Last week we announced that Danica Winters’s Montana Mustangs: Book 2 of the Nymph Series is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded Montana Mustangs: Book 2 of the Nymph Series, you’re in for a real treat:
Montana Mustangs: Book 2 of the Nymph Series (Crimson Romance)
by Danica Winters
Winner of the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Book of the Year award for paranormal romantic suspense.
A nymph: a woman with the ability to seduce at will, shift to protect, but cursed with the fate to have the man she falls in love with die a tragic death. As one of these ill-fated nymphs, Aura Montgarten has spent her lifetime drifting from one place to another hiding from love. Until she meets Dane.
When a body washes up on the shore of a rural Montana lake, police officer Dane Burke is faced with the task of finding the killer – even if it means he will be forced to put his life and heart at risk by working with a drifter. As the truth of Aura’s Mustang-shifting nymph ways are revealed, Dane learns exactly the amount of danger he and Aura are in, but can’t force himself to leave a case unsolved when the truth is just outside his grasp.
When the killer decides he needs to take another victim – Dane – Aura must choose between their forbidden love and her immortal life. Can there be life without love or is death her only choice?
Sensuality Level: Sensual
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And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:
Chapter One
The waves of the lake crashed next to Dane Burke like greedy reporters descending onto a crime scene. Dane picked up the severed hand, careful to touch it only with the tips of his gloved fingers, all in an attempt to save what little evidence remained.
The fingers were wrinkled and pale, the color of rotting fish. The skin of the palm flapped back, exposing the white lines of the tendons and the bloated pink muscles of the victim’s hand. He pushed back the skin, covering the hand’s viscera. The flesh was rubbed raw in several places, but whether it was from the time in the water or something else Dane couldn’t be sure.
Behind him, the secondary officer, Grant, talked with the woman who’d phoned in the find. The woman was blonde, thin, and uncomfortably beautiful.
“So, Aura, are you in Montana for business or pleasure?” Officer Grant asked, with just a little too much glee in his voice.
Dane tried to ignore the amateurish come-ons the officer threw at the blonde with the large blue eyes and plump lips that pulsed with the pink hues of life.
He turned the gruesome hand over in his. The fingernails of the victim were painted a vivid red, now brighter than the blood that had settled in the person’s flesh. He snickered quietly as he thought about the stark difference between the woman behind him who was the embodiment of life and the macabre sloughing object of death he stared upon.
Maybe the kid wasn’t so wrong for focusing on the woman. If he’d been just a few years younger, maybe he would have been acting that way too—focusing on the beauty of the woman instead of the gore of the job. But he’d long since given up on the things in life that only brought bitterness—death was easier to handle.
Officer Grant mumbled something, and his laughter bounced off the black lake and disappeared into the still of the night. Yet, the woman stayed silent—making Dane like her just a little bit more for avoiding the stupidity that Grant kept unchecked.
This crime scene was going to be one hell of a mess—between the identification and then locking down suspects; the case was going to have to be the focus of his life. He hadn’t had a possible homicide for two years. The last case had been cut and dry; man beat his wife, wife murdered husband—mitigated murder. She got two years in prison, a slap on the wrist.
Today all he had was a mutilated hand. Unidentifiable until the DNA came in, no one missing—at least, no one who had been reported missing—and no easy answers. Only one thing seemed likely—there would be a body to follow, but when and if it showed up was a mystery.
Whatever had happened to this woman could only be found in her flesh, unless someone popped up who had witnessed the event. If he had to guess, the hand had been in the water at least a few days. If someone had seen the possible murder, they would turn up soon or not at all.
The skin slipped in his, forcing him to grip it tighter. He laid the evidence down on the bag.
Dealing with suicides and natural deaths was something he did on a regular basis. Yet something about the rotting fish-hand made him shudder. Maybe it was the vibrant partygoer’s red nail polish and the way it made him think of some of the questionable women he had dated; or it could have been the way it had been removed from the body.
He stood up and wiped off the pebbles from his knees.
“Officer Grant, did you find anything else besides the hand?”
“Excuse me, Ms. Montgarten,” the young brown-haired officer said with an overly warm smile.
The woman, Aura, was pretty and all, but the way the kid fawned made him want to gag. The woman was just another person in the long line of crazies they saw each and every day. Polite was fine, but come on.
The woman stared down at the hand at Dane’s feet.
Officer Grant reached over and touched the woman’s arm. “Don’t worry about the hand now.”
The woman jerked back and away from the boy’s touch.
Dane held back the urge to snigger.
She pulled her arms around her body as an icy fall Montana wind blew up off the lake.
“Why don’t you take her to your car, Officer Grant?” Dane said. “She looks cold.”
“No.” She glared back at him. “I’m fine.”
For a person who’d found the hand floating along the shoreline she seemed oddly quiet. She’d barely spoken since Dane had arrived on scene. Highly suspicious, and if he had to guess, she was the primary suspect. Most people loved to help, to talk away while they explained the crime procedures they had witnessed on CSI or some other bullshit television show, but not this woman.
Officer Grant nodded. “I’ll grab you a blanket. Deputy Burke is right, you look cold.
Can’t have you freezing on us.”
“I’ll just wait in my truck.” She spun on her boot’s heel and stomped off to her latemodel black Dodge towing a white horse trailer.
Officer Grant watched her as she fled from them.
“Grant, you gonna help in the investigation or drool over the blonde all day?”
“Sorry, Deputy. Just wanted to make sure our witness was comfortable.”
Comfortable or doable? The kid didn’t stand a chance with the woman.
“Did she give you any useable information?”
“Just said she had stopped at the marina and came across the hand.”
“Did she say if she saw anyone else around?”
Officer Grant shook his head. “Sounds like there’s been no one here but her.”
Dane exhaled and watched as his breath made a whirling cloud in the cold air. Of course no one would be around on an evening like this. The lake was too cold, too deep for anyone to be out.
“Did she say what she was doing here?”
“Just stopped for a rest.”
Stopped for a rest at a marina? There was a campground only ten miles farther down the highway and not much further than that was a line of motels. Signs dotted the roadway advertising the various options to rest. Something didn’t add up.
“Where’s she from?”
“Didn’t say.”
Rookie.
“Stay here with the evidence. Keep an eye on it. I’m going to go run through some questions with her.”
“Sure, Deputy.”
From the tone of the kid’s voice it was easy to tell he was steadily making another friend in the office. Grant was free to add his name to the ever-growing list of people that didn’t like Dane Burke. The list was long and distinguished, with several county officials at the top. Dane had never been one to kiss ass or pander to the fickle moods of the politics that ran rampant through this tiny county in the northwest corner of Montana.
The beam of the flashlight bounced over the ground as Dane made his way to the black pickup parked under the lone street lamp. The plates were from Arizona. She was a long way from home.
The woman stared down at a map that lay in her lap as he stepped up to the window.
He tapped on the glass with the end of his metal flashlight.
She looked up and shoved the map closed as she rolled down the window. “Officer?”
Her cheeks flushed.
“It’s Deputy Burke.” He pointed to his name badge.
Her overly large eyes sparkled, making him shift uncomfortably in his work boots.
“Deputy.”
An odd trickle of guilt invaded him. She was suspicious, but he didn’t need to be rude—he had worked for his reputation as an even-tempered cop and he didn’t need to blow it on one good looking blonde. “Or you can call me Dane. That’s my name, Dane Burke.”
Great. He mentally groaned. Now I sound like a freaking idiot.
“Dane.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a little grin. “How can I help you? I think I already answered most of the other officer’s questions.”
He pulled a notepad out of his front pocket. “I just have a few more questions for you. Make sure we get all of our bases covered.”
She responded with a tight nod.
“Where exactly did you say you were from?”
“I’m just traveling through.”
“From Arizona?”
Her blue eyes sparked. “Yeah. Right. Arizona.”
So this was how she was going to play it? Like she was some kind of hard ass?
A little dream catcher dangled from her rearview mirror. The blue feather attached to the circle fluttered lazily in the breeze that filtered through the open window. He clicked his pen and wrote down the word Arizona and her license plate number in a tight scrawl. “Where are you headed to?”
“What does it matter to your case? I told the other officer everything I know. I stopped, found the hand, and I called you guys. That’s it. Nothing more.”
What was she hiding? He instinctively put on his game face. No emotion, no tells.
“Do you have a horse in the back?” He pointed at the double horse trailer she was towing behind the three-quarter ton.
She glanced down at the side view mirror. “No.”
“You moving?” He leaned back and aimed the flashlight at the trailer, but the light was swallowed by the darkness.
“The trailer’s empty.” Her eyes scanned the mirror again, sparking his inner-cop.
“You mind if I take a look?”
“Do you have a search warrant?”
The woman knew her rights. There was nothing he could do. She may not have had anything to do with the pale, bloated hand that rested on the shore, but there was no question about it, she was hiding something. And even if it killed him, he was going to find out.
Chapter Two
The Diamond Bar Ranch wasn’t far from the tiny campground where Aura had spent the night tossing and turning inside the small confines of the horse trailer’s tack room. The only thing that had comforted her was the familiar sweet scent of hay and the musky warm scent of horses that permeated the small space.
She stepped up into the cold cab of the truck and took in a long breath. The truck smelled the same as the trailer, but more muted—and still the same scent of safety and of being home.
It was early and the morning sun still slept behind the rugged mountains to her east as she made her way across the tiny town of Somers and north to the turn off to the ranch. The dream catcher bounced on the mirror as she pulled the truck down a long and winding dirt road. The crunch of ice and the smattering of gravel hitting her truck were her only company as she slowly made her way toward the ranch.
Her phone slipped down the dashboard and bumped against the windshield. Aura reached up and took it down. She slid her finger over the screen and opened up the map. She needed to get on the Forest Service lands behind the ranch; it would be the quickest way to get to her sister, Natalie.
Aura poked at her phone with her finger and turned off the screen. She stuffed the phone in her pocket. She was probably fretting over nothing. This wasn’t the first time Natalie had gone missing for a few days. Her obnoxiously bohemian life had gotten in the way a few years back, but then it had turned out that she’d been in her horse form for three days with a group of like-minded nymph-shifters and had misplaced her phone.
Her sister was probably off playing wild horse again and had forgotten to charge her phone before she left. Yet, the gnawing in Aura’s gut made her think otherwise. Her sister was forgetful, easily distracted, and a bit of a free spirit, but she’d always made it a point to check in when she was out of town.
When she found her, Natalie would be getting a piece of her mind. What had it been, a week now? Seven days from the last time they’d spoken.
When Natalie had left Yuma, it hadn’t been on the best of terms. Aura had been busy working with a wild horse, trying to train it for a prima donna who wouldn’t let her leave until the horse would do everything from gaiting to a perfect rein. The horse had been a challenge—it had hated the woman as much as she did—but it had eventually responded to Aura’s soft touch and gentle intentions.
Natalie had wanted her to come to Montana with her to follow a line on a new job—one that had promised a few thousand dollars that they desperately needed. When things had finally cooled down, Nat had agreed that finishing the job was the best decision and she’d promised to call when she’d gotten to Montana. Yet, she’d only heard from her one time… seven days ago.
Aura counted her fingers. They’d never gone this long without talking. A sense of dread crept up her spine, but Aura tried to ignore it. Natalie was just being reckless, just 10 taking it for granted that Aura wouldn’t worry, thinking she wouldn’t fret about her younger sister.
When she did find her, Natalie would undoubtedly make a thousand excuses for why she had gone missing and why she hadn’t called.
That was, if she was found.
Aura needed to get through that ranch; whatever it took, she would do it. She unbuttoned the top of her shirt, just low enough that the air from the truck’s heater warmed the bare skin on the top of her breasts.
A large arch made of gnarled, skip-peeled logs stood guard over the entrance of the ranch’s driveway. The Diamond Bar’s brand hung down from the crooked log. The cut steel moved back and forth as an icy wind kicked up, promising of storms that lingered just over the horizon.
Aura tapped nervously on the steering wheel. She pulled around a corner and in the distance she could make out a thickset man standing in the middle of a corral. On the right of the corral was a long building. Its siding was a brilliant red and the windows and doorframes were a pristine white, as if the place had recently been painted. Next to the stables sat the big red barn, hay littering the ground in front of the doors.
The man didn’t look back as she parked between the barn and the stables and got out. The peal of a horse’s scream made chills run through her. What was the man doing?
She rushed around the side of the building as the Quarter Horse’s back hooves connected with the metal gate with a clang. The shrill noise made the horse’s ears pin back further against its skull. The man bellowed, “Goddamn you! You’ll do what I want, you little bastard.” There was a slash of a whip through the air and a sharp snap as it connected with the gelding’s shoulder, drawing an immediate welt to his sweat-slicked black coat.
The gelding backed up and pressed its rear-end against the metal bars of the corral. The saddle that had been resting on the top of the fence slid off and fell to the ground with a thud. The noise startled the young horse, and he bucked and kicked wildly while the cowboy stood at the center of the ring. The man drew back his whip and slashed it against the gelding’s front shoulder.
Anger filled Aura. No horse deserved to be talked to or treated the way the man was treating this horse. All a horse needed to learn was a positive environment and a caring hand. If she didn’t do something to help him, this horse would only become more frightened and angry, and that pain and fear would stay in his memory forever—just waiting for a time to be expressed. The horse would only become a time bomb for an incautious rider.
She rushed to the corral. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t lose her head. Not now.
Not when she needed to find Natalie. She had to make this man an ally, not an enemy. Yet, she had to stop him. The cold fence chilled her fingers as she leaned against the bars.
The crooked-nosed cowboy drew the whip back and smacked it hard against the sensitive tissue on top of the horse’s nose, making him scream with pain.
“Stop!” Aura yelled. “Don’t hit him again.” .
“The man turned with a start and the horse snorted nervously.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The man spit on the ground.
“I’m looking for the foreman.” She couldn’t stand looking at the horse—fear and pain filled his eyes. “You shouldn’t be hitting that horse. You’ll ruin him.”
“This ain’t no dude ranch.”
“Never said it was.” She bristled. She had to stay calm.
The man turned toward her and raised his whip as if he intended on striking the strap down upon her fingers.
“Put the whip down, or I will use it on you.” The dam cracked inside of her, letting some of the anger stream through.
He lowered the whip as he glared at her from under the brim of his hat. “Goddamn women, think horses need to be baby-handled…”
She tried to bite her tongue. What was wrong with some of the men in the mountains? Did they think just because they lived under the big sky that they didn’t have to have manners? That they were above the clouds of civility?
Her boots thumped on the fence as she climbed over and jumped down into the corral.
“Let me have that whip.”
The man dug his heel into the dirt and his hand clenched around the leather whip. He leaned toward her dangerously, almost as if he considered striking her as he had struck the disobedient horse. “Look, lady, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, but you ain’t welcome. You can go back over there, climb up into your fancy little truck, and hit the road. I don’t need no woman telling me how to handle a horse.”
The black Quarter Horse stomped and tapped at the ground nervously with his hoof. The whites of his eyes showed as he bared his teeth. His mouth frothed and sweat rolled down his flanks. He hated the man that stood in the center of the little corral, and it was easy to see why.
She turned to the gelding and stared into his eyes. Men were uncontrollable, but horses, horses she could handle.
For millennia, horses had run wild. First the enormous megalithic horses reared across the mountains and plains, commanding respect. As they evolved into the modern horse, humans took them and forced domestication, herding the once regal animals. Some of their wild nature dissipated, bred out and muted by human will.
Men murdered them for meat. Men caged them. They beat them with whips, tied their legs together with rope, and branded them with searing hot irons—beating down their spirits, but whether the horse was Mustang, like her, or like the black one standing before her in the corral, they were all wild at heart. No matter how hard men attempted to enslave and change them, the passion for freedom ran strong in their veins. Throughout time many broke free of their masters and bound across the plains and deserts with only the wind and their will as their guides. They could be beaten, but never was a horse completely broken—instinct would always reign.
The cowboy moved toward the horse, his shoulder straight and rigid, like a sniper going in for the kill. He stepped toward the horse, whip raised. The Quarter Horse raised its head and eyed the man, the horse’s body tensed and his front legs splayed. Controlling fear with more fear was like trying to control the wind by blowing in it. The cowboy was a fool. The horse lunged at the man and the cowboy jumped back to the fence.
“Whoa,” Aura whispered to the gelding, putting up her hands and moving between him and the cowboy. The horse drew in a long breath, taking in her scent, and then let out a sharp snort of alarm. His eyes were focused on her. He blinked then nickered with recognition.
“Good boy…”
“His name’s Dancer.” The man behind her broke the air between her and the horse as he lifted the saddle back onto the fence with a grunt.
The man’s movement spooked the horse. Dancer reared back with a furious scream, his front legs in the air.
What had this man done to Dancer before she had arrived? He acted as if he feared for his life. Anger knotted in her gut. That foreman had no business working with horses—there was no reason to hit and cause pain.
“That horse is shit. He’s just a hard-headed, resentful bastard. I should’ve never bought convinced Zeb to buy him at the sale. He shoulda been dog meat.” She looked back over her shoulder toward the man. “The only bastard I see here is you.”
“You little—”
“Shut up and let me work.”
She turned back to the beautiful black gelding. The muscles on his shoulders twitched. His body was thick and muscular, perfect for strength work, and hungry for action and natural training.
You can trust me, honey. She sent out the thought toward the gelding. Her hands lowered to her sides, her palms up, letting him know that she was open to him. I won’t hurt you. She stared straight into his eyes.
His head lowered slightly as he stared at her.
“Good boy.”
The man chuckled behind her. “You’ll never get anywhere by staring.” His voice drove needles over her skin, but she forced her body to relax. This wasn’t about the man, this was about the horse.
A drip of froth fell from the horse’s mouth and landed on the ground. It’s okay. He won’t touch you. She tried to reassure him. He blinked at her and then lowered his head further. His ear moved forward a tiny bit, still pinned but he was responding to her thoughts.
She kept talking to him, and before long the beautiful black gelding was standing beside her. His head rested on her shoulder.
There was the crunch of gravel and a swirl of dust as a truck drove around the stables and came to a stop next to the corral. Dancer leaned back and his legs shook.
She ran her hand down his cheek as she let her relaxed energy flow into him. A man in shiny camel-colored boots, that were far too clean to have actually seen the everyday work of the ranch, stepped out of the driver side of the pickup.
“Who’re you?”
She patted Dancer’s cheek and urged him to move in a circle around the corral. She turned back to the man as he stopped next to the cowboy with the crooked nose.
“I’m Aura.”
“Well, Aura, what do you think you are doing with my horse? You have no business touching my livestock.”
“I’m saving him.”
“The man stuffed his thumb in the corner of his jeans pocket and leaned his other arm on the top of the fence. “From what exactly?”
“Your man here,” she said, pointing at the crooked-nosed cowboy, “was beating Dancer.”
The foreman pushed off from the fence and stared at her like a mad bull. “That’s horse shit. I was training that little black devil with the whip, just like I done with every other horse. I ain’t beating him. You need to get lost, you little tree hugger.”
The rancher put out his hand toward the cowboy, commanding him with a simple motion of his powerful presence. “Stop, Pat. Let the woman talk. I want to hear this.”
He motioned to her like he could command her as he had done with his employee.
“What are you doing here, besides picking a fight with my best hand?”
Everything had gone so wrong. She hadn’t intended on picking a fight with Pat, but there were a few things in this world she couldn’t stand, and cruelty was one of them.
Something like this always brought up the pain from her past and the resentment that had settled within her from hundreds of years of watching idiots with animals.
She didn’t stand a chance of getting on the good side of the rancher by going against his crew. The gelding came to a stop beside her and nosed her arm, begging for her to touch him. He nickered softly.
“Look, I wasn’t looking for a fight. If your hand wouldn’t have acted like he didn’t have a brain in his head there wouldn’t have been a problem.” She patted the gelding’s soft cheek.
The rancher roared with laughter. “Well, Pat…I guess I can see how this woman pushed you out of your own corral. She’s short on words, isn’t she?”
Pat’s face pulled into a sour pucker and he pushed off from the metal gate. “She didn’t push me out.”
“I can see that.” The rancher dabbed at the corner of his eye with his knuckle.
“I should have pushed his ass in the muck.” She pointed down at a steaming pile of manure. “He doesn’t deserve to be around a horse.”
The rancher’s smile faded. “Is that right, miss? You, a stranger who just pulled off the highway, knows more than ol’ Pat here? Pat’s worked for me for fifteen years. Made some damn fine rodeo horses out of some questionable stock.”
She stuffed the toe of her boot into the ground. “Out of fear.”
He huffed. “And you think you got a better way, do you, woman?”
The way he said woman made the hair on the back of her neck bristle. “I know I got a better way to handle horses.”
She looked over at Dancer and the horse lifted its head in an agitated sniff, almost as if he was telling her to take the challenge. Dancer moved his shoulder close to her and nudged her gently. His body was warm as she ran her hands down his length. The muscles on his shoulders quivered with excitement and he motioned his head toward the blanket and saddle. Not yet, baby. Not yet, she cooed in her mind. Let’s show them your softer side.
Aura took a step toward the horse and he moved his flank away, honoring her space. Good boy. His ears flicked forward as he listened to her energy. Running her hands down the front of his legs, she tapped his chest. Lie down, baby.
Dancer’s front end dropped down as he came to his knees then slowly rolled his body onto his side. His soft underbelly lay exposed, vulnerable. She knelt down next to the placid horse and ran her hands down his silky black coat.
His chest rose and fell in rhythmic motions. “Grab your saddle.” The ranch hand moved toward the saddle, but the rancher stuck out his hand and stopped him.
“What did you say your name was, woman?” “Aura. Aura Montgarten. You?”
“The name’s Zeb Burke. I own the Diamond.”
“Burke? As in Dane Burke?”
The rancher’s face went tight and he eyed her suspiciously, his slightly playful demeanor disappeared. “He’s my brother. You a friend of his?”
Bringing up the fact that she had met Dane at a crime scene didn’t seem like the best idea if she wanted the chance to investigate the land behind the ranch. “We’ve met.”
“And?” He pressed as if he expected her to say she rolled on her back for the man.
“And nothing,” she answered, striking down any possible thoughts the man could have about her relationship with Burke.
“You had to think something of him.”
She stared at Zeb, trying to find what answer he wanted from the look in his eyes. But he wasn’t a horse; she couldn’t hear his thoughts or send him hers. Vague was her best bet to get what she needed.
“I guess he’s alright.”
“Alright, eh?” His face soured and he motioned toward her truck. “I don’t know what my brother told you, lady, but you don’t belong here. I don’t care what you can do with horses. You need to get off my land.”
The ride back to the campsite seemed a lot farther than it had that morning as she chastised herself for her stupid mistake.
At least she’d helped the horse as much as she could—hopefully the jerk, Pat, would let Dancer be. He had great potential if he had only the right training. She forced her mind from the horse.
What was she going to do about Natalie? There was no possibility of her gaining access to the wild lands without getting through that ranch—unless she shifted. And shifting into her Mustang form was out of the question—there were too many people, too many prying eyes, and far too much danger.
There had to be another way.
The road veered to the left and she eased the truck around the bend, where a dirt road connected with the main road. Instinctively she glanced down the road, looking for traffic. She slammed on the brakes and threw the wheel to the left. A quarter mile down the road a white Ranger sat parked along the side, almost hidden in the overhanging timber.
Aura stopped her truck and got out to inspect the vehicle. A fresh indentation marred the left back panel where red paint streaked the inside of the concave dent. But it was still Natalie’s truck.
What was it doing parked there, on the side of an almost deserted back road? Inside the cab was a black purse, its contents overflowing out onto the seat: lipstick, eyeliner, wallet, keys. The only thing missing was her sister’s purple cell phone. Is this where she had parked to access the Forest Service lands? Or had someone else parked the truck here in an attempt to hide it?
The seat was moved all the way back as if someone much taller than her petite sister had been driving. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Natalie wasn’t the type of girl to let anyone drive her truck.
Aura moved around to the bed of the truck and looked inside. Something caught her eye. Stuffed deep into the front corner of the bed was a white cloth. She reached down and picked up the mysterious cloth. As it unfurled a scream rippled from her throat and echoed out into the still timber.
Jennifer Jamelli has spent most of her life reading and writing; she holds both a Bachelor of Arts and a Master of Arts in English, and she is an 8th grade English teacher.
She also directs a musical production each school year. Her most recent show was Beauty and the Beast.
Jennifer lives with her husband and her four-year-old son.
She, like the main character in her debut novel, has a rather hopeless case of OCD.
