Tuesday, January 7, 2014

#TNTConfidential: Author Spotlight on Freddy MacKay & Hot Off The Range

Welcome, welcome, lovelies to the first #TNTConfidential author spotlight post of the year 2014!

 Today's author spotlight shines on Freddy MacKay who is bringing with her some deliciously sexy cowboys from the anthology Hot off the Range. 

Riding and herding. Those spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle. What is it about cowboys that so doggedly fires the imagination? Join the Mischief Corner authors as they give you their own unique takes on the cowboy mystique and mythos, from the American West, to Australia, to outer space. The cowboy story will never be the same…

Once A Cowboy - Toni Griffin
It's been six years since Jesse Howard has stepped foot on the Western Hills Cattle Station. Now that he's able, Jesse's returned. The problem is, he's not returning alone. Will Logan Kennedy, the love of his life, listen to Jesse's explanations or will Logan close the door on the future Jesse's dreamed about for so long.

Accounting for the Hero - Silvia Violet
Grant longs for a hero to ride up on his valiant steed and revive his failing ranch, but he hires, Miles, a man with a desperate need for a job and no ranch experience. Miles may know a lot more about bookkeeping than calf-roping, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of heroics or of capturing Grant’s heart.

Sock Poacher and the Shower Thief: Tall Tales of Hooper's Town 1 - Freddy MacKay
One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. All things are possible when someone steps outside their door. In Namid's case, he meets the town recluse, Dusty, when he gets attacked by Dusty's porch. And that's only the beginning.

BULL: Corralling Nature 1 - Mathilde Watson

Shy, awkward, and overweight, Roland Paulson wasn’t the kind of man who attracted a lot of amorous attention. His romantic life consisted of a series of short lived flings and one night stands with other men who were just as desperate. When propositioned by a charming cowboy with the body of a god, he expected sex. He never imagined the wild ride that would follow.

From the moment Dodge Bramen set eyes on the adorable red-head he wanted him. And Dodge was a man who gets what he wants. He had no trouble luring the guy into his bed, but keeping him there was a different story. Deep kept secrets and unexpected discoveries could either shatter their bond or break it.

Fear of Frogs: Brimstone 2 - Angel Martinez
While Shax recovers from a near fatality, his shipmates have been busy. He's rather proud of them taking the initiative and finding them a lucrative cargo run. His pride turns to outright horror, though, when he finds out what sort of cargo. Unfortunately, he'll soon discover that a healthy fear of frogs doesn't prevent frog-driven disasters. Time travel has never been so messy.
    Available at:

About Freddy

I grew up and went to college in the Midwest where I currently reside with my family. I spend most of my time playing sports and running around outside. And honestly, that much has not changed since I was little, except who is included my activities. I also have a healthy geocaching addiction. It's so much fun! I enjoy spending my time traveling when I can, and I hold the view that a person should continually to learn about new things and people whenever possible.

For more information on Freddy's work, please visit:

Website: Freddy's Stereograph
How about an excerpt from Freddy's story - Sock Poacher & the Shower Thief ?
He should've grabbed a pair of shoes before leaving his place, but he'd been so caught up in the sunny afternoon and exploring his new yard, he didn't stop to think about footwear. Once he got to the back of his yard, the town gazebo looked interesting. When he was done checking out the Hooper's Square, Namid noticed the old school playground and went down the metal slide, and next thing he knew Namid was on the edge of town, and the fields looked so pretty. Namid couldn't help himself, he just kept going. Then suddenly, dark orange and red rays were crossing the sky, the sun setting. Fall air cooled quickly without anything to heat it.

This was why Namid found himself walking up a dirt driveway to a house that would be easier to tear down than to fix, a creepy house he could probably push over with one hand. He really didn't want to knock on the door, nor did he want to find out who would willingly live in such a place. Though, sometimes, people had no other choice.

An image of an old cat lady with no teeth popped in Namid's head just as he raised his hand to knock. He burst out laughing, so hard that he turned away from the door and worked to compose himself.

What an awful prejudice to have. It wasn't right and completely unfair.

Finally able to get his case of the giggles under control, Namid faced the door again and rapped on the worn wood. He took a step back and waited. No sound or movement came from the house. Namid tried again, and was met with the same 'this is awkward' feeling.

Welp. Maybe it really was a ghost house. That sucked.

Namid began down the steps, readying himself for the long walk home when he hit something. A sharp twinge raced up his foot to his ankle.

"Ouch!" Namid sat, clutching his throbbing toe. "Fuck."

Inspecting the damage, Namid cringed. Blood gushed from his big toe, the nail broken in half. The skin had been torn open. Namid frowned. He needed to get home so he could examine it better. Stitches looked necessary.

What had he knocked into? Namid checked around him on the stairs, inspecting for the offending object that attacked him. A splintered piece of wood stuck out from the steps.

That answered that. What it didn't answer was how he'd get home with a weeping hole in his person.

Walking back to the clinic on a bloody foot was a bad idea. Namid didn't want to chance the wound getting worse. He'd have to do something.

Namid pulled at his t-shirt. He could wrap it, but he'd freeze on the way back. Well, it was better than nothing. Namid tugged his top over his head.

He already had it halfway off when he remembered the clothesline behind the house. Even rags were better than freezing his nipples off. Hopefully they were clean. It had rained recently. The sun had been out. One could wish.

Standing with care, Namid checked to see how well he could put weight on his injury.

"Ooph! Ow." Namid inhaled deep. "No way."

This sucked on so many levels.


It really did.


Okay, now he felt a little better. Maybe that absurd study had been right about how swearing made people feel better when they're hurt. It deserved more than an Ig Nobel Award. Swearing certainly did wonders for Namid. Every. Fucking. Time.

Once his breathing was back under control, Namid took a tentative step. Okay. He could do this. He could walk. Even if it did feel like a thousand sharp needles were impaling him.

Namid shuffled around the back, working with care to keep his toe pointed up. A cramp developed in his arch, but Namid kept at it. If he was lucky, he could wash it off in the yard. With what he had no clue, but resourcefulness came second nature to him. Namid would figure out something.

Once he made it around the house, Namid was happy he'd been right. The clothesline was in fact a clothesline. Clothes were hanging off it. Well-laundered, good-smelling clothes.

So someone does live in the crappy house.

In fact, on closer inspection, the stuff hung on the line wasn't cat-lady attire. They were men's garments.

Thank the spirits. Namid nearly danced in place. Nearly. His foot fucking hurt.

Namid did not need to be walking around with a blouse tied around his foot. Total weirdness would fuck with his head on that one. Not to mention he'd feel guilty about taking clothes from a little old lady. He'd return to pay for ruining whatever he borrowed, he'd been raised right after all, but a fair amount of older women—like his nookomis, grandma—had unnatural attachments to what they bought.

Guys were another story. Most, especially country boys, didn't have huge sentimental attachments to their clothes. At least their general everyday wear. Chaps, hats, belts, and gear were another story all together. And buckles. Especially the rodeo boys. Never get between a broncin' buck and his buckle. Namid cringed at one particular memory, then quickly redirected himself by focusing on the different garments hung up.

There had to be something he could… Yes!

Luck was on his side. Namid spotted several pairs of socks on the line. Those were easy enough to borrow. Who cared about socks? The damn things sprung holes with every turn and disappeared like cockroaches when the lights switched on. He'd come back with some new ones and a note later, thanking whatever poor soul lived out here.

For now, he just wanted to get back home. His foot ached, and Namid was cold. He didn't want to show up for his first official day of work sick.

Namid wobbled over to the socks and pulled them off. After another thorough inspection of his foot, Namid decided one pair wouldn't be enough. He needed to cushion the wound and stem the bleeding. He yanked a few more pairs off the line before sitting down.

Carefully, and with much consideration to the amount of blood gushing from his toe, Namid eased a sock around the ball of his foot, breathing through the pain. Red immediately stained the pure white cotton. So eww. If it had been a patient's blood, Namid would've had no problem, but this was his. It'd become personal.

Namid wrapped another sock around the tip of his foot as tight as he could, then stuffed his foot through two more. Now it just looked like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man attacked him. He also felt lopsided. It was odd not to have socks on both feet. Namid glanced at the socks next to him.

Another one couldn't hurt.

He pulled one on his other foot, which left three in the pile. Namid couldn't stand the thought of unmatching socks, so he stuck one more on to even things out. He stood slowly, holding the remaining socks in hand, keeping his weight on his right foot.

A cursory glance showed he'd gotten the leftover socks dirty. He cringed. It'd be even ruder to put the unclean stuff back on the line. Of course, if he left them on the porch, they might get missed…along with the three other pairs Namid was currently borrowing.

What to do?

Behind him, the distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked interrupted Namid's musings, and a man spoke, "You have ten seconds to explain why you're on my property."

Namid put his hands up, standing motionless. "Um…"

"I said explain yourself."

 "Well, you see—" began Namid but was rudely interrupted.

"Turn around!"

"Do you want me to explain or turn around?"

"Both!" snapped the man.

"Which one first?"


Namid tilted his head to one side. "Do you want me to explain first or turn around first?"

An aggravated sigh from Mr. Unknown made Namid smile. At least the man wasn't a shoot-first-ask-questions-second kind of guy. They sucked. This man, welp, just might be a little cautious. No one could blame him for being that.

"Turn around very slowly before I shoot you," ordered the sucky-not-cautious man.

Namid followed the instructions to the tee, maybe moving a little more sluggishly than he should.

"Would you just turn around!" snapped jerkoff.

"You said very slowly," answered Namid. He patted himself on the back for not coming off as sarcastic.

"You know what I meant!"

Or not so much. Maybe Namid had spent too much time in Chicago during his schooling.

"Are those my socks?"

Namid looked at his hand. Yup. Socks. He then focused on the stunning specimen of manhood in front of him. Broad shoulders, a dusting of fur on the man's chest and stomach. Oo! No shirt. Bonus points. By the way the muscles were sculpted, Cranky had to be naturally built, and a five o'clock shadow covered his face. Namid wanted to rub his cheek against the rough stubble. A cowboy hat covered his hair while tight jeans hugged the man's hips and thighs.

There's a nice bulge in his pants, too. The shotgun leveled at Namid lost the stud points though.

"Are you stupid?" asked Mr. Unknown and Not-So-Nice.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you…" The man stopped. A troubled expression crossed his face.

Namid watched in amusement.

"Are you…well, why do you have…" The cowboy looked Namid up and down. "You're wearing them, too?"

"Ah, we're back to the socks."

"Yes, we are." The man uncocked his shotgun and laid it across a table not too far from him. He turned back to Namid with his hands on his hips. "My name's Dusty Jones."

 Namid burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. Whose parents were so mean? It sounded like a porn name.

"Something wrong?"

Namid held up his index finger. "One. Sec. One."

Dusty made another jumbled breathing noise…sound…thing. "Okay, stranger. Can you explain to me why you're in my back yard with my socks on? And start from the beginning."

"My feet were cold and I didn't have any shoes on."

"That doesn't mean you can go poaching my socks!" Dusty yelled, then let out a sigh. "And why don't you have your shoes anyway?"

"Who says I was wearing any to start with?"

Dusty let out a garbled, choking sound and wiped his hand over his face. He moved his hand to his neck and he rubbed the back of it like it was sore. 

"Are you insane? There could be snakes!"

"They won't bite me."

Oo! There was that painful sound again.

"You do realize we're arguing about socks, right?"

"That's not the point, you stole my socks!"

"I thought I was poaching them?"

Oh, the cowboy's face was priceless. All ruddy and tense, he even had a twitch by his eye. "Fine, poaching, but the point is you were taking them without asking!"

"Oh! Can I have the socks please?"

The cowboy turned and thumped his head against a beam on his back porch.

"I was going to bring some back once I got the chance."

Dusty snorted.

"Really. I only took them because your deck attacked me."

"My deck…attacked you?" Dusty gaped at Namid.

He smiled in return. "Yes."

"Decks can't attack people."

"Yours did."

"I think my stupid remark was valid."


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