Monday, January 02, 2017

Trace from "Once & Forever" by M.S. Kaye

It’s rather—interesting—hosting Trace from Once & Forever by M.S. Kaye here. I don’t think I’ve ever hosted a convicted murderer who wasn’t eager to proclaim his innocence and talk all about it. But, well…

RW:        What’s your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about you?

T:           I reckon no one would be real interested in my side of the story, why I served prison time for murder. And I don’t much want ta talk about it anyway.

RW:        Can you tell us about your heroine

T:           I certainly can’t call her “my” heroine; it’s not right for me to want her like I do. She’s been through hell, and she’s still somehow the gentlest person I’ve ever known. But she doesn’t take any shit either.

RW:        Where do you live?

T:         Southern Georgia, hick town in the middle o’ nowhere.

RW:       During what time period does your story take place?

A.                              Current.

RW:        How are you coping with the conflict in your life?

T:           Work my ass off in the fields and try my best not ta kill the Beaufort brothers. Yet to be seen if I’m gonna succeed with tha’.

RW:        What’s is your secret guilty pleasure?

T:         I watch Eden. I stay away, but when I watch her walkin’ down the street, I feel better. Even in her nun’s habit, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

RW:        If you came with a warning label, what would it say?

T:           Back the fuck off.

RW:        Satin sheets or Egyptian cotton?

T:           Really don’t care.

RW:        Party life or quiet dinner for two?

T:           Solitary dinner of Ramen noodles.

RW:        You’d never be able to tell, but…

T:           I have a Masters’ Degree in American History.

RW:      Those are all the questions I have for you today, Trace. Thanks so much for visiting my blog.


M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at
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The Plot:

Who is the mysterious Santa who leaves toys on the convent steps?

After a twelve-year separation, Eden is finally reunited with her brother, Thomas, but why hadn’t she reached out to him in all those years? Eden, a nun, is constantly struggling against her dark past of living on the streets, and her attraction to Trace, an ex-convict farm worker. As Eden and Trace confess their pasts to each other and grow closer, how will they be able to resist getting too close?


“You know what he did to git sent to prison?” one of the convenience store clerks murmured to the other.
Trace could just hear them over the horrible rendition of “Jingle Bells” playin’ through the speakers. He ignored them, like he always did. He tried to come into town late in the evening to avoid people as much as possible, but that also meant it was quiet enough that he could often hear what people murmured about him. Once he’d grabbed some protein bars and a can of beer, he headed up to the counter to pay.
The clerk with a buzz-cut told him the total, and Trace handed him some cash.
Neither of the clerks made eye contact with him, but they both hovered over the cash register as if he might snatch it and run.
Buzz-cut closed the cash drawer right quick and handed Trace’s change back.
“Thank you.” Trace stuffed the change in his pocket, took the bag of protein bars in one hand and his beer in the other, and walked out of the store.
He headed for the back lot toward the alley. He could get through most of downtown by way of the alley. This late at night it was almost too dark to see where he was goin’, but that was part of what he liked about it.
“Bitch,” someone growled. And then the sound of something—or someone—smacking into the brick wall of the back of the convenience store.
Trace moved more quickly and turned the corner, and he caught sight of a skinny, young woman punching a man in the face. His head snapped back. But then another man slammed his fist across her jaw. She looked so frail that the punch seemed like shooting a cannon ball at a piece of notebook paper.
“Hey!” Trace roared and ran at them. “Git away from her.”


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