Brake Failure
By
Alison Brodie
Release
Date: January 9, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Brake Failure is
a contemporary romance with a kick-ass heroine.
The story is set in one of the most fascinating periods of America's
history: the months leading up to Y2K "melt-down."
"Is
it too late to tell him you love him when you're looking down the barrel of his
gun?"
Ruby Mortimer-Smyth is an English debutante,
destined for Lady’s Day at Ascot and taking tea at The Savoy. She knows the
etiquette for every occasion and her soufflés NEVER collapse.
She is in control of her life, tightly in
control. Until fate dumps her down in …
Kansas.
Ruby believes that life is like a car;
common-sense keeps it on the road, passion sends it into a ditch. What she doesn't know is, she's on a
collision course with Sheriff Hank Gephart.
Sheriff Hank Gephart can judge a person. Miss Mortimer-Smyth might act like the
Duchess of England but just under the surface there's something bubbling, ready
to explode. She's reckless, and she's
heading for brake failure. And he's not
thinking about her car.
With the Millennium approaching, Ruby gets
caught up in the Y2K hysteria. She joins
a group of Survivalists, who give her a gun and advise her to stockpile basic
essentials, such as gasoline and water-purifying tablets. So she bulk-buys Perrier, Gentleman's Relish
and macaroons.
Ruby, far from home, is making Unsuitable
Friends and "finding herself" for the first time. She falls in with a gang of Hells Angels and
falls foul of the law. At every turn,
she comes up hard against Sheriff Hank Gephart, whose blue eyes seem to look
deep into her soul. She desperately
wants him but knows she can never have him.
She's angry at
the emotions he arouses in her. Pushed
to her limit, she bursts from her emotional straightjacket.
As the clock strikes midnight of the new
Millennium, she's on a freight train with three million dollars, a bottle of
Wild Turkey and a smoking gun.
What happened to Miss Prim-and-Proper? And why did she shoot Mr Right?
Note: Alison Brodie wrote this story from
first-hand experience. She lived in
Kansas during this time and was stunned by the hysteria, unnerved that the US
government was spending $150 billion preparing for Armageddon. As Lionel Shriver says in "We have to
Talk About Kevin": '1999, a year
widely mooted beforehand as the end of the world.'
|
That afternoon, Ruby parked outside Shady
Acres. She couldn’t wait for Gephart to ask her out on a date. Then she could
tell him she was married. Ha!
He sat in reception. In full uniform. Why
couldn’t he have changed into civilian clothes? Now he would make her look like
an offender. Or was that his intention? Just because she’d put a few scratches
in his police car.
‘Hi, Ruby.’ He stood up, crushing a plastic
cup in one hand and tossing it in the bin.
She stared pointedly down at his belt. ‘Are
you going to put me in handcuffs?’ she asked sarcastically.
He winked. ‘Not if you’re good.’
Ruby blushed. Why was it that every time she
gazed into his eyes, she felt as if a hand was pressing down on her chest? She
was only thankful that once she started reading to the old lady, Hank Gephart
would go.
The receptionist was busy dealing with two
elderly gentlemen, so Ruby and Hank had to wait to sign-in. Ruby felt strangely
jittery in the big man’s presence. She only wished he wouldn’t stand so close.
She inched further along the reception counter and, wanting to hide her
nervousness, started squaring up the brochures into neat piles.
He came closer. ‘Ruby, I don’t like you
mixing with Hells Angels.’
She felt his warm breath on her cheek. ‘Is
there a law against that?’ Refusing to look at him, she picked up a brochure
and found herself reading about incontinence.
‘No, but-’
‘Then, presumably, I have the freedom to
choose with whom I associate?’
‘Yeah, but I’m warning you-’
Warning you. Angrily, she grabbed up another
brochure and flicked through it at speed, false teeth and hearing-aids flashing
by. ‘Why do you have to be so aggressive? Why can’t you say, “may I suggest?”’
‘Okay.’ He rested his arm along the counter
and leant towards her. His eyes were blue, very blue. ‘May I suggest you keep
away from them?’
‘No, you may-!’ She stopped abruptly. A
matronly nurse was hovering beside them.
‘Well, Hank,’ the nurse said gaily. ‘Is this
your lady friend you’ve been telling us about?’
Hank beamed down at Ruby with proprietary
pride. ‘It sure is.’
‘I’m not his lady friend,’ Ruby mumbled.
‘Nice to meet you, Ruby,’ the nurse said.
‘I’m Amy.’ She beckoned with a finger as if tempting two small well-behaved
children to an exciting treat. ‘If you want to come along, Mrs Amstruther is
waiting.’
As they walked along the corridor, Ruby
noticed two pretty nurses break off from their conversation to study her. She
sensed that Hank had been gossiping about her. She caught up with Amy,
determined to quash whatever rumours were flying around. ‘I am not at all
familiar with Geph- I mean, Hank.’
The nurse stopped at a door and knocked. ‘I
love your accent.’
Ruby persisted. ‘I have merely bumped into
him on various occasions.’
‘We know.’ The nurse winked and opened the
door. ‘You two go on in.’
As Ruby spluttered indignantly, Hank took her
by the elbow. ‘Mrs Amstruther?’ he called. ‘I’ve brought my friend to meet
you.’
‘Come in, come in,’ a quavery voice replied.
Ruby stepped across the threshold and froze.
Mrs Amstruther was blind.
The old lady was sat up in bed, dressed in a
faded, flower-print bed-jacket, her eyes wrapped in bandages; her skin appeared
almost translucent, the pink skull showing beneath a mop of dazzling white
hair. She smiled sweetly, reaching out a tentative hand.
Ruby felt a pang. Mrs Amstruther shouldn’t be
here; she should be in a cottage-garden in Devon with a wicker table laden with
a cream tea and a vase of freshly cut delphiniums; and surrounded by her
grandchildren.
‘Dear Hank,’ Mrs Amstruther murmured. Ruby
stepped forward, and put her hand in the old woman’s. ‘Hello, I’m Ruby.’
‘Oh, how lovely to hear an English voice!
You’re so kind, Ruby; volunteering to read to a boring old lady like me.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
‘Hank didn’t bully you, I hope?’ Mrs
Amstruther said in mock gravity.
With an ache of sadness, Ruby gazed down at
the old woman so far from home - a home she would never again see. Ruby
realised the childish bickering between her and Gephart was pathetic. The
discord she had brought into the room, evaporated. ‘I didn’t need to be
bullied. I was delighted with Hank for asking me.’
‘Do take a seat, Ruby, dear,’ the old woman
said.
Ruby pulled an armchair closer to the bed.
The room was sunny, the walls covered in framed photographs of children at the
seaside. Beyond the window, at the far perimeter of a vast lawn, a freight
train rumbled passed, the melancholic blast of its horn fading into the
distance. Gephart, too, was watching it.
Mrs Armstruther’s hand was searching the
rumpled bedding. ‘Ruby, could you possibly read a few pages of Wind in the
Willows? My son loved it when he was little.’ She brought out a book from under
the covers. ‘It’s so annoying not being able to see. Thankfully the bandages
come off at the end of the month.’
‘So it’s not …?’
‘What, dear?’
‘Permanent?’ Ruby asked, taking the book.
‘Oh, no, it’s just cataracts; the curse of
old age.’
Ruby, discovering the old woman would recover
her sight, felt a lightness of spirit; felt she could embrace all her fellow
beings - including Hank. He was standing, studying the photos on the wall.
Catching his eye, she smiled at him, tilting her head towards the door, a
silent message that he could leave.
He wrinkled his brow, evidently unable to
gauge her meaning.
She tried again, running her fingers through
the air towards the door.
He gave her a stupid look.
‘Are you going?’ she mouthed silently.
He nodded to signify that he understood. Then
he shook his head, walked over to the armchair by the window, sat down and
rested his hands squarely on his knees.
He was obviously staying.
‘Have you ever read Wind in the Willows,
Ruby?’ Mrs Amstruther asked.
‘Yes, years ago.’
The old lady laughed. ‘Mole is delightful,
isn’t he? Who is your favourite character?’
‘Toad. I loved it when he dressed up as a
woman to escape the police.’ Ruby instantly regretted the words. ‘Of course, I
don’t identify with Toad,’ she added hastily, forcing herself not to look at
Gephart. ‘I just think he’s a loveable rascal.’
‘Isn’t he just!’ Mrs Amstruther settled back
to enjoy the story, and Ruby began:
‘“The Mole had been working hard all the
morning, spring-cleaning his little home …”’
Why is P.C. Plod hanging about anyway? Surely
he’s not interested in riverbank creatures.
‘“First with brooms, then with dusters; then
on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash till he
had dust in his throat and eyes and splashes of white-wash all over his black
fur, and an aching back and weary arms …”’
He’s staring at me; I know he is.
‘“Spring was moving in the air above and in
the earth below …’”
This was too much! Ruby glared at him.
‘Haven’t you got a murder to solve?’
‘What?’ Mrs Amstruther jerked in confusion.
Ruby was appalled by her thoughtlessness.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Amstruther, I was talking to Hank. You see, I don’t want to
keep him from his work.’
He folded his arms across his chest and
grinned. He was obviously taking delight in her embarrassment. ‘I’m off-duty,’
he said.
For the sake of the old lady, Ruby had to
speak sweetly, but there was nothing stopping her from raking the man from head
to foot with hostile eyes. ‘Do you always wear uniform when you’re off-duty?’
‘I do when I haven’t had time to get to my
locker and change.’
She couldn’t bear to look at that smug face a
second longer. She snatched up the book and continued to read. ‘“Spring was
moving in the air above and in the earth below-’” She stopped in confusion, her
cheeks a fiery red.
‘Oh, I’ve read that bit already.’
She could sense him laughing at her. And he
was!
He stood up, his eyes dancing mischievously.
‘I’ve got a feeling Ruby can’t concentrate with me here. I’m flustering her
pretty little head.’
Her relief that he was going was rapidly
replaced by horror. That awful man was insinuating she fancied him! As he
passed by, he bent and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll be waiting for you in the
lobby … Sweet Cheeks,’ he said softly, squeezing her shoulder.
Wide-eyed and apoplectic, she watched him
walk to the door.
‘He’s such a lovely man,’ Mrs Amstruther said
after he had gone.
Ruby couldn’t trust herself to speak.
‘The nurses say he’s very handsome. Is he?’
Ruby was still pinning the door with a look
of fury. ‘O-h-h, you don’t want to know what I think.’
She picked up the book, her decision made.
She was no longer angry; in fact, she was
rather jubilant. Like any institution, this building would have a goods
delivery entrance. Well, Gephart, she thought complacently. You’re about to
have a long wait because Sweet Cheeks, here, is going out the back.
Alison Brodie is
a Scot, with French Huguenot ancestors on her mother’s
side of the family. Alison was a photographic model, modelling for a wide
range of products, including Ducati motorbikes and 7Up. She was also the
vampire in the Schweppes commercial.
A disastrous
modelling assignment in the Scottish Highlands gave Alison an idea for a story,
which was to become Face to Face. She wrote Face to Face as a hobby and
then decided to send it off to see what would happen. It was snapped up
by Dinah Wiener, the first agent Alison sent it to. Three weeks later,
Alison signed a two-book deal with Hodder & Stoughton.
Subsequently, Face to Face was published in Germany and Holland. It was
widely reviewed, ie: “Vain, but wildly funny leading lady.” -Scottish
Daily Mail. It was also chosen as Good Housekeeping’s “Pick of the
Paperbacks.”
Unfortunately,
Alison then suffered from Second-Book Syndrome. The publisher’s deadline
loomed and she was terrified because she didn’t have an idea for a story!
She found the whole experience a nightmare; and this is why she cautions
first-time authors to write more than one book before approaching an
agent. She managed to finish the book – Sweet Talk – but it bombed.
While writing
Sweet Talk, she moved to Kansas and lived there for two years. She loved
the people, their friendliness, their free-and-easy way of life, the history
and the BBQs! Sadly, her visa ran out and she had to come back to the UK
– although her dream is to one day live permanently in America. Now,
Alison lives in Biarritz, France.
Alison has taken
the exhilarating steps to becoming an indie author. Her second ebook, THE
DOUBLE, is out on Amazon Kindle with some great reviews. “Excellent.” –San
Francisco Book Review.
Alison writes
contemporary romance. She aims for a strong plot line, set against the
background of a world-changing event, coupled with touches of humour, sexual
tension and character transformation.
She loves to
hear from her readers.
Social Media Links
Thank you, Smut Fanatic, for this very professional spotlight for Brake Failure. I really appreciate your support and the time you have taken in promoting me and my novel. Love ya! xx
ReplyDeleteAfter reading THE DOUBLE, I'm sooo excited to get my hands on this! You definitely have a new fan here. :)
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