Spotlight & Giveaway: Chase Me If You Can by Heather Frances

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Heather Frances to HJ!

Hi Heather and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Chase Me If You Can!

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

When photographer Sloane Michaels is invited to enter a prestigious nature magazine’s storm cover contest, she knows her favorite frenemy “Wild” Wes Talbot is the man to beat. But when an accident leaves Wes without a car, the two team up for the season…and find that the feelings between them might be more electric than the storms they’re chasing.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

“Some people have churches. Wes and I have storms.”

“That kiss wasn’t a favor. That kiss was a god damn reckoning.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

I’m a storm chaser / photographer myself! A lot of the storm chasing sections are drawn from my own real life experiences.

The book has been known to cause cravings for donuts and nerds gummy clusters.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

Wes has been in love with Sloane for a long time by the events of the novel – he’s gotten to know her over ten years of storm chasing, and fallen for her because she’s hot, talented, smart, and is always willing to banter with him!

Sloane takes a bit longer – she’s initially attracted to his looks, but once she gets to know him better, it’s his empathy and caretaking that she falls for.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

I may have blushed a little writing the “this or that” scene! Sloane is tired of the endless decision making that comes with being her family’s constant cruise director, so Wes comes up with a game to make it easy for her to tell him her preferences in bed…

“I was thinking we could play a game.” His grip tightens when I try to move, the desperate need for friction growing. “Do you want to know the rules?”

I stare at him, laughter bubbling out despite how much I want him to touch me. “Really? You want to talk about rules? Now?”

That earns me a grin, wild and playful, but Wes doesn’t relent when I press against his hold again, craving, needing, his body on mine. “The rules are simple. I ask you a question and give you two possible answers. You pick one. Easy choices.”

“What sort of questions?”

He resumes the slow, firm circles of his thumb. “This?” I curse him when he stops after a few seconds, but it’s only for a moment. Then his thumb is replaced by the heel of his palm, roughly grinding against me. “Or that?”

Readers should read this book….

If they watched Twisters and wanted some kissing…and more!

Also, for all the burnt out eldest daughters who would love someone else to do the caretaking for once 🙂

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I just turned in my next book! I can’t say much about it just yet, but we’re going storm chasing again next summer. Can’t wait to share more!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

To enter Giveaway, please share this post on your Socials and Leave a comment below to this Q: Would you ever go storm chasing?

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Excerpt from Chase Me If You Can:

While I chase alone these days, I’m never really alone.
A dozen or so cars leave the gas station in a haphazard caravan. Thanks to him flying past me only for the road to merge into one lane a mile out of town, I end up stuck behind Wes and his ridiculous custom CHASE plates. I guess it’s better than the elaborate glittering decals some of the tour groups use.
My mood climbs along with the updrafts as we clear the old grain elevators at the edge of town, and the sky opens up in an endless expanse of blue. The base of the storm is almost due east, a darkening oval bruise that stands out against the otherwise clear sky. Without taking my eyes off the road, I reach behind me to grab the ancient Rocky Mountain National Park ball cap that lives in my car, stuff my braid into it, and lower the windows to breathe in the hot, dusty air.
Spring on the plains smells like freedom.
Ahead of me, Wes has his arm resting outside his window as he drives. When a bolt of lightning drops in the distance, his arm is suddenly up in the air, fist raised toward the sky. I can practically hear his loud whoop to match the one I let out as adrenaline floods my system.
We’re all just a bunch of weather and photography nerds racing down country roads in search of the kinds of storms that most people avoid. Wes drives me nuts, but he’s a part of this community. I’m a part of this community, even if it’s easy to forget during the ten months of the year I’m not out here.
And sure, we might not be entirely sane, but it’s good to belong to something. To remember that despite making a living by documenting the biggest moments of someone else’s life, these six weeks are about my moments. That there are people who don’t think I’m out of my mind for wanting to be here.
Cars start to peel off as we get closer to the storm. Everyone has a slightly different preference on how they line up their shots. Some go for the awe-inspiring wide angles that capture the towering height of the clouds punching into the upper atmosphere. Some choose the story in the details. Some are shooting time-lapse video, and some people just want to see something cool on the other end of their lens.
My heart lies with sweeping wide angles. I’ve grown up surrounded by towering Colorado mountains and golden oceans of wheat bending and swaying on the wind. I imagine it’s a bit like the coastal dwellers with their love for the ocean because of its vastness. While I don’t really need a reminder of my own insignificance, standing in front of a storm cloud punching sixty-thousand feet into the atmosphere definitely makes me feel small. Like for once, I’m not taking up too much space.
Ahead of me, Wes flips on his turn signal. I glance down at the iPad mounted in between my seats to double check the map. It’s the same left I was planning to take. Ugh.
The car behind me follows us, but everyone else keeps heading east. I’m a little surprised Wes isn’t trying to get closer to the storm, but he must have some other master plan. Obnoxious as he can be, he’s got a sixth sense for getting himself to the right spot to get his shots.
The abandoned house I had in mind sits half-collapsed a couple miles down the road. Radar confirms what I can already see through the windshield—the storm is starting to spin like a top.
Wes pulls off onto the shoulder, kicking up dust as I park behind him. There’s no point in pretending we’re not both thinking the same thing, as are the chasers behind us. When they hop out, I’m thrilled to see two women, though I don’t recognize them from prior seasons.
After giving us a brief wave, they set up a respectful distance down the road, claiming a spot on the right side of the house. I’m debating introducing myself, but then I spy the bright pink flowers crawling up the house’s warped siding. Delicate, small blooms cling to the ruins of what was once a vibrant family home centered against the backdrop of the deep purple-gray sky. The pinks will pop against the darkness of the storm, but more than that, it’s exactly what I’m looking for. Growth versus decay. Beauty versus destruction.
Wes gives me a wide, goading smile. “If you’re looking for tips for the contest, you can just ask. No need to follow me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I point at the side of the house, already lifting my camera to adjust my settings. I take a test shot, glance at the preview, and adjust the exposure before trying again. “I’m following the storm. And those flowers.”
We fall into silence as we line up our shots. The storm is gorgeous, a classic wedding cake structure that has me smirking to myself. It makes for stunning photos from a distance, the distinct layers of cloud banding giving it its name. They’re also known for dumping torrents of rain, making them dangerous to get too close to.
“Just can’t escape those wedding cakes, can you?” Wes says as though he’s in my head. He’s taken off his sunglasses to shoot the storm, leaving them dangling from the neck of his shirt.
“This is the best kind of wedding cake.” My mood is too good to let him get to me. “Too bad everything will be rain-wrapped if it kicks out a tornado.”
Roads will flood quickly, especially out here where drainage isn’t great. It can be impossible to know what you’re driving into over the next rise. I’m content to stay right where I am with my flowers and abandoned farmhouse as the hot, moisture-rich inflow winds race toward the storm.
We work around each other in comfortable silence. I lower my camera eventually and breathe in the scent of rain, taking a moment to savor it without distraction. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and let the wind tug on my hair and cool the sweat on the back of my neck. It’s only when I open them again that I spot another storm off to the north, a towering cloud shooting up.
A quick jog back to my car and I’ve got my iPad in hand, rechecking the latest radar scan. The northern storm has less rain, which is more my speed, and the echo top scan shows the clouds are already pushing over thirty-five thousand feet. It’s also not moving that quickly, giving me plenty of time to catch up.
I replace my iPad and shut the car door, wincing as the wind slams it harder than I meant to. The sound attracts Wes’s attention. “Heading out?” he calls, lowering his camera.
Feeling generous with some incredible shots already on my memory card, I point to the storm on the horizon. “That one’s less soggy.”
He nods, then glances back at the storm behind the farmhouse. “Mind texting me a shot of what it looks like when you get up there?”
“Sure, I’ll put it in the group chat.” When he drops the Wild Wes persona, Wes is a lot easier to be around. At some point, he’ll return the favor. “Happy hunting.”
I’m ten minutes into my drive when Tracy calls. “Where you at?”
“Heading for the northern storm. You?”
“Already there. Get your ass up here, Sloane. I think we’re getting a tornado out of this one.”
I grin wildly to myself as I peer through the windshield at the storm. “Got it. See you soon.”
I fire off a quick voice note to Wes, check Tracy and Matt’s location, and then lower my foot on the gas. I might break a few speed limits, but luckily the route I choose is fairly empty, at least at first. Once I get closer, I’m forced to slow down as chaser rush hour takes over the country highway.
About fifty yards down a dirt road, I find Tracy and Matt with their tripods already set up. “You made it!” Tracy yells over the wind as I quickly grab my gear before jogging across the road. There’s a steep ditch for runoff, which requires a careful leap across before scrambling up the sandy soil to the fence line.
“We got a funnel for a few seconds.” Matt points to the tell-tale horseshoe section of the storm where the tornado would form if it’s going to. “Fifty-fifty on whether it gets its act together.”
I tilt my head, stare at the storm, and then check my phone again. A severe-thunderstorm warning has been issued, but no tornado warning yet, which isn’t a surprise. These types of storms are less likely to have the strong rotation needed to kick out a tornado than the one I left behind. Not impossible. Just less likely.
Then again, the ingredients are all there. The dew point is already oppressive, humid air clinging heavily to my skin while the temperature climbs and climbs. A hot breeze does little to combat the sticky air as the storm greedily sucks in even more fuel. And tornado or not, the towering structure is gorgeous.
As promised, I snap a quick shot with my phone and add it to the group text before concentrating on my camera and the storm, which is quickly getting stronger. Tracy spots the funnel first, whooping with delight and pointing like a madwoman at the same time our phones all howl with the incoming tornado warning.
My cheeks ache from smiling so wide. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to the season. There will be down days, and long drives, and terrible meals cobbled together from gas station snacks, sure, but today is epic.
When the tornado finally drops, the sun is low enough to light the whole thing up. A loud cheer goes up, adrenaline igniting at the thrill of a tornado sighting, and with a practiced hand, I high-five Tracy while pressing the shutter release with the other. The infectious joy of the moment is almost as magical as the scene in front of us.
Then it’s a mad dash for the cars, peeling out in a cloud of dust as we race along the road running parallel to the swirling vortex. It’s not strong—a blessing for the locals—but the angle of the sun makes it incredibly photogenic, gleaming against the red-brown earth. In a time-honored, if questionably safe, chaser tradition, I hang one hand out the window as I drive, filming with a death grip on my phone while gleefully ping-ponging my attention between the road and the tornado.
It’s a full twenty minutes before it finally ropes out, leaving us sweaty but exhilarated as mammatus clouds fill the sky.
“Are you going to be our good luck charm this season?” Matt jokes as we pack up our gear.
I laugh and shake my head. “Just a nice welcome back from the universe.”
“We’re going to keep with it,” Tracy tells me as I slide my camera back into its protective bag. “I’m on the hunt for night shots this year. You in?”
I hesitate with my bag halfway shut and chew on my lip. Night chases can produce some spectacular images, but I’ve been going since dawn. Even if I load up on coffee, I’d rather not risk continuing in the dark when I’m not at my best. Too dangerous. The smart thing to do is check in on tomorrow’s forecast, pick a hotel for the night, and sleep while I can.
“Not tonight,” I say with an apologetic smile. “Send me a text when you stop for the night. I’ll find you guys tomorrow. We can grab breakfast if nothing is going on until the afternoon.”
With another round of sweaty hugs, they head off after the storm. There’s a twinge of FOMO, but it’s only the first day. As soon as the adrenaline high fades, I’m going to crash hard.
I don’t notice the text from Wes until I pull into the hotel parking lot. Heard you caught a danger noodle.
I can’t resist taunting him a little when it’s so rare I get one up on Wes. You didn’t?
His reply comes instantly. Nah. The text is accompanied by photos of two distinctly different tornadoes. I got two.
My grin turns to a scowl. “Of course you did,” I mutter under my breath, then do the mature thing and send back a middle finger emoji.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Two storm chasers find a love that could blow them away in this electric debut romance.

Wedding photographer Sloane Michaels spends most of her year running after brides, but she lives for the six weeks each spring she chases tornadoes instead. When the prestigious magazine Nature Shots announces a storm cover contest, Sloane knows that winning could be her best opportunity to establish herself in landscape photography.

The last thing she needs is a distraction in the form of reckless “Wild Wes” Talbot. A legend among storm chasers, he’s been Sloane’s close, personal frenemy for the last decade and is the man to beat for the cover contest.

Sloane isn’t surprised when Wes gets in an accident that jeopardizes his chances. But with an active weather pattern emerging, she doubles down on her need to beat Wes fair and square, and begrudgingly invites him to join her for the remainder of the season.

As they race through hail, high winds, and stormy skies, Sloane realizes that Wes might be more than the rich, flirty, Texas wildcard she thought she knew — and that the feelings blooming between them are more charged and dangerous than the storms they’re chasing.
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Meet the Author:

Heather Frances is a writer, photographer, lifelong weather nerd and occasional storm chaser cleverly disguised as an adult with a day job in finance (though she really prefers writing kissing books). When not at home in New England drinking far too much coffee, you’ll find her somewhere with questionable cell phone service, camera in hand.
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