Months after Shane
Martin’s sister vanishes, life crashes down and he finds himself the guardian
of a nephew he never knew existed. Blissfully ignorant, Shane trades in his
musician status, full of late nights and fast women, for midnight feedings and
lullabies. But when Kate McAlister, his prissy, stuck up caseworker, arrives
unexpectedly, he realizes he could lose everything.
Kate isn’t impressed by
Shane’s messy bachelor pad, rocker image, or sexy tattoos. As a matter of fact
she finds it all very sophomoric. The sooner she’s off the case the better.
Everything from his long hair to his sarcastic attitude threatens her
professionalism. But when he lowers his guard and asks for help, she discovers
a side to this tattooed musician she can’t resist. Behind this simple man is an
unsung hero.
Book Trailer:
Simple Man is told strictly from the male hero’s POV and
takes readers on a comical and heartwarming journey.
EXCERPT
When Duce
left, Shane sifted through the bag. There were tiny diapers, wipes, some sort
of yoga mat thing, a bunch of creams. He laughed when he saw something called
Butt Paste. That was self-explanatory.
There was
something resembling a miniature turkey baster. He found clothes, itty-bitty
socks, a knit cap, a few rattles, two containers of formula, some bottles, and
a small booklet with doctor’s visits listed in it. He recognized the writing as
his sister’s and a strange, sad nostalgia settled over him.
Was she here
watching him now? “He’s beautiful, Noel,” he whispered. “I’m gonna do this.
Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out and I’ll take good care of him for you. You’ll
see.”
By the time
Duce returned Shane was reading the bottle of formula. “What’s that?” his
friend asked as he plopped down the paper takeout bag of food.
“Formula. I
didn’t find any food. Do you think I should wake him to eat?”
“Uh, isn’t
there some rule about never waking a sleeping baby?”
Shane
shrugged. “Maybe I should make up a bottle so it’s ready when he does wake.
He’s been sleeping for two hours. He’s gotta be hungry.”
Shane wished
he had Internet. He wasn’t really computer savvy, but people were always
talking about finding shit online. Duce was staring at him with a peculiar
look. “What?”
“I think you
should give him back.”
“Give him
back? There is no
back. I’m it.”
“He’s just
all perfect and small. What if you fuck him up?”
“Hey, don’t
curse in front of him. And I’m not going to mess him up. I just need some practice.
I’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe you
should ask someone who has kids what to do.”
Shane reached
for an egg roll. “I don’t know anyone with kids. I have to take a class and I
have a crap load of reading material.”
“When do you
take the class? Maybe that was something you should have done beforehand.”
“It starts
tomorrow night. I’ll be fine.”
They ate and
zoned out to some reality TV. Baby Shane was so quiet they’d almost forgotten
about him. Then Duce’s face began to twitch. “Dude, what’s that smell?”
Shane sniffed
and choked. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to make his eyes water. “Aw
man, did you fart?”
“Wasn’t me.”
In unison,
they slowly turned to the baby who still slept soundly. He leaned over and
sniffed, almost gagging as he jerked back. “Holy crap! How could something so
pintsize smell that bad?”
Duce covered
his mouth and went to the window, quickly opening it to let some air in. The
little guy made a tiny nook-nook sound and his miniature fist curled up by his
chin in a dainty stretch. He looked like the fighting Irish.
“It’s
moving,” Duce whispered as though the baby were a bomb about to detonate. And
suddenly an explosion happened.
Baby Shane’s
face screwed up tight, turning an unnatural shade of red. His mouth opened
wide, showing nothing but pink gums, and an unholy squawk roared out of him.
They jumped
and stared as the baby screamed, his little chest working in quick breaths as
he drew in only enough air to force out another shrill, squawking cry.
“Do
something!” Duce demanded.
Shane
panicked. He reached for the book and began to thumb through, not sure what he
was looking for.
“Don’t
fucking read! Pick it up!” Duce snapped.
Shane tossed
the book on the couch and quickly kneeled in front of the angry baby. He wailed
and Shane began to freak. Was he in pain? Ugh, the smell coming off of him was
burning the back of his throat. “Sweet Jesus, he stinks!”
He quickly
removed the soft blanket. Shane was strapped down with some sort of five-point
harness a person needed a degree in engineering to figure out. He pressed
buttons and undid latches, shaking with the urgent need to make him stop
screaming.
Sweat seeped
through the baby’s tiny cotton jumper. The closer he got the worse the stench
became.
“I thought
babies were supposed to smell good?” Duce said, fanning the front door to let
some air in.
“So did I. I
can’t figure out how to unbuckle him!”
“Hit the red
buttons on the side. You gotta get the handle out of the way.”
Sweat
trickled into his eyes as he tried to dismantle the carrier. Finally he had the
harness undone. “Now what?”
“Pick it up!”
“He stinks!”
Duce scowled.
“So, my ear drums are about to burst. You gotta get in there. Tough it out.
Take one for the team!”
Shane
carefully picked up the screaming baby. He held him in front of his chest like
a potted plant. He was so incredibly light. “What now?”
“I don’t
know. You’re the one who’s supposed to be Mr. Mom. Comfort it. Pat its back.
Sing or something!”
Shane stood
and awkwardly turned, swaying slightly. He didn’t want to shake him and break
him. He sang the first song that came to his mind, wincing at the lyrics about
loaded guns.
Duce’s mouth
fell open. “Teen Spirit?
Really? How about Rock-a-bye Baby?”
“I don’t know Rock-a-bye
Baby. Nirvana’s the first thing that popped into my head.”
“It’s not
really appropriate, Shane,” Duce said coolly as if he were suddenly more
qualified than him with babies.
“You wanna
try?”
“No, I’m
set.”
He continued
to sing Teen Spirit and eventually Baby Shane quieted.
Blue eyes stared back at him and slowly the world began to settle.
Shane was
sweating and Duce looked petrified.
“Hi,” Shane
said. The baby blinked. “I’m your Uncle Shane.”
“I don’t
think he can talk.”
“No shit,
Sherlock.”
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About the Author
Award
winning author, Lydia Michaels, writes all forms of hot romance. She presses
the bounds of love and surprises readers just when they assume they have her
stories figured out. From Amish vampyres, to wild Irishmen, to broken heroes,
and heroines no man can match, Lydia takes readers on an emotional journey of
the heart, mind, and soul with every story she pens. Her books are
intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love. Lydia Michaels loves
to here from readers! She can be found of Facebook or contacted by email
at Lydia@LydiaMichaels.org
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/LydiaMichaels
Other Titles by Lydia
Michaels
FALLING IN
BREAKING OUT
COMING HOME
WHITE
CHOCOLATE
ALL 4 YOU
TO CATCH A
WOLFE
CHASING
FEATHERS
BREAKING
PERFECT
SIMPLE MAN
CALLED TO
ORDER
CALLING FOR A
MIRACLE
CALL HER MINE
SACRED WATERS
SKIN
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