The Mother Road - Meghan Quinn

Acknowledgments

I have so much to be grateful for. I started this journey two years ago and I’ve had my ups and downs, my mistakes and my successes, but the one consistent in my life has been the beautiful people who’ve supported me down this crazy world of being an author. This is for you.

To the bloggers who’ve always been by my side: The Smut-Brarians, The Literary Gossip, Margie “Mrs. Dash Darcy”, Nicola at Endless Reading, Fiction Fangirls, A Book Whore’s Obsession, Witchey Richey’s Booktastic Reviews, The Book Boyfriend Hangover, Crazy Chaotic Book Babes, Author Groupies, Schmexy Girls, Red Cheeks Reads, Once Upon a Time Book Blog, Up All Night Book Addict, Twin Sisters Rockin’ Book Reviews, Cherry Red’s Reads, The Two Brains of Book Reviews, PopKitty, Shh Mom’s Reading, Give Me Books, Sugar Shack Book Blog, iScream Books, Worth the Read Blog and so many more. I’m sorry if I forgot you, but please know, from the bottom of my heart, I am so beyond grateful for all the love and support.

Along the way, I’ve met some fabulous people who have taken the time to talk to me, listen to my stories and answer my questions. They need to be acknowledged. Thank you to Courtney Cole, Helena Hunting, Debra Anastasia, Katherine Stevens, Tara Sivec, Melanie Harlow, and Katie Ashley. You pretties have been such wonderful blessings in my life. I’m grateful for your friendship.

To my bitch, my BFF and my person. Thank you for always supporting me, listening to my neuroses, and being my sounding board. I love you.

To the love of my life. I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you for sacrificing our time together so I can be the author I dream to be. Life is easier with you in it.

Lastly, to my readers. Thank you for loving my stories, for becoming friends with my characters, and for being the most fabulously beautiful people I’ve had the pleasure to write for.

Much Love and boob squeezes. B>>

Dedication

To my family – for providing me with such valuable material for this book. I love you.

PROLOGUE

“Marley, put the axe down and step away from the flannels,” Porter says, hands extended, as if he wants to help.

“You’re not in a good frame of mind. This is not who you are. You’re not an axe wielding psychopath looking to make a pile of long sleeved cotton into your very own plaid colored mulch,” Paul tries to convince me.

“Buttons, please put the axe down. We can talk about whatever is bothering you. Please don’t chop up Daddy’s Americana flannel shirt.”

Let’s pause for a second; do you see those three men standing to the side, fear in their eyes, sweat at their temples, with their hands clutched at their waists and their asses tight enough to pop open a bottle of beer?

Yeah, those three, they’re the reason why I’m foaming at the mouth, gripping an axe three sizes too big for my body with my heels dug deep into the wet and muddy ground.

That’s me, Marley McMann, the brunette in the “rustic” orange bridesmaid dress with a bouquet sticking out of my hair and a pile of multi-colored poly-blend barf rags resting in front of me, waiting to be minced into my very own personal hamster shit shavings.

I’m not usually threatening to slice the buttons off of men’s clothing with a lead shiv big enough to cut down a knotty vagina-looking sycamore tree. But I’ve had my limit.

There comes a time in a girl’s life when she has to reach deep down into her soul, clear the pathways of her inner goddess, and let out her nuclear Satan. You know what I’m talking about.

The crazy.

Don’t try to act like you don’t have it; every woman does.

Let me paint you a picture. It’s that time of the month; its shark week, as some may say. The civil war is being reenacted by your ovaries and death is scatted over your fallopian tubes. You’re crippled over in pain on your couch, half a Snickers bar hanging out of your mouth, a heating pad pressed against your innards, and a blanket wrapped around you as if you’re a cocktail wiener in a Pillsbury croissant. The Hallmark Channel is airing that Mario Lopez movie you’ve been dying to see and not because the plot looks good, but because you want to reminisce on your Saved by the Bell days. Mario is the only thing getting you through this time of need, that and the chocolate drool slowly dripping into the