunk of a car, it’s … all curled up like, like…”

“Okay, Nash, hey, focus for me, please, I need you to listen to me,” Justice said, voice firm and calm through the phone.

“M’kay,” Nash murmured, trying to tune everything out but Justice’s words, but when he lifted his head again, he could see not only the skeleton, but the jagged remains of the windshield, a broken sign post impaled through it.

“Nash, are you listening?”

“Its bottom jaw is hanging off and there was a mouse in its skull, the damned thing just popped up out of there like a Jack-in-the-box.”

“NASH!”

“Huh?”

“Pay attention, please. I need you to hang up and call nine-one-one so they can use GPS tracking to find you. Okay?”

“But…”

“I’ll be with them,” Justice sought to assure him. “You can call me back after you call them, but I want you to sit down and I want you to call nine-one-one. Try to drink something and sit somewhere shady if you can. Do your best to keep out of the sun and keep calm. Take small sips, don’t gulp.”

“I’m out of water.”

“Shit, okay, I’ll bring some with me.”

Dust Trail Blues can be found here on Amazon!
And here on Payhip!

The last place Nash wanted to break down was south Mississippi. With his extreme heat sensitivity and one scorching Mississippi summer, he had every intention of passing through the state as quickly as possible. Too bad his bike had other ideas, leaving him stranded on the side of the road in a rather desperate predicament until a tow truck driver happened by and offered him a hand.

Jude knew his brother would be pissed at him for being late, but there was no way he could pass by the sun-sick rider and not offer a helping hand. When it turned out fixing the bike wasn’t going to be cheap or quick, he and his reluctant brother, Justice found themselves with a houseguest full of sarcastic wit and a bunch of surprises.

The last thing Justice thought they needed was to be lending a helping hand to a stranger when it seemed like their entire world was crashing down, thanks to their uncle Les and a lien Justice hadn’t found out about until it was almost too late. But he can’t deny that Nash is pleasant to look at, and when the sparks start to fly between them, it’s too stunning to turn down. Besides, soon as the bike is fixed, Nash will be riding out of his life forever, so what harm would giving in be?

But sweltering beneath the heat of that Mississippi summer sun is a secret just itching to get out, and when it does, it just might change all their lives forever.