Bandts, Broads & Dirty Dawgs – News

In the Spring of 2021 – stay tuned for the sequel to The Silver Spurs Home for Aging Cowgirls!

Readers asked for it and I heard you!

Bandits, Broads & Dirty Dawgs – coming soon to Amazon for Pre-Order. Watch here for details on pre-ordering Book Two in The Silver Spurs Series. Initial price will be just $0.99. Expected pre-order date of March 1st and release date of April 1st.

It’s more fun, more adventure, and more shenanigans with the crazy ladies at The Silver Spurs Home for Aging Cowgirls.

Here is just a short preview of what is to come.

Bandits, Broads & Dirty Dawgs Copyright 2021 Laura Hesse

 Prelude

If I’m feeling sexy, I’ll put on some heels – if that makes me a little taller than you, so be it. You have to be secure enough to stand next to a stallion.

Keri Hilson

Zoe Puddicombe raced along the highway in her little black convertible BMW heading to the penitentiary some seventy-five miles from The Silver Spurs Home for Aging Cowgirls where she now resided with her Andalusian stallion, Zippo, and her filly, Extravaganza. The multi-divorcee and widow didn’t mind living with the Montana family. Sam Montana was a stud; unfortunately, he was still in love with his deceased wife and possibly the sultry redhead named Sylvie O’Hara. He thought that his starry love struck gaze had gone unnoticed, but it hadn’t.

Zoe had to confess she liked the brazen outspoken woman with whose husband she had an affair, but that was when she thought Sylvie was an invalid. The jury was out on how long Sylvie actually was immobile from a life changing stroke.

Sylvie’s husband was a rascal. He even brought his mistress along when the O’Haras arrived from Virginia. It was a toss up as to who killed him, even though Sylvie confessed. Zoe still believed that Maggie had done him in.

Zoe wasn’t one to hold a grudge and wished Sylvie the best of luck with Sam. At their age, there weren’t many single men to choose from and Sam Montana was a catch; although, since the body of Cade O’Hara had never been found, technically Sylvie was still married.

Zoe glanced in the rear view mirror.

“Damn you,” she swore as she saw the white dually pass the family in the minivan behind her.

Behind the wheel of the big truck was her nemesis, Maggie Carroll, her cocoa colored skin and mass of raven hair a stark contrast to Zoe’s pale skin and short white spikes that she had tipped with blue that morning. The blue accented the delicate peacock feather earrings brushing softly against Zoe’s long aristocratic neck.

“You are not going to get there first,” she seethed, her brown eyes flashing with anger.

Zoe stepped on the pedal. The beamer shot forward.

Behind her, Maggie followed suit. The big diesel engine bucked, the truck built for towing, not racing with a finely tuned sports car.

Zoe smiled crookedly as she saw Maggie grit her teeth and pound her hands in frustration on the steering wheel as Zoe steadily increased the distance between them.

In truth, they weren’t enemies, these two senior women, they were competitors.

Five months ago, the pair had made a deal: whoever got to the prison first, got to see Tommy first. A game of rock, paper, scissors, decided who got conjugal rights when it was allowed. It wasn’t that Tommy was a dream come true or even that he was particularly handsome, but a woman had needs, whatever their age, and Tommy fulfilled both Zoe’s and Maggie’s needs at regular intervals without the ladies having to make a lifelong commitment. It suited all concerned or so they thought.

They had met Tommy Cortez after his plane went down in the mountains close to the Montana’s ranch. A huge manhunt had ensued. Tommy was a wanted felon – drug trafficking, kidnapping, murder. He had retired but that didn’t matter to the law. Justice had been swift. The ladies pounced on the opportunity.

The sheriff’s brown and white Suburban passed her going in the other direction.

“Damn it,” Zoe swore, glancing in the rear view mirror as the sheriff came to a screeching halt and spun the SUV around, red and white lights flashing.

Behind her, the minivan with the family of five in it and Maggie in the one ton dually pickup truck pulled over to let the sheriff pass.

“Darn. Darn. Darn. Darn,” the seventy-three year-old woman fumed.

Zoe pulled over to the side of the road, the sheriff pulling his vehicle in behind her. She rolled down the window and waited for her just desserts.

She could argue the ticket and turn on the charm, but that would take time. If she burned rubber, she still might be able to beat Maggie to the prison. The best recourse was to plead guilty and be done with it. What was the worst that could happen? Her insurance would go up and she’d lose some points on her driver’s license? She had dressed up for nothing? Ugh. Decisions, decisions, she groaned inwardly.

“Mrs Puddicombe, you got a fire to put out,” Sheriff Cole Train drawled as he leaned in the window.

Maggie drove by slowly, a cat that ate the cream grin on her face. She waved regally and pulled away.

“I hate that woman,” Zoe spat. “She’s never going to let me live this down.”

“What woman,” the clean shaven good natured sheriff asked.

“Maggie,” Zoe simmered.

“Ah, you ladies are off to see Cortez again,” Cole grinned, noticing the white dually accelerating up the highway. “What’s the appeal? Bad boys and ugly dudes simply turn you on?”

“Oh, Cole,” Zoe rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re a handsome young man with a pretty sweetheart and your whole life ahead of you. Once you get to my age you realize that all men are ugly so you may as well choose one that adds a little spice to your trysts.”

Cole roared with laughter, his grey eyes twinkling.

Cole reminded Zoe of a young Matt Damon. He was handsome in that boy next door sort of way.

“I have to give you a ticket, Mrs Puddicombe,” he said, writing her up. “Next time, either leave a little earlier, lock Miss Carroll in her room, or better yet, find someone else better suited for a spicy tryst. I suggest you come to the next barn dance, I can think of a few fellas there who would be happy to accommodate you.”

Zoe snorted in disdain as she plucked the ticket from Cole’s outstretched hand.

“See you Sunday,” the sheriff grinned as he walked away.

It was starting to get annoying having the law over for dinner every Sunday, but then the sheriff was dating Stacey Montana so there was nothing she could do about it.

Zoe waved to the sheriff as she pulled sedately back onto the highway. Cole waved back and followed behind her up the highway. “Seniors don’t get any respect anymore,” she whined, her eyes narrowing, her foot itching to put the pedal to the floor.

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