This week Wild Women Authors is pleased to welcome a frequent visitor back to our blog. M.J. Schiller has brought info about her latest release--To Hell In A Coach Bag—and this one looks like a real hoot.
First a bit about M.J.:
She is a lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-two-year-old and three twenty-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon.
And here’s something about To Hell In A Coach Bag which features four Midwest lunch ladies on a cross-country road trip...
Danielle (Dani)- is the widow who can’t shake a chance run-in with a spectacular looking roadie.
Samantha (Sam)- is the wild cannon divorcee who has broken more hearts than hockey players have broken noses.
Alexis (Alex)- is their coworker and along for the ride to escape from tension at home between her and her recently unemployed husband.
And what about Maxine (Max?)- Mid-life hormones have turned the Boss Lady into a raving sex addict. Though she is in love with her husband, her insatiable appetite is making her miserable.
Could their destination be Love?
Two women whose marriages are on the rocks. Will time apart from their spouses help them weather their matrimonial storms?
Two single women who equate love with pain. But when a twist of fate reunites Dani with her roadie, will she have the guts to open up to Tucker and perhaps start a new relationship?
And when Sam discovers that Kyle, the Canadian referee she met at the same rock concert, is in town for a Colorado Avalanche game, she may find that her own broken heart has a chance at mending.
Is happiness around the next corner? Or are these four women simply headed TO HELL IN A COACH BAG?
An excerpt from Sam and Kyle's story:
When I slipped into the box, Sam already had her purse in her hand, a coat slung over one arm. She hurried toward the door, and then froze when she saw me, her mouth hanging open.
She was running out on me.
"Going somewhere?" I crossed my arms and glared, angry she would leave without even waiting to see me. I'd been thinking of her all night, except when I was on the ice, when hockey automatically took over. But during period breaks, I scanned the box I called in favors for, hoping for a glimpse of her.
"Kyle." I sensed the forced enthusiasm in her voice. She ran up the stairs and hugged me, but my arms remained crossed. She let go and stepped back. I marched past her, trying to cool down, walking and walking until I ran out of space at the back of the box. I turned to face her, spreading my arms along the outer rail and leaned against the half-wall with my feet crossed in front of me.
She seemed to debate strategies, and then began to saunter toward me, dropping her coat and purse on the back of one of the seats. She looked fabulous, damn it. She wore jeans and a cream-colored sweater that zipped both down from the top, and up from the bottom, with rhinestones in-between. I took a deep breath. As she moved, I could see her tan stomach and navel at the bottom of the sweater, and a tease of her bra at the top. My hands sweated, but I told myself I wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. She had this way of walking, almost a strut, but not obnoxiously so. Just a slow, sensual, self-confident ramble that made my pulse go through the roof. But she was about to leave me. After I'd gotten the booth for her and everything. And she'd promised to wait. It ticked me off.
She came so close I could smell her perfume. There was something about a self-confident woman that was a total turn on for me. But I wasn't into being used either.
"Kyle." Her eyes were mesmerizing as she tried to sweet talk me, a fire in their depths that had me licking my lips. "I know it seemed like I was getting ready to leave when you walked in. But I was going to use the bathroom. I wouldn't have left without seeing you."
"Yeah. You should have gone with that when I first walked in. It would have been more believable then," I said dryly, but I could feel my lips turn up.
"Kyle..." She reached for me, and I pushed her hands away.
"No, Sam. This isn't going to work." I stormed past her, but she grabbed my arm.
"Kyle! Please!" Her face seemed genuinely pained. I decided to give it one last chance.
"Why did you come here tonight?"
"Why did I...?" Her eyes danced around the box, and she licked her lips. "I-I like hockey, and you were nice enough to offer the seats..." She fiddled with the zipper on her sweater, tugging it up and down and wreaking havoc on my heart rate.
"So it wasn't because you wanted to see me?"
Her soulful brown eyes flashed to mine, appearing startled at first, and then angry.
"Well... that was a plus, sure."
"But you came mostly for the game."
"Yes. I'm a big hockey fan. I go to the Blackhawks games all the time."
"Do you?" I asked, incredulous.
"What was the score tonight, Sam?"
"The score," I barked. "The score of the hockey game you were so into."
"Five to two."
"And the winner?"
"Good. The Colorado Avalanche was the winning team." She looked so pleased with herself, I almost hated to burst her bubble. Almost. "But the score was three to one."
"Well, I'm not good with numbers. I just enjoy good hockey."
"Oh, I see. Describe one play you saw tonight."
"Well... oh. There was the time those guys took their gloves off for some reason and circled around each other like they were going to dance." She smiled, batting her eyelashes. She was playing me now. She wasn't that stupid. And damn it if I didn't take the bait and smile back at her. She just looked so cute.
"That would be called a fight. The fight that earned me a sore jaw." I rubbed it unconsciously.
"Oh," she cooed, moving closer and stroking me gently along my jaw. I didn't bat her hand away this time. "You poor baby." I wasn't angling for her sympathy, but I wasn't too unhappy about receiving it either. "Were you crying to your momma?" she teased.
"No. But I referred to a mother a lot," I muttered.
"Let me kiss it and make it better."
I grabbed her wrists and gave her a little shake. "You don't get off that easy," I growled, though still smiling. I moved her hands down and set them free, grabbing her hips and hauling her into me. Her eyes sparked, and the ends of her lips curled up. "Obviously, you didn't come here to watch the game. Could it be, maybe, just maybe, you came to see me?"
To learn more about M.J. Schiller and the stories she creates, go to:
To purchase TO HELL IN A COACH BAG, go to: