Happy mothercluckin’ holidays…
Heartthrob Marc di Gregorio is living the Hollywood dream—a luxury home, fast cars, a string of beautiful women on speed dial. But appearances can be deceptive. All he wants is a cold beer, peace and quiet, and the woman he lost a decade ago because he couldn’t admit he might be wrong.
Phaedra Roebuck—aka Dusk—lives in the shadows. As part of a secretive special ops team, she has top-notch training, toys that would make a movie villain weep, and a team of smart, deadly women at her back. But there’s something missing. The man she ditched a decade ago because she couldn’t admit she might be wrong.
When Marc disappears from the set of his latest movie just before Thanksgiving, Phae can’t simply stand back and wait for the local cops to do their job. Finding a missing man is all in a day’s work for the Choir, but can Phae and Marc kiss and make up along the way?
A Very Happy Thanksgiving is a standalone romcom novel with a movie star hero, an unhinged heroine, a morally grey girl squad, and two strong-willed Thanksgiving turkeys.
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Hopefully Hoopla will be coming soon, but they're a bit of a law unto themselves.
Sneak Peek…
I slowed to a stop outside Casa del Gato and waited for the gates to open. The Cathouse. We’d named it for a joke because the house had once belonged to Dick Steele, aka the Prince of Porn, but Casa de Perra would have been more appropriate, seeing as we had three dogs and no cats. As soon as the gate rolled far enough to the side, I inched my SUV forward, heading for the nearest carport…then stopped short as a pair of turkeys ran across the courtyard. The turkeys were followed by Marcel, who was wearing chino shorts, a pale pink golf shirt, a single loafer, and a panicked expression. Marcel was our home help, but in reality, he thought of himself as a mini dictator. We kept him around because he could cook. Like Huck, he’d been prepping for Thanksgiving since Halloween, and if he mentioned cranberries or nutmeg one more time, I was going to line his collection of pumpkins up in the yard and use them for target practice.
“Uh, I’m gonna have to call you back.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Nothing to worry about. I think our Thanksgiving dinner just escaped.”
“Huh?”
“How can a pumpkin lasagne escape?” Huck asked.
“Love you, speak later.”
“Close the gate,” Marcel shrieked. “Close the gate!”
I hit the button as Jezebel strolled around the corner, shaking her head in bemusement.
“If the turkeys run into the desert, wouldn’t that be a positive?” I asked. “I mean, not our problem anymore.”
Marcel paused, hands on his knees as he sucked in air. “No, no, no, they’d get sunstroke.”
“Aren’t you planning to cook them?”
“They were supposed to come pre-prepared. That’s what I ordered.” The nearest turkey putt-putted in alarm, which only seemed to agitate Marcel further. “That’s what I freaking ordered!”
“Relax, I’ll take care of it.”
I retrieved my .22 from the car’s centre console, screwed on the silencer, and stepped out into the sunshine. The turkeys had disappeared around the side of the house, heading for the pool area.
“Can turkeys swim?” Jez asked.
“How should I know?”
“Didn’t you used to live on a farm?”
“It wasn’t a real farm. Dad just used to pretend it was for tax purposes.”
He’d made his money through lawyering, investing in the stock market, and making shrewd real estate deals, not by working the land. Rex Roebuck hadn’t been fond of getting his hands dirty.
Sin sprinted out the front door, waving a taser. “Don’t shoot the turkeys!”
Ah, the vegetarian had arrived.
“You’re going to tase them instead? I’m not sure that thing is designed for use on a bird.”
Although a cardiac arrest would partially solve the problem.
She scrunched her lips to the side, considering. “Good point. We should have a defibrillator on standby.”
“Fried turkey for dinner, anyone?” Jez asked. “Who’s gonna make the gravy?”
Barbie leaned out of an upstairs window. Barbie wasn’t her real name, of course, the same way mine wasn’t Dusk, but we rarely called each other Kendall and Phaedra. Our nicknames were part of our identity now.
“Echo told me to tell you that turkeys can swim.”
“And I’m telling you to tell Echo to stop bugging the house,” Jez yelled back.
Echo was our pet hacker-slash-sociopath, a tiny blonde who shopped for clothes in the kiddie section but packed a cyber punch like no other, and boundaries weren’t a thing she recognised. If she weren’t on our side, one of us would have dumped her in the ocean years ago.
I rolled my eyes. “Good luck with that.”
Sin glared at me. “Stop chatting and catch a turkey.”
“This might be a dumb question, but why are there two turkeys running about the place?”
“Because they escaped from their box,” Marcel said, enunciating clearly as if I were the idiot here.
“Okay, wiseass. Why did you open the box?”
Jez laughed, something she’d started doing after she miraculously met a man who put up with not only her job but also the fact that she was a world-class bitch. And I meant that as a compliment.
“Marcel tried to give them a dish of water.”
“It’s hot,” he defended. “What did you expect me to do?”
“Move the box into the air-conditioned garage and call the supplier?”
“Oh, please. You think I wasn’t on the phone with the supplier already?”
Storm meandered out of the house. “Marcel ordered two fresh turkeys for pre-Thanksgiving dinner, and something got lost in translation.”
Yikes. “I mean, they are fresh.”
And with Sin around, they’d clucking stay that way. For a gal who’d put a bullet through a man’s head with zero regrets, she got surprisingly pissy about our consumption of animal products. She also rescued stray dogs in her spare time and gave half her money to the animal shelter. Someone would be building a turkey pen this afternoon, and I was torn between sneaking off so that didn’t end up being me and sticking around to watch the fun.
“Marcel versus two turkeys,” Jez mused. “My money’s on the turkeys.”
Mine too.
CONTENT WARNINGS
Paedophilia is a reference only.
If you have concerns about any specific triggers, please contact me via the contact form.
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