Crawling Into Bed With Pat Henshaw
And Behr
Facts
Important
things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Cotton!
Who do you think I am? Stephen
King? No, no, I’m plain old simple Pat
Henshaw and having a great time being me.
Since I’m a Legend of Zelda fan, the sheets are imprinted with Link and
Hyrule maps. That way I can strategize
about beating the Helmasaur King, Trinexx, and Ganon.
What are
you wearing?
Depends.
Is it summer or winter? In
summer, why wear anything? In winter,
well, I’m in sleep pants with cheetahs on them and a T-shirt with squids and octopi,
mostly because all three are great words.
What are
we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Bonbons?
A pound box of dark chocolate See’s candy? Uh, Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia? Again, depends on the time of year. No B&J’s during the winter. We don’t want to try to read through a brain
freeze.
If I
open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Emergency chocolate! There’s nothing worse than waking up in the
middle of the night and having no chocolate to lull you back to sleep.
Do you
roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the
night?
Hot flashes, people. It’s that time of life. Kick off the covers or sweat to death. Except on really, really cold winter nights. But where do you find one of those in
California’s central valley? We’re still
using the fan at night and it’s almost Halloween.
Can I
put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Can I put mine on you? This only works if it’s reciprocal. What?
You’re having second thoughts! I’m
shocked. Oh, yeah, nice socks, by the
way.
What are
we reading?
Behr
Facts which you can buy wherever eBooks are sold.
Blurb:
Big, burly CEO Abe
Behr is dismayed to discover someone—possibly a family member—is stealing from
Behr Construction, which primarily
employs Behr relatives. Abe takes the unprecedented step of hiring an outsider, likeable CPA Jeff Mason, to go over the
books and help find the culprit. They are drawn to each other as they talk to
workers, including Abe’s two younger brothers and their shifty cousin.Since he has sacrificed romance all his life to build the business, Abe’s surprised by his feelings for the handsome Jeff. He’s even more shocked when they are confronted by bigotry in the Sierra Nevada foothills community, which is being inundated by gays moving from the San Francisco area. As he and Jeff get closer, Abe must come to grips with coming out to a family and community that aren’t very tolerant. Fortunately, being the head Behr helps him find his footing and grab onto love when it bites him.
Excerpt:
“You ever come up the bank to sit under my tree? Looks like
a much more comfortable place to fish. Not as rocky at any rate.” Jeff took a
drink of his beer as I again scrambled to keep up. “My dad called it the
Fishing Tree. He seemed to think fish congregated off the shore there.”
We sat in silence. It was my turn to talk. I’m pretty good
in business situations. Not so much in social ones. At social events, mostly I
hold up walls. Shake hands. Grunt a lot. Let others carry the conversational
load.
Lorraine set our meals in front of us. The full burger with
everything for him. The grilled mountain trout and steamed vegetables for me.
“You do a lot of fishing?” I managed after a long silence.
“Not really.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My dad said
fishing couldn’t be taught. He said it was something intuitive. I never had any
idea what I was doing. So I never saw any use in fishing. I never saw any fish
either.”
Again, silence as I processed and caught up. “It’s not
rocket science. You figure out what kind of fish you want. Where it lives. Lure
it to you. Then catch it.”
He looked skeptical and almost self-conscious. “It can’t be
so easy,” he said with a little laugh.
“Why not?”
“What about the different rods, lures, tackle, stuff?” He
looked so serious, as if I were missing the point. As if I didn’t understand.
He was right. I didn’t.
“Look. You can catch fish with your bare hands. If you want
to. The extra stuff is just extra stuff.”
“If you say so.” He shook his head, a smile still on his
lips. “Have you ever caught a fish with your bare hands?”
I lifted my hands and looked down at the mess that were my
paws. Calluses, nicks, cuts, punctures, blunt fingers, the bandage now off the
one with the splinter. These were the hands of a man who’d framed houses as a
tall, rangy preteen and had lived in construction ever since. Could I catch a
fish with my bare hands?
“Yeah. All it takes is absolute stillness and patience.” I
sighed. “Not a whole lot of people have both together. Somebody once told me
it’s all about Zen.” Somebody else said the only reason I could do it was
because I was too stupid to know it was impossible.
“Zen.” His tone said he was surprised I knew such a word.
“You know, like the Eastern religion,” I answered. “Though
why we still call it Eastern is beyond me. It’s really Far West, not Far East
to us.” I was grumbling and rambling. Avoiding for some reason.
He rattled me. Nobody ever rattled me. I’m Abe Behr, the big
Behr.
He was studying me as intently as I was him. He appeared too
beautiful, too perfect, too unscarred. I just hoped his accountant skills were
as perfect as he looked.
“What kind of fish you want to catch?” I asked. Staring at
him wasted our time.
He pointed his fork to my plate. “How about that? It’s good,
right?”
“Trout,” I agreed. “Lots of different kinds of trout.”
He looked like he’d never eaten any in his life.
“This is trout from our lake. Have a bite.”
He’d finished his burger but didn’t make a move on my fish.
His expression was split between wanting to dig in and reluctance to do so.
“Just taste it,” I growled. “It won’t bite.”
His eyes snapped up to meet mine. His puzzled stare asked if
the stupid bear had deliberately made a joke or not. Then he gave a happy, hearty
laugh, and his fork raided my fish.
“So? What do you think?” I asked after he swallowed.
“I think you made a great joke,” he said with twinkling
eyes. “And the trout is delicious. Is this why you threw your catch back? Did
you know you’d get it cooked perfectly here at the cafe?”
“Naw. I was stalking the pie. Fish was a bonus.”
“They have good pie here?”
“Wait and see.”
Meet the author:
Pat Henshaw, author of the Foothills Pride Stories,
was born and raised in Nebraska and promptly left the cold and snow after
college, living at various times in
Texas, Colorado, Northern Virginia, and Northern California. Pat enjoys travel, having visited Mexico,
Canada, Europe, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Egypt, and Europe, including a cruise
down the Danube.
Now retired, Pat has spent her life surrounded by
words: Teaching English composition at
the junior college level; writing book reviews for newspapers, magazines, and
websites; helping students find information as a librarian; and promoting PBS
television programs.
Her triumphs are raising two incredible daughters who
daily amaze her with their power and compassion. Fortunately, her supportive husband keeps her
grounded in reality when she threatens to drift away while writing fiction.
Where to find the author:
Website: http://patbooked.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pat.henshaw.10
Twitter: https://twitter.com/phenshaw
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/pathenshaw/
Email: phenshaw527@gmail.com
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover
Artist: AngstyG
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