From a tiny acorn grows a mighty oak, so it is with love. Undaunted by rain, snow, thunder and lighting, and even a tornado, Goose and Patrick weathered many storms from first meeting to marriage. By their side through it all, Jefferson and Calvin shared their own love story as Goose and Patrick’s guides through the present and the past and their guardian angels in Heaven and on Earth. Contains the stories: Ghost Writer: Goose is finally allowing himself to feel something again, something like love. He and Jefferson have both been through a lot, war and escaping their abusive exes. There are two problems, though. Jefferson belongs to someone else, and he’s a ghost. While Goose tries to save a tree planted by Jefferson’s lover over a hundred years ago, Jefferson tries to heal Goose’s heart, broken far too long. Snowed In: Goose and Patrick: Four men, two in this realm and two in another, fight all sorts of obstacles, including war, separation, family dysfunction, racial prejudice, homophobia, and their own inner demons to fall in love and explore or recapture their sexuality. Each pair, from this century and one in the past, help the other along the way. Nine Minutes in Heaven: Goose’s lover Patrick ends up on one side of the light, with Jefferson and Calvin. Goose’s family and his dog, Wilbur, are on this side. When Goose is seriously injured and faced with a choice between Heaven and Earth, he finds the decision impossible to make, which could result in him being stuck somewhere in between. Ghosts of Honor: Goose and Patrick have weathered many storms, literally, a massive blizzard and figuratively, death. Will a tornado on their wedding day, a group of ghostly crashers, Goose’s distraction, and Patrick’s lingering emotional pain after the attack be too much to make it through this time?

Weathering the Storms Box Set

Rip was one hundred percent correct. I’d gone all the way from New York to Tennessee for dick. When I looked back to scour the room, out of the thirty-some men I saw, I was willing to hook up with about eight, maybe ten if I got drunk. That wasn’t a bad average.


“Hello. You going to shut the door?” Rip asked from the other side.


“Oh.” I chuckled. “I hadn’t realized I was holding it open.”


Rip lit a cigar and passed one to me. The next loud crack from the sky made me drop it to the wet pavement.


Rip shook his head. “I get three of these a year. I only brought four with me. You’re not getting another one.”


“Maybe it’ll light.” I picked it up, stuck it in my mouth—“Eww!”—spit out some grit, and then struck a match from the book in my pocket. No matter how hard I sucked and puffed, the limp, damp thing wouldn’t ignite. “It’s junior prom with Barry Mitchell all over again,” I said.


“At least you were making an effort back then.” Rip scowled.


Chapter 4