Title: Scars and Tats
Author: Kristi Pelton
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 21, 2017
Blurb
Scars are tattoos with better stories…
A scarred, lonely woman
A scarred, lonely woman
A curious little boy
One uninvited, tattooed guest
A nasty blizzard
One cabin
Two guns
A set of handcuffs
What could possibly go wrong?
Mela McKinley fled with her infant son and disappeared four years ago trying to heal the awful scars inside and out. Taking refuge in the mountains of Colorado, not one person had come near their secluded doorstep… though she was prepared for a fight.
In the middle of a historic blizzard, little Beck points out the window to a figure approaching in the snow. After hiding Beck…and fully armed, Mela confronts Jackson Winslow and has zero reservations about shooting him, if necessary.
Ultimately, saving him from the forces of nature, she takes the uninvited stranger prisoner in her home holding the upper hand. While cautiously tending to him, she realizes how much she has missed a man—though this scarred and tattooed man is not who he seems. Once he has invaded her thoughts in a delicious way, her guard is down and suddenly, the tables are turned and now…it’s his turn.
What could possibly go wrong?
Mela McKinley fled with her infant son and disappeared four years ago trying to heal the awful scars inside and out. Taking refuge in the mountains of Colorado, not one person had come near their secluded doorstep… though she was prepared for a fight.
In the middle of a historic blizzard, little Beck points out the window to a figure approaching in the snow. After hiding Beck…and fully armed, Mela confronts Jackson Winslow and has zero reservations about shooting him, if necessary.
Ultimately, saving him from the forces of nature, she takes the uninvited stranger prisoner in her home holding the upper hand. While cautiously tending to him, she realizes how much she has missed a man—though this scarred and tattooed man is not who he seems. Once he has invaded her thoughts in a delicious way, her guard is down and suddenly, the tables are turned and now…it’s his turn.
What she doesn’t know is who he really is and what he brings to her doorstep.
Trailer
Excerpt
Excerpt
If only it were still Christmas, I thought, in awe of the amount of snow that had fallen through the morning hours this spring. Beck in his newly four-year-old way pressed his forehead against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching in wonder as his breath formed a pillow of condensation that quickly disappeared. Over and over again.
The teakettle whistled, and I fingered through his hair as I walked past.
“Momma. Snow.”
I laughed. “Yes, buddy. Lots of snow.”
The whistle of the kettle faded when I pulled it from the heat, pouring Beck a hot chocolate and me my tea. The two ice cubes in his mug began to melt instantly.
“Momma, Layne.”
Stirring honey into my tea, I put one more ice cube in his cup and carried the miniature marshmallows over to him.
“No, buddy. We won’t see Layne today,” I explained, sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, which needed wood.
“Layne is right there,” he said, tapping the window.
A sudden chill shuddered up my spine as the hair on the back of my neck stood. In slow motion, my eyes moved to where Beck pointed. The figure stood a hundred yards away, thigh deep in snow. My heart began to pound. The pack on his back showed over his shoulders. I watched through the glass as the steps he tried to take led him in the direction of the cabin.
Sitting my mug on the end table, a jolt of panic shot through me but was quickly calmed by a wave of courage—of confidence.
“Beck. Come here. Now.” My words were terse, and he immediately padded over to me.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know who this is, and my job is what?”
“To protect me?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “To protect you. Always.”
He smiled.
“Go. Go now to your cubbyhole. You know where your food is. You know where the water bottles are. You don’t come out until Mommy comes to get you.”
“Or Layne!” he shouted.
“Yes. Or Layne. But you and Layne have a code word and no one else knows that word. So don’t come out unless you hear that word. Got it?” Tears started to sting my eyes, but I fought with every ounce of my being not let them win.
“Yes. Go now?”
“Yep! Go now, buddy. I love you.”
“I love you more!” he yelled as he ran to his hiding spot.
The moment he was gone from my view, I turned my sights on our visitor. Thank God the snow was causing him to struggle. I unhinged the loaded shotgun from the back of the front door, then retrieved the forty-caliber from behind the coffee mugs. Both guns were pumped and cocked with the chambers full in a matter of seconds. Without a coat, I stepped out onto the porch.
“Turn around right now and go back the way you came. Follow your tracks!” I yelled.
He stopped, held his hands out to the side and swayed a bit in the wind. “I need help.” His voice was muffled from the scarf covering his mouth.
“You won’t find that here. Move along,” I shouted, then tucked the pistol into my pants. Raising the shotgun to my shoulder, I nestled it tight, resting my cheek against the cold steel while I sighted him down the barrel. The pistol would be a better choice—but the shotgun may have more effect. Rock’s mom had taught me well.
“Please,” he said weakly, swaying again.
I watched as the snow cascaded. There was no wind.
“Mister. I’m warning you now. Don’t come closer.”
After another strenuous step in the near three-foot-deep snow, he stumbled backward—falling. He lay there for a minute. Hurriedly, I seized the opportunity to grab the binoculars—Beck’s toy, plastic ones, but they worked nonetheless.
Bursts of steam puffed from his mouth straight into the air. One hand rose weakly, then collapsed back down, disappearing into the powdery snow. Through the scratched-up binoculars, I watched as he mustered up enough energy to heave himself upright. Still sitting, he pulled the scarf away from his mouth exposing red, swollen lips. Quickly, I lowered the binoculars, taking him in more thoroughly. His shoes and legs were hidden in the snow. Chunks of snow clung to the North Face jacket he wore. His eyes were heavy…thick lids blinked deliberately and sluggishly.
Snow fell so heavily…a thin blanket covered him in the minute I stood frozen. Making a hasty decision, I dashed into the house once again and grabbed the handcuffs Rock’s mom had given me. From the time I darted inside to when I got back out, he hadn’t moved. Just inside the door, I clicked my snowshoes in place and threw my coat on. The pistol tucked tightly into my waistband, handcuffs in my coat pocket, and ski poles in hand…I began my trek toward him.
When I purchased the snowshoes, I had no real intention of wearing them too terribly much but they’d been on my feet more than I thought they would. Our unwanted visitor was still on his back with little to no movement. His breaths were visible in the puffs of steam in the air.
“Please don’t shoot me,” he begged albeit weakly.
“Why are you here?”
“I got caught in the storm.”
Frozen snot trailed over his upper lip.
“Why were you out here? I mean to begin with. What brought you here? There’re no trails this way.” My demanding questions spewed out quickly.
The puffs of air turned to short raspy pants.
“Lost. I…just…wanted—to get lost.”
I didn’t believe him. Anger consumed me as my hand trembled when I reached to touch him. Be strong always. The second my fingertips brushed his fiery skin; I sucked in a quick breath. He was burning up. Fever. Damn it!
Instantly, I turned around hoofing it back to the cabin and yanked Becks sled out of the corner of the front porch. Within a minute, I was back at his side. A low groan slid up his throat as I lifted him by the shoulders and scooted his upper body onto the sled. After I’d boosted his legs over, I began the trek back to the cabin remembering Beck was still in hiding. My quads and glutes burned from the haul.
Once I pulled him to the porch clearing the steps, I took a minute to breathe. Thank God, I’d trained enough to be able to heave his ass up there. He seemed to have lost consciousness at some point because as I cuffed him, he didn’t flinch. It wasn’t until I’d lugged him inside next to the fire that I exposed his hands—finding bluish tinted fingers. Instinctively, I blew on them as if they were Beck’s little fingers and I’d done that a hundred times when he’d gotten cold. How could this man’s fingers be so cold yet he was burning up with fever?
I tossed his gloves near the fire so they could dry out and warm up. The sooner I could get him out of here, the better. His fingers were swollen.
I hustled toward the hideout. “Beck!” I shouted with a whisper. “WOD. It’s ok. Come here. Mommy needs your help.”
When I pulled off the man’s stocking cap, I was captivated for a moment by his face. Though his cheeks appeared sunken in and dark rings circled his eyes, he was a beautifully, rugged man. His thick brows matched the overgrown beard. The tip of his nose was shiny and bright.
“Mommy. Who is that?”
Directing my attention toward Beck, I gave him a serious look.
“This man is sick. I need you to get me two of your cereal bowls of warm water. Not hot, ok?”
He nodded eagerly, and I watched him grab his stool and heave it into the kitchen. I felt awful keeping the man handcuffed, but I couldn’t take a chance with someone I didn’t know. I heard the water running in the kitchen and, in this moment, I was proud of the way I’d raised Beck. He needed to be independent if necessary—even if at barely four years old.
Hustling to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, I grabbed the lip butter and the ibuprofen. I darted to the kitchen and snagged a bottle of water from the fridge.
“How’s it going?”
“Good,” Beck said, walking slowly trying not to spill any water from his miniature cereal bowls—his tiny hands could barely manage.
We met near the visitor. I took the bowls from Beck.
“Nice job, buddy. Thank you.”
When Beck knelt next to him, my heart skipped a beat. Gripping Beck’s shoulders, I shook him just enough to keep his attention and for him to realize I meant business.
“We don’t know him, Beck. You must keep your distance from him. Deal?”
He nodded, backing up. “Pickle,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “You are so silly. It’s dill not deal.”
My beautiful son smiled, then found a seat on the sofa.
Kneeling next to the stranger, I balanced the bowls of water on his thighs, and then rested his fingers in the water. I tipped his head, angling his neck so his face pointed toward the ceiling. I attempted to pour some of the water through his parted lips. He instantly sputtered and choked—liquid coming back out, but thankfully his eyes opened.
“Mister,” I said.
His glossy eyes tried to focus.
“I need you to swallow this.” I kept his head upright, dropped three ibuprofen into his mouth and then tipped the bottle to his lips. When I saw his Adam’s apple jut out and back in, I knew he’d swallowed them. That was a start.
“Mommy. What’s his name?” Beck asked from the sofa.
The teakettle whistled, and I fingered through his hair as I walked past.
“Momma. Snow.”
I laughed. “Yes, buddy. Lots of snow.”
The whistle of the kettle faded when I pulled it from the heat, pouring Beck a hot chocolate and me my tea. The two ice cubes in his mug began to melt instantly.
“Momma, Layne.”
Stirring honey into my tea, I put one more ice cube in his cup and carried the miniature marshmallows over to him.
“No, buddy. We won’t see Layne today,” I explained, sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, which needed wood.
“Layne is right there,” he said, tapping the window.
A sudden chill shuddered up my spine as the hair on the back of my neck stood. In slow motion, my eyes moved to where Beck pointed. The figure stood a hundred yards away, thigh deep in snow. My heart began to pound. The pack on his back showed over his shoulders. I watched through the glass as the steps he tried to take led him in the direction of the cabin.
Sitting my mug on the end table, a jolt of panic shot through me but was quickly calmed by a wave of courage—of confidence.
“Beck. Come here. Now.” My words were terse, and he immediately padded over to me.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know who this is, and my job is what?”
“To protect me?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “To protect you. Always.”
He smiled.
“Go. Go now to your cubbyhole. You know where your food is. You know where the water bottles are. You don’t come out until Mommy comes to get you.”
“Or Layne!” he shouted.
“Yes. Or Layne. But you and Layne have a code word and no one else knows that word. So don’t come out unless you hear that word. Got it?” Tears started to sting my eyes, but I fought with every ounce of my being not let them win.
“Yes. Go now?”
“Yep! Go now, buddy. I love you.”
“I love you more!” he yelled as he ran to his hiding spot.
The moment he was gone from my view, I turned my sights on our visitor. Thank God the snow was causing him to struggle. I unhinged the loaded shotgun from the back of the front door, then retrieved the forty-caliber from behind the coffee mugs. Both guns were pumped and cocked with the chambers full in a matter of seconds. Without a coat, I stepped out onto the porch.
“Turn around right now and go back the way you came. Follow your tracks!” I yelled.
He stopped, held his hands out to the side and swayed a bit in the wind. “I need help.” His voice was muffled from the scarf covering his mouth.
“You won’t find that here. Move along,” I shouted, then tucked the pistol into my pants. Raising the shotgun to my shoulder, I nestled it tight, resting my cheek against the cold steel while I sighted him down the barrel. The pistol would be a better choice—but the shotgun may have more effect. Rock’s mom had taught me well.
“Please,” he said weakly, swaying again.
I watched as the snow cascaded. There was no wind.
“Mister. I’m warning you now. Don’t come closer.”
After another strenuous step in the near three-foot-deep snow, he stumbled backward—falling. He lay there for a minute. Hurriedly, I seized the opportunity to grab the binoculars—Beck’s toy, plastic ones, but they worked nonetheless.
Bursts of steam puffed from his mouth straight into the air. One hand rose weakly, then collapsed back down, disappearing into the powdery snow. Through the scratched-up binoculars, I watched as he mustered up enough energy to heave himself upright. Still sitting, he pulled the scarf away from his mouth exposing red, swollen lips. Quickly, I lowered the binoculars, taking him in more thoroughly. His shoes and legs were hidden in the snow. Chunks of snow clung to the North Face jacket he wore. His eyes were heavy…thick lids blinked deliberately and sluggishly.
Snow fell so heavily…a thin blanket covered him in the minute I stood frozen. Making a hasty decision, I dashed into the house once again and grabbed the handcuffs Rock’s mom had given me. From the time I darted inside to when I got back out, he hadn’t moved. Just inside the door, I clicked my snowshoes in place and threw my coat on. The pistol tucked tightly into my waistband, handcuffs in my coat pocket, and ski poles in hand…I began my trek toward him.
When I purchased the snowshoes, I had no real intention of wearing them too terribly much but they’d been on my feet more than I thought they would. Our unwanted visitor was still on his back with little to no movement. His breaths were visible in the puffs of steam in the air.
“Please don’t shoot me,” he begged albeit weakly.
“Why are you here?”
“I got caught in the storm.”
Frozen snot trailed over his upper lip.
“Why were you out here? I mean to begin with. What brought you here? There’re no trails this way.” My demanding questions spewed out quickly.
The puffs of air turned to short raspy pants.
“Lost. I…just…wanted—to get lost.”
I didn’t believe him. Anger consumed me as my hand trembled when I reached to touch him. Be strong always. The second my fingertips brushed his fiery skin; I sucked in a quick breath. He was burning up. Fever. Damn it!
Instantly, I turned around hoofing it back to the cabin and yanked Becks sled out of the corner of the front porch. Within a minute, I was back at his side. A low groan slid up his throat as I lifted him by the shoulders and scooted his upper body onto the sled. After I’d boosted his legs over, I began the trek back to the cabin remembering Beck was still in hiding. My quads and glutes burned from the haul.
Once I pulled him to the porch clearing the steps, I took a minute to breathe. Thank God, I’d trained enough to be able to heave his ass up there. He seemed to have lost consciousness at some point because as I cuffed him, he didn’t flinch. It wasn’t until I’d lugged him inside next to the fire that I exposed his hands—finding bluish tinted fingers. Instinctively, I blew on them as if they were Beck’s little fingers and I’d done that a hundred times when he’d gotten cold. How could this man’s fingers be so cold yet he was burning up with fever?
I tossed his gloves near the fire so they could dry out and warm up. The sooner I could get him out of here, the better. His fingers were swollen.
I hustled toward the hideout. “Beck!” I shouted with a whisper. “WOD. It’s ok. Come here. Mommy needs your help.”
When I pulled off the man’s stocking cap, I was captivated for a moment by his face. Though his cheeks appeared sunken in and dark rings circled his eyes, he was a beautifully, rugged man. His thick brows matched the overgrown beard. The tip of his nose was shiny and bright.
“Mommy. Who is that?”
Directing my attention toward Beck, I gave him a serious look.
“This man is sick. I need you to get me two of your cereal bowls of warm water. Not hot, ok?”
He nodded eagerly, and I watched him grab his stool and heave it into the kitchen. I felt awful keeping the man handcuffed, but I couldn’t take a chance with someone I didn’t know. I heard the water running in the kitchen and, in this moment, I was proud of the way I’d raised Beck. He needed to be independent if necessary—even if at barely four years old.
Hustling to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, I grabbed the lip butter and the ibuprofen. I darted to the kitchen and snagged a bottle of water from the fridge.
“How’s it going?”
“Good,” Beck said, walking slowly trying not to spill any water from his miniature cereal bowls—his tiny hands could barely manage.
We met near the visitor. I took the bowls from Beck.
“Nice job, buddy. Thank you.”
When Beck knelt next to him, my heart skipped a beat. Gripping Beck’s shoulders, I shook him just enough to keep his attention and for him to realize I meant business.
“We don’t know him, Beck. You must keep your distance from him. Deal?”
He nodded, backing up. “Pickle,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “You are so silly. It’s dill not deal.”
My beautiful son smiled, then found a seat on the sofa.
Kneeling next to the stranger, I balanced the bowls of water on his thighs, and then rested his fingers in the water. I tipped his head, angling his neck so his face pointed toward the ceiling. I attempted to pour some of the water through his parted lips. He instantly sputtered and choked—liquid coming back out, but thankfully his eyes opened.
“Mister,” I said.
His glossy eyes tried to focus.
“I need you to swallow this.” I kept his head upright, dropped three ibuprofen into his mouth and then tipped the bottle to his lips. When I saw his Adam’s apple jut out and back in, I knew he’d swallowed them. That was a start.
“Mommy. What’s his name?” Beck asked from the sofa.
Author Bio
Just the fact that someone may be reading my ‘bio’ thrills me. What does one say in an author bio? Well, I LOVE to write! Sometimes characters talk to me in my head (in a non-psychotic way) and I have to get what they are saying out on paper! So, here we are! 😊
I am a part-time juvenile probation officer and full time wife…but I spend the majority of the time helping my two favorite sons (only 2) navigate through life and hopefully become the best humans they can be.
I am a huge fan of the Kansas Jayhawks, the Oregon Ducks and the 2016 World Series Champs—the Chicago Cubs! (I have a dog named Wrigley)
I’m terribly addicted to music—ALLLLL kinds and driving in the car with the sunroof open and radio turned up helps the creative juices flow.
I am deliciously addicted to queso, Dr. Pepper, and cupcakes; but even with all that…I like to slowly kill my body with Crossfit.
People ask me ‘what has been your favorite book to write’—I would have to say my original series. (I think it sold 100 copies) 😊 Someday…I may have to tweak them a bit because my heart was poured into those books—but they need help! Slick was my Amazon best seller…but every one of them mean something to me.
In the end, I truly believe life is taken way too seriously by most…I say enjoy every moment, have an adult beverage and READ!! Cheers….
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