The WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition

By D. D. Scott

Product Description:

Amazon and Barnes & Noble Top 100 Bestselling Author D. D. Scott – who is also the Co-Founder of The WG2E – The Writer’s Guide to Epublishing - is treating you to a short story collection featuring one of her own stories as well as stories by some of her fave Indie Epub Authors, including Talli Roland, Chicki Brown, Lisa Lim, MG Ainsworth, Buck Buchanan, Sheila Seabrook, Diane Vallere and Christy Hayes.

With this Viva La Valentine Anthology, you’ll never think of Valentine’s Day in quite the same way.

Book Description:

In this second edition of The WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies, you’re treated to a terrific, one-of-a-kind approach to the anthology concept.

You’ll get a variety of genres and story-lengths all packaged together as a wonderful way to discover some of today’s hottest new authors!

Plus, each WG2E Anthology is based on a different theme.

In this WG2E Viva La Valentine Edition, you’re getting stories that yes, have a Valentine’s Day element, but definitely not in the average way.

You’ll never think of Valentine’s Day in quite the same way. For example:

“What happens if you’re stuck with a schmuck on Cupid’s Big Day?” for D. D. Scott’s Stuck with a Schmuck

“Love can be a real show or tell” for Talli Roland’s You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me

“What’s better than a little chocolate on Valentine’s Day?” for Chicki Brown’s You Make Me Feel Brand New

“Books aren’t the only things you can check out at the library” for Lisa Lim’s Love in The Stacks

“Who knew Cupid was such a Ladies’ Man and that Guardian Angels have a super-steamy side?” for MG Ainsworth’s Cherub’s Choice

“Valentines, Vampires and Key Lime Pie” for Buck Buchanan’s Heart Breaker

“What happens when The Grinch plays Cupid?” for Sheila Seabrook’s The Valentine Grinch

"What if Cupid couldn't find you because you were too busy being busy?" for Diane Vallere’s Independence Day

“One cab ride can change your heart forever” for Christy Hayes’ Good Luck, Bad Timing, and When Harry Met Sally

Happy Reading and Welcome to our WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies!

About the Authors:

All the authors in the WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies are regular contributors to The WG2E site. At The WG2E, it’s all about writers helping writers reach readers with great books for great prices.

Praise for The WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies:

“Wow! What a list of awesome authors and fabulous story concepts! It is so much fun to read each one...can’t wait for the next one!”--- Reader Ann

“What a great idea, WG2E! I love being able to read several different genres in one collection but with a central theme connecting them. And it’s a terrific way to find new authors!” --- Sab

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. D. Scott
• Release date: Feb 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452469515

D. D. Scott

D. D. Scott is an Amazon and Barnes and Noble Top 100 Bestselling Romantic Comedy and Humorous Mystery Author. She’s also a Writer’s Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy and Indie Epublishing, the Co-Founder of The WG2E - The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, and the Founder of The RG2E – The Reader’s Guide to E-publishing. You can get all the scoop on her and her books in her new cyber home...D. D. Scott-ville.

Book preview

THE WG2E ALL-FOR-INDIES ANTHOLOGIES

(VIVA LA VALENTINE EDITION)

By D. D. Scott, Talli Roland

Chicki Brown, Lisa Lim

MG Ainsworth, Buck Buchanan

Sheila Seabrook, Diane Vallere

Christy Hayes

Compiled and Edited By: Matthew Rush, The Edit Dude

CONTENTS

WELCOME TO THE WG2E ALL-FOR-INDIES ANTHOLOGIES

STUCK WITH A SCHMUCK, By D.D. Scott ♥ YOU DON'T HAVE TO SAY YOU LOVE ME, By Talli Roland ♥ YOU MAKE ME FEEL BRAND NEW, By Chicki Brown ♥ LOVE IN THE STACKS, By Lisa Lim ♥ CHERUB'S CHOICE, By MG Ainsworth ♥ HEART BREAKER, By Buck Buchanan ♥ THE VALENTINE GRINCH, By Sheila Seabrook ♥ INDEPENDENCE DAY, By Diane Vallere ♥ GOOD LUCK, BAD TIMING, AND WHEN HARRY MET SALLY, By Christy Hayes

Copyright © 2012 by D.D. Scott, Talli Roland, Chicki Brown, Lisa Lim, MG Ainsworth, Buck Buchanan, Sheila Seabrook, Diane Vallere, and Christy Hayes

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the authors or publisher.

Smashwords Edition: February 2012

WELCOME TO THE WG2E ALL-FOR-INDIES ANTHOLOGIES

(VIVA LA VALENTINE EDITION)

When just one year ago, I brainstormed The WG2E – The Writer’s Guide to Epublishing – your destination site for all-things-Epublishing, I never in my wildest, most spectacular dreams imagined I’d end up creating a site which now gets over one million hits per month and is the first visit of the day for over 3500 Indie Epublished Writers and Authors!

At The WG2E, it’s all about finding ways to Pay It Forward, both to our fellow writers and to all our superfab readers too.

We simply luuuvvv treating readers to great books for great prices and helping our fellow authors find new readers around the globe.

With this Second Edition of our WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies, we’re treating you to a terrific, one-of-a-kind approach to the anthology concept.

You’ll get a variety of genres all packaged together as a wonderful way to discover authors new to you and a variety of story lengths – from short-shorts, to short and novella length too!

In addition, each WG2E Anthology is based on a different theme, and we’re over the moon to offer you unique perspectives on these superfab fun themes.

Here’s what we mean by that…

In our WG2E Winter Viva La Valentine Anthology, we’re treating you to stories that yes, have a Valentine’s Day element, but you’ll never think of Valentine’s Day in quite the same way.

For example:

What happens if you’re stuck with a schmuck on Cupid’s Big Day? for D. D. Scott’s STUCK WITH A SCHMUCK

"Love can be a real show or tell" for Talli Roland’s YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY YOU LOVE ME

What’s better than a little chocolate on Valentine’s Day? for Chicki Brown’s YOU MAKE FEEL BRAND NEW

Books aren’t the only things you can check out at the library for Lisa Lim’s LOVE IN THE STACKS

Who knew Cupid was such a Ladies’ Man and that Guardian Angels have a super-steamy side? for MG Ainsworth’s CHERUB’S CHOICE

Valentines, Vampires and Key Lime Pie for Buck Buchanan’s HEART BREAKER

What happens when The Grinch plays Cupid? for Sheila Seabrook’s THE VALENTINE GRINCH

What if Cupid couldn’t find you because you were too busy being busy? for Diane Vallere’s INDEPENDENCE DAY

One cab ride can change your heart forever for Christy Hayes’ GOOD LUCK, BAD TIMING, AND WHEN HARRY MET SALLY

Happy Reading and Welcome to our WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies!

The Best of Reading Wishes —

D. D. Scott

Co-Founder of The WG2E

P.S. Watch for The WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies Spring Fling Edition coming in April 2012!!!

STUCK WITH A SCHMUCK

(The Samantha Aldredge Chronicles)

(A Prequel)

By D. D. Scott

Chapter One

The right shoe can change your life…just ask Cinderella.

That’s what the Bitchy Sign in the airport’s gift shop had said. And no, I didn’t buy the damn thing.

Why not?

Because not all of us go totally Cinderella and marry our own prince.

Okay, yes. My cousin, Zoey Witherspoon, did.

But there are plenty of us who end up with frogs. Frogs that never become princes no matter how many times you kiss ’em.

Hell, at this point, I might just take another frog. That sure beats my current reality, which is a big nothing, zero, nada, as in no man in sight.

‘Course now that I’m about to be at the cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, if I saw a man outside my first-class cabin window, he would not be my choice of a dating prospect. Whatever he was doin’ out there couldn’t be good.

Realizing just how far that little sign had sent me over the edge of my barely-there sanity really scared the hell out of me. When would I ever get myself put back together again?

I fought with the coarse blanket I’d retrieved from the overhead compartment. These miniscule scraps of fabric were never big enough to cover my long limbs. Luckily, I’d grown used to the discomforts and irritations of travel and always brought along my own pashmina scarf. I’m a total Linus, desperately in need of my blanky.

While struggling with the blanket and my scarf, I managed to tip over my tote bag, which was way too big to fit nicely underneath the seat in front of me. Out flew one of my old business cards.

I thought I’d tossed out every last one of those bastards months ago.

What the hell?

It must have been hiding in one of the interior pockets.

After retrieving the card, I couldn’t seem to quit staring at the fancy metallic embossed letters. I stared so long my eyes began to water.

Aldredge & Aldredge the card read.

Hmph. No need for that second Aldredge now. And yes. That Aldredge was my total nightmare of a frog.

Excuse me, Mrs. Aldredge, is there anything I can do for you before departure? Perhaps a cocktail?

Thankfully or unthankfully, depending on how you chose to look at it, my self-pity party was interrupted by the annoyingly kind but canned concern of a flight attendant. The talking mannequin bore a nameplate identifying her as Allison.

Flashes of rage heated my cheeks. Somehow though, I managed to contain my deep desire to strangle the shit out of Allison’s way-too-perky affront.

"That would be Ms. Aldredge. And no thank you."

Oh. I’m sorry.

Allison, attendant extraordinaire, who looked like she should be on that once hot, now cancelled television show Pan Am – a beehive of an upsweep hairdo included - glanced at her manifest.

What was that about?

Did she think I didn’t know for sure that I was now single?

Let me know if you change your mind and would like a drink.

I nodded and buried my head in my hands, trying to shake off the horror.

And yes, sound reasoning to the rescue, I was fully aware that Allison had no way of knowing the significance of her error. But in my book, it was a damn big one. And I wasn’t about to let it slip by without correcting the offending party.

I closed my eyes and settled back into the cushions of my reclined seat. The long hours I’d spent reworking an overdue manuscript had left me drained.

Ms. Aldredge. Allison poked me in the arm with her bone-cold pointer finger. You must put your seat in the upright position for takeoff.

I swore I heard the bitch place emphasis on the ‘Ms’. But without further comment, I repositioned my seat. I had bigger battles brewing and didn’t need to start a new one with Pan Am Barbie.

The sound of the jet’s engines roaring to life mercifully brought an end to my flight attendant’s honey-tongued torture. Thank the powers that be she had a cabin to prepare and no additional time to mess with me.

I leaned against the window and watched LaGuardia’s runway disappear.

Before the plane could have been off the air traffic controllers’ radar, I was fast asleep.

Chapter Two

If Indianapolis is your home, welcome back. If you’re just visiting, then we hope you enjoy your stay.

Until the wheels touched down and Allison’s annoying voice echoed throughout the plane, nothing had broken through my dream fog.

I sure wish I was here for a short-term visit, but fate had dealt me a different hand.

Once we’d taxied into our gate and Allison gave her final set of instructions, I stood up and cracked my head on the overhead bin.

Perfect way to begin my journey, I muttered to myself while checking the bin to make sure nothing had fallen out of my laptop bag. I’d left the damn thing unzipped. And since idiot was now my middle name, that was par for the course.

On my way to retrieve my baggage, I spotted the blessed Starbuck’s mermaid and privately praised sweet serendipity.

Perhaps all hope for me was not lost. I could sure use a black eye. The single shot of espresso included in my normal red eye just wasn’t going to cut it today.

Noticing the juice bar next to the Starbucks, I had to laugh. If my cousin Zoey had been with me, we’d be going there too for one of her horrendous all-things-green wheat grass shots.

I, on the other hand, don’t like much of anything good for me. Including men. I had a knack for choosing losers across the board. Except in one particular area of expertise, where I’d had nothing but winners. Big-time winners.

Seeing a combination newsstand and bookstore conveniently located on the opposite side of Starbuck’s, I couldn’t pass it up. It just wasn’t in my nature to walk past a bookstore, even though I did all my reading on a Kindle.

For that matter, my world as of late seemed to revolve around all-things-Kindle and Ereaders in general. Most of the freelance editing I’d contracted was for many of today’s hottest Indie Epub superstars.

Now that I was freelancing and getting paid well for preparing manuscripts to become Ebooks, browsing these little shops seemed like taking a stroll through the past. A past my Ex refused to let go of. Yep, he was on the TradiPub Titanic. I…had sailed on. He was going to sink along with all The Big Six publishers. I wasn’t.

In fact, I would be the perfect subject for some New York Times piece on the Epublishing World. If newspapers like The Times, firmly entrenched in the world of The Big Six - who spend major bucks advertising with them - gave a shit about reality.

Setting my carry-on bag between my feet, I freed my hands to explore the storefront racks and shelves. I focused my attention first, as I always did when beginning my perusal of a new store, on the Bestseller display. Like a child seeing his or her artwork proudly displayed on the refrigerator, I smiled triumphantly.

Four of my authors anchored down the second, third, sixth and seventh slots. Not bad for a once senior, then executive, now totally on her own freelance editor.

Luckily for me, my authors were selling Ebooks by the cyber truckload. They were out of contract and had no interest in continuing to be screwed by The Big Six. They were all going Indie Epub all the way, meaning I hadn’t lost a single client and stood to gain a gazillion new ones.

I pulled up the handle of my suitcase and headed for the rental car area.

The fact that the second place author, Nicky Blane, had survived getting his last book published was not only a miracle for him but for me as well. If I’d spent one more session with him, one of us would have ended up on Death Row and the other would be buried several feet beneath the earth’s surface.

It really wouldn’t have mattered which of us received which fate, as we both would have volunteered to suffer either as long as it was at the expense of the other.

Labeling our relationship as love-hate is much too generous. There’s no love. And way too much hate.

We’re no Castle and Beckett.

Our books are the same kind of police procedural crime thrillers of that dynamic Nielsen-ratings duo, but we don’t have the made-for-TV attraction of Fillion and Katic, which is what makes that show work.

To be honest, I’m still not sure what makes Nicky Blane and I work so well together. But we have ten bestselling books that say we do…at least on paper and in e-sales.

Nicky Blane is the biggest asshole I know. In fact, I’m certain Webster had him in mind when stating the definition. And every thesaurus would be accurate using ‘Nick’ as an alternative for the word ‘asshole’.

Trying to cool off my attitude and cool down my coffee, I blew through the hole in the lid another time then sighed. What I wouldn’t give to be back in Manhattan. What I wouldn’t give to…

What?!

Not see Nicky waving at me like a suave pig from the Hertz desk. Maybe I should stop and grab an apple at the fruit stand that separated us.

Wanting to get the pain over with as soon as possible, I took a deep breath and quickened my pace to the rental car center.

Forcing a tight smile, I rolled my suitcase up and over Nicky’s foot. Oops. So yeah, I guess I wanted to inflict some pain too.

Seeing him flinch, I relaxed a bit.

Checkmate, Asshole.

But after surmising from the desk clerk that Nicky was my ride and not a rental, Nicky’s discomfort from my luggage wheel connecting with his dorsum couldn’t have come close to matching my displeasure at having to be his passenger.

The jack-ass had cancelled my reservation. And since Hertz was out of cars, I had no choice but to accept a ride from Nicky.

Ahhh, Nicky. If I’d known I had to see you this soon, I would have had a least one drink on my flight.

Maybe Pan Am Barbie was smarter than I’d given her credit for. After all, she had tried to convince me to have a cocktail.

Better wipe that shitty grin off your face, Ms. Allwitch…I mean Ms. Aldredge. For a minute there, I thought you were actually glad to see me. Nicky grabbed my carry-on as well as the rest of my luggage from the carousel then pointed me toward the exit doors.

Not in this life-time, Nicky, I said and sidestepped his reach to put more distance between us.

It’s Nick, God damn it! My name is Nick. Not Nicky. He moved past me and into the revolving door that spit him out toward the parking garages.

Not according to your book covers, I said struggling to keep up with him.

That was your idea, Allwitch. Not mine. He glared at me while we scrambled to make an elevator before the door slid shut.

As the door closed with him in and me out, he hollered, Third floor. Take the next elevator or use the stairs.

Asshole, I said, not giving a damn that the priest standing behind me heard it.

I stomped up the stairs.

Out of breath by the time I reached the last landing, I looked up and saw Nicky tapping his foot and studying his watch.

Don’t you even think…about goin’ there, I huffed and puffed, resenting the fact that he was the big bad wolf to my now aching little piggies.

I mean, really, who hustles up multiple flights of stairs in brand new Louboutins?

Chapter Three

All I was gonna say was Happy Valentine’s Day, Allwitch, Nicky said, so sweet and innocent-like I wanted to kick him in the shin.

Except I couldn’t kick him ’cause my feet hurt too damn bad. I couldn’t wait to get into my Ugg boots.

Bite me, I said and stomped past him.

Uhm, my car’s this way.

I stopped mid stomp and turned back to face him as heat flushed my cheeks and the sweat on my forehead became glue for my bangs. Although, I was sure those issues were left over from my impromptu cardio workout.

I knew that. I just needed some extra space.

Right. Sure you did. What? Are you gifted with more than word magic now? You also know where cars that you’ve never seen are parked?

You’re such an asshole.

So you’ve said.

And then he did the worst thing he could do…

He laughed at me.

Leave it to me to get stuck with a schmuck on Cupid’s Big Day, I said.

Noticing he flinched a bit at that, I almost felt bad.

A schmuck? Really? Ouch.

He still opened the car door for me, so I had to give him a few points back for that.

Okay. Maybe schmuck was a little harsh. It’s not like you’re a total oaf. Some would actually argue you’re brilliant.

Now that sounds much more like me.

See? There you go. Right back to Schmuck-ville. When your ego gets the best of you with those shitty remarks, I can’t stand it.

Oddly enough, Nicky Blane was then silent for a long while. Long enough that before he said another word, we’d exited the parking garage and were already on 465 North headed to his farm.

Maybe my ego gets the best of me ’cause no one else does, he muttered, barely loud enough for me to hear him over the heat blasting and the wipers swiping at the ice that was hitting the windshield.

What do you mean by that? You’re a bestselling author many times over. I’d say, with you, every reader gets the best.

I’m not talking about my readers.

"Then what are you talking about? I asked, thinking this was a very strange conversation to be having with the" Nicky Blane, Mr. Macho, who could have any chick he wanted and who made a regular habit of keeping a steady stream of them at his beck and call.

If you’re referring to women, maybe if you got to know one, more than overnight, some not-so-bright one might stick around for a while.

Never mind. You’d never understand. And hell, if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t care.

Well now that wasn’t true. Okay. Maybe sort of. But it’s not like I really actually hated the guy. He just irritated the hell out of me. Kind of like a pesky fly at a picnic that keeps showing up when all you want is another bite of your pie.

Am I really that much of a cold witch to you? I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer, but knowing that at least I could count on him to give me the truth.

That’s one positive. The guy never sugar-coated a damn thing.

I do call you Allwitch.

Point taken.

I will give you some credit though. It wasn’t until after your divorce that I lost all hope in you having a heart.

It was my turn to say ouch, which I did.

I’m that bad?

Yep…that bad, Nicky said, turning onto the two-lane highway that would take us almost another hundred miles north to his farm.

Sorry about that, I said, settling back into the ultra-comfy leather of his Cadillac SUV.

Me too, he said, clearing his throat then turning up the soft-rock station currently playing some over-the-top depressing Air Supply tune.

I sooo did not need to be reminded that I was All Out of Love.

Instead of the melancholy music that appeared to be Nicky Blane’s preference, I decided to focus on the scenery outside the SUV.

‘Course with Valentine’s Day upon us, I doubt we had many choices other than love songs.

At least we weren’t tuned into that God damn Delilah, who I swear had to be the cause of multiple suicides across her syndicated talk show reach.

Okay…just for the record, I used to luuuvvv Air Supply and Delilah.

But yes, that was also before The Big D, when the man I thought was my prince turned into one mighty huge and ugly-ass bullfrog!

As snowflakes fell around us in a fury, slamming against the vehicle’s windows then dissolving into big drops of water, I thought about what a flake I’d been to fall for Hank Aldredge.

What if my heart and soul never thawed out and instead remained frozen as solid as the two-foot high snow drifts lining these northern Indiana country roads?

Chapter Four

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I awoke to Nicky gently shaking my arm.

We’re here, Sleeping Beauty. And I must say, you’re much nicer when you’re napping, he said then chuckled at his own lame joke.

Do you always laugh at your own jokes?

Usually. But you know what? I don’t know why no one else does.

Yeah…well…I know why, Asshole.

I stretched and tried to casually wipe my glove along the corners of my mouth. Damn. I hope I hadn’t drooled or talked in my sleep. I’ve been known to do both.

While I swiped at my chin, the SUV bumped along the gravel drive up the decent-sized hill leading from the road to Nicky’s farmhouse.

Every tree glistened as if the branches were crystallized in diamonds.

I caught a glimpse of his old farmhouse between wiper blade passes of thick, wet snow. Wow! The place looked like one gigantic, real-life replica of a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Every light in the huge two-story house was burning bright, guiding us home like a beacon in the midst of this winter storm.

No wonder Nicky loved to retreat here to write. It had its very own kind of magic.

All previous tracks to the house were gone, and the snow crunched beneath our tires. It must have been snowing for a while now.

How much snow are you expecting tonight?

Forecast says a good foot and a half. But out here, thanks to the drifting, it often looks like more than that.

A foot-and-a-half?!

Leave it to me not to check the weather report. I wish I was that organized, but I wasn’t. Those kinds of things had always been Hank’s specialty, not mine.

Come to think of it, if I’d been more inclined to check on things regarding my life in general, I’d perhaps have saved myself the frog hell that resulted from being Mrs. Hank Aldredge.

What’s wrong with a blizzard? It will be a total winter wonderland by tomorrow morning. I love that, Nicky said, his eyes suddenly twinkling more than the snow crystals dancing in front of the antique lamp post at the top of what should be stairs leading up to his home.

Oh. I get it. You’re afraid of being stuck here…with me…the rest of the week, he said, the twinkle replaced by a dark storm of recognition of what I must dread worse than the storm.

"Well, I’m certainly not afraid to be stuck with you. I just don’t want to be stuck with you."

Oh yes. Right. That would bring you right back to being…let’s see…how did you put that? Stuck with a schmuck.

I already apologized for that, I said, starting to truly get how much my comment had bruised his surprisingly fragile ego.

Although I knew better than to think I’d bruised his heart. Nicky Blane didn’t have one.

No, you didn’t apologize.

Not in so many words.

Precisely. And I’m more of a word guy. Which I’m sure you can relate to.

There was no need for me to remind him yet again that he was an asshole. My eyes narrowing to thin slits probably clued him into my thoughts.

I threw open the passenger door and Mother Nature took over. The wind was gusting so strong, I could barely hang onto it.

Damn!

It gets pretty wicked out here during this kind of storm, Nicky shouted over the fierce sounds of the trees being whipped and whirled. Let me get you in the house, then I’ll come back out for your luggage.

I’ll help you.

Suit yourself, he said, staring down at my spike-heeled booties. But in this snow, those beasts are gonna be a real bitch.

I’ll manage, I said, waiting while he opened the rear of the Escalade so we could load up our arms with the waaay too many suitcases I’d packed.

I made it to what should have been the first step before I ended up on my ass, my ankle twisted underneath one of my bags.

Shit! Nicky dropped his load of my luggage and knelt down beside me. Are you okay? I told ya those shoes were gonna do you in.

Go ahead and say it, I said, trying sooo hard to keep tears from arriving and then freezing on my damn eyelashes.

You know I’m always right. Why would I need to repeat that at a time like this?

Asshole.

Now I know you’re okay, he said while helping me to my feet.

I started to reach for my bags, but with a firm grip on my arms and a don’t-even-think-about-it look in his eyes, he stopped me.

I’ll get these. Let’s just get you into the house before you break something.

Together, with dangerous slips and slides the entire way, we finally made it up and onto the sweet safety of the enormous wrap-around porch and hustled toward what looked to be the kitchen door.

Before Nicky could get the correct key from his ring into the keyhole, a tiny, pleasantly plump older woman had the door open for us.

"Come in. Come in.