This is becoming a habit, I think, for Jen DeSantis, @jend_author to win 5MinuteFiction. 😉 But she’s certainly talented and deserving of the win. And now she gets to enjoy a copy of, When the Hero Comes Home courtesy of our judge,  Brian Cortijo, @briancortijo. Be back tomorrow too for a 5MinuteInterview with Brian.

But there were other prizes, right? I mean, didn’t I promise to give away a copy of , myself? Why yes I did. Let’s see who says I should give the book to.

Christie Fremon!

Shoot me an email, Christie, so I can get you your winnings!

Everyone enjoy your books, enjoy your day, and enjoy again Jen’s winning entry:

Finally, the digging was over.

I wiped my brow and looked up at the man I used to love. He was fidgeting with something in the pocket of his jacket and looking everywhere but toward me. I understood. There’s nothing sexy about a woman covered in mud from digging a shallow grave.

“Let’s get him in,” I said.

He jumped, but then nodded. We were in this together, right up until the time we laid the last of the dirt on the grave. Then I was going to forget him faster than he could say “goodbye.” There’d be no looking back or plaintive sighs. This little pickle he’d gotten me into had pretty much sealed our fate.

I was appalled at how weak he was. He groaned and strained as we moved the body. “Oh, come on, Dusty. He’s just not that heavy. Put some oomph into it.”

He muttered under his breath and groaned a little louder. At this rate, the whole town would hear us. I nearly broke my back getting the stiff’s torso into the grave. The rest of him sort of flopped in and I heaved a sigh of relief. Until I saw that he was sideways. There was no way the dirt would lay flat like that.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Really?” I slapped the side of my thigh in aggravation. This night would never be over.

I hopped into the grave and started trying to maneuver the body into a flat position. All I could manage was twisting him from one side to the other, never getting him fully flat.

“You could help,” I said through gritted teeth.

He shook his head silently, backing up. “I’m not getting in there. With him. And you.”

I put my hands on my hips, my finger brushing the butt of my concealed gun, and smiled up at my partner in crime.

“What’s a matter, Dusty? You frightened of little old me?”