Hello! My name is Rebecca Neely, and I’m pleased to share an excerpt from my romantic suspense novel, A Mighty Good Man. A big thank you to Coffee Time Romance for hosting me today!

A Mighty Good Man – ‘Hank’ Jerry, a down and out writer, and Jack Darcy, a former gang leader, team up to write his story for mutual gain and end up falling for each other. Only problem is, they’ve both got something to hide that could blow up in their faces, and with time running out and gang enforcers closing in, will the trust they’ve forged survive the ultimate test?


AMightyGoodMan200Well, he’d wanted hidden, and now he was hidden. Her Aunt Henry would’ve done the same, she knew. Certainly the roundup of misfits who’d odd-jobbed their way through here over the years bore testament to that. If he needed a doctor, she’d see to it. But the police, and whoever was after him? That was his concern, not hers. Hank wanted no part of it.

He could just park it in the cooler for a few minutes, stay out of sight while the help clocked in, and be on his merry way. She’d make sure of it.

Fists pounded on the door she’d just locked. She jerked to attention, pushing off the cooler. “Pretty sure that ain’t a Jehovah’s Witness,” she muttered. Shit! This wasn’t part of the deal. Now what?

The pounding continued. Whoever was on the other side wasn’t going away. If she didn’t answer the door it would only make things worse, most likely for her and ‘Cooler Man.’ Hank forced her feet to move. Act calm. Think calm.

Just in case that didn’t work, she unearthed the Smith & Wesson .32 revolver her aunt kept stashed in one of the utensil drawers, and shoved it in her pants pocket.

Adrenaline and fear pulsed through her, propelling her forward. One foot in front of the other. No big deal. She’d answer the door, see about the fist pounder and then he or she, or they, would leave. Or she could get shot. Yeah, right. No big deal.

While the ancient boom box near the grill blared Johnny Cash lyrics, she made it to the door and reached for the handle. No way was she flat-out opening the damned thing. Leaving the security chain in place, Hank eased it a crack.

Two men. One short and stocky. The other, tall and wide. Thugs, the both of them. Various amounts of leather, tattoos, hooded sweatshirts. Scary. Fingering the gun, she narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” she demanded, praying she came off annoyed, versus terrified.

“Lady, you seen a guy come through here just now?” The shorter of the two spoke. He gestured toward the alley. His ‘Luca-Brasi-on-Steroids’ companion stood motionless and stared.

“No. Haven’t seen a thing.” Hank kept her hand on the gun. He was short, but taller than her five-four frame, so she was forced to look up at him. “I’m getting ready for my breakfast rush. That it?”

“You sure ‘bout that? White guy, tall, dark hair? Maybe a black eye or two?” He pushed his face into the mesh of the screen door. She recoiled. He looked like a bank robber sporting pantyhose.


Raised on a down home blend of Johnny Cash, Jack London, Sherlock Holmes, the Steelers, and all things small town, Rebecca feels blessed to have grown up in a close knit, fun loving and artistic family. Her mother, a voracious reader and scratch cook, and her father, an entrepreneur, English teacher and lover of literature, taught Rebecca and her brother to work hard, aim for the stars, and live life.

With music, books and laughter as constant companions, she grew up working, cooking and eating in the family’s restaurant business. She’s a cheddar enthusiast, lover of cats, teddy bears, hot coffee, cold beer, thunderstorms, country roads, woodpeckers, spoon rings, and the Food Network.

She’s a sucker for a happy ending, and strives to write the kind of stories she loves to read—those featuring authentic, edgy and vulnerable characters, smack dab in the middle of action that explodes from page one.

Careers, past and present, include freelance writing, accounting, mother, problem solver, doer and head bottle washer.

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