From "Five Easy Pieces" by Rebecca Stroud

John's wife of almost fifty years (Lydia) recently died and he's having a difficult time readjusting to life "alone"...

Since I still have to eat - although my appetite rivals that of a bird's - I also make it as far as the corner market where Lydia and I have been grocery shopping for decades. Sure, I could go to one of the big-box stores but why bother? Yeah, my brother told me I need to get out and mingle but I doubt Wal-Mart is the place to start a meaningful conversation. Say, how 'bout them tomatoes?

So, every Monday morning, I continue to buy my meager nutrient requirements at Bud's Bodega and hope like hell Bud doesn't want to 'engage' me in chit-chat. Of course, since Lydia and I have known him forever, neither can I be rude. This particular trip proves to be a test of my willingness to socialize.

"So, John, how are you this fine day?" Bud smiles like he's never smiled before.

I grunt and nod, "Okay, Bud. Thanks for asking." I head for the produce aisle to pretend I'm looking for that award-winning tomato. He follows me.

"Ya know, John, I've been thinking. Maybe you should get a dog."

Christ. A dog. Just what I need...

From "The Fairytale Bride" by Kelly McClymer

"So you think you have won your battle?" His anger was daunting. "I told you I have no intention of being compromised."

Miranda flushed. He must hold the incident five years ago against her, despite his kindness then. "I only wish to convince you to intercede with the Earl of Connaught to win Emily back for Valentine. They are meant for each other."

"So you said.  I can only wonder how far you are inclined to go to convince me." His gaze traveled her length again. Miranda recognized the look she had endured in her short sojourn on the marriage mart.

But never once from Simon Watterly. A painful twist in her chest made her short of breath.

"I will do anything —  " His expression darkened and she broke off in confusion.

He smiled his wonderful smile again, and Miranda did not hear his words for the rush of her heartbeat in her ears. "I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"I said," he repeated slowly, as if for a daft child, "though the idea of spending the night with the notorious Miss Fenster intrigues me, I must decline." Without a further word, he turned and started across the field.

From " Chronicles of the Apocalypse: Revenge, Everything is Nothing" by Zachery Richardson

Silence fell between the two of them, and while Jin ate away at the food on his plate, Mark stared into his half full glass of milk, lost in thought.

"It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?" he asked.

"What is?" Jin asked, swallowing a mouthful of food.

"Well, that we’re the only two really left; the only ones that remember what the Black Dragon Clan used to be. The codes we lived by, the things we fought for. I mean, didn’t it ever make you sick that after the Reconstruction, we basically degenerated into glorified contract killers?"

"We were always killers, Mark," Jin answered somberly.

"Yeah, but not like this. Back then we served a higher purpose. We killed to clean the scum off the planet. Now we work for the scum, and only because they pay better."

Jin sighed. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Mark. There are a lot of things I miss about those days."

From "New World Orders" by Edward G. Talbot

Detective Jim Patterson is being asked by his captain why he hasn't resolved some current cases...

"Well then, how about the Senator Howell case?"

Patterson raised his eyebrows. Senator Howell had been a three hundred and twenty pound coronary waiting to happen. While many people accused legislators of making "pork barrel deals", Howell took the phrase literally. Last week, Howell had ended up face down in the buffet at a local Sizzler.

"Boss, everyone knows that was natural causes."

Brooker shook his head. "Jimmy, Jimmy, you know that and I know that, but we also know that when an elected officials dies in a public place, we have to be sensitive to public perception. All you need to do is get the medical examiner's report and spend an hour filling out paperwork."

He held up his hand as Patterson opened his mouth. "Never mind, just make sure your write-up is on my desk by tomorrow night. Now, speaking of the M.E.'s office, I was on the phone with Roger Edgson's supervisor just this morning. You're lucky that Edgson was so clearly in the wrong. What were you thinking interfering with an autopsy?"

From "The Black Widow" a story in "Lunch Break Thrillers" by Declan Conner

There was something about the young woman dressed in black that intrigued him. Even though everyone else was dressed in the same color, she stood out from the rest. Maybe it was the Armani trench coat, or the Gucci shades and the wide brimmed hat that accentuated her bright red lipstick. She stood away from the crowd as his wife’s casket was lowered into her resting place. Everyone filed past him as the ceremony ended and paid their respects.

He noticed her walk toward the graveside with a model’s grace. She bent over to toss a single rose onto the casket. The split in her coat revealed she was wearing a short skirt and black fishnet stockings. Her skirt rose just enough for him to see the top of her stockings and the garter straps holding them.

"Who’s the broad?" he asked his bodyguard out of the corner of his mouth.

She stood, turned around and smiled toward him.

"Never seen her before. Want me to keep an eye on her?"

"What, ya don’t think I’m capable of keeping my own eye on her? I may be sixty-five, but my eyes ain’t failed me yet. Bring her here."

Blog Hop Friday

In the spirit of the Twitter Friday Follow, the Book Blogger Hop is a place just for book bloggers and readers to connect and share our love of the written word!

In your blog post, answer the following question (new question each week!).

“Who is the ONE author that you are DYING to meet?

I'm dying to meet Miyamoto Musashi, the renowned Japanese swordsman and Samurai, author of "The Book of the Five Rings" a book on strategy, tactics, and philosophy. Unfortunately, I'd have to die to meet him, because he died over 350 years ago. He is considered to be one of the greatest warrior poets of all time. I'd love to watch him duel and then sit down for tea and listen to his thoughts on life.

Most of the authors showcased here would love to have their books reviewed, so while you're here, why not have a look at some of their work?

From "Ragnarok Summer" by Matthew Maxwell

Perhaps now they’d learn to stop calling his name. If only for a year.

He paused, boot crunching a knot of bone that jutted from the soil. There was a…sound, beneath his feet. At least he thought it to be a sound.

It wasn’t heard so much as felt, a keening, a vibration that shot from the soles of his feet through his guts and to the top of his skull. The sensation sundered Thor’s bravado from within, clutching his heart and wrenching it like a dog would a bone. Even as the sound faded, his body rang with it sure as a bell.

The earth screamed in rage, a shattering sound of stone cracking, clods of dirt and rock being spit from a maw that opened in the plain. Thor turned in shock as the ground ruptured, coughing black dust and bones in a grisly rain. A flock of rusted weapons without an edge, or even a memory of it, hung in the air before arcing back into gravity’s pull. Mail coats, decayed into uselessness, were cast into veils of bloody rust that blocked the summer sun. A cacophony of dented metal helmets and skulls fell before the silence returned.