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Next, a GINORMOUS thanks to my team of beta readers, some of you who’ve been around since The Moon Dwellers, and others who’ve just joined for this book. I love you all. Fire Country is at least ten times better because of your insightful and honest feedback. So thanks to Laurie Love, Alexandria Theodosopoulos, Kayleigh-Marie Gore, Kerri Hughes, Terri Thomas, Lolita Verroen, Rachel Schade, Ventura Dennis, Krystle Jones, and Anthony Briggs Jr.

For the first time and certainly not the last time, I’d like to thank my super-secret street team (you know who you are). In the shadows you move like ninjas, penetrating even the toughest of bloggers, slipping my books into their author features and reviews almost without them knowing. I don’t know how you do it, but: You. Are. My. Heroes.

And last but not least I’d like to thank my friend Teddy (who happens to be a teddy bear), who thinks he’s real and helped inspire the character of Perry the Prickler. I know I say bad things about you and throw you against the wall sometimes, but in my heart I love you.

The saga continues in other books by David Estes available through the author’s official website:

http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com

or through select online retailers including Smashwords.com.

Young-Adult Books by David Estes

The Dwellers Saga:

Book One—The Moon Dwellers

Book Two—The Star Dwellers

Book Three—The Sun Dwellers

Book Four—The Earth Dwellers (coming September 2013!)

The Country Saga (A Dwellers sister series):

Book One—Fire Country

Book Two—Ice Country (coming April 5, 2013!)

Book Three—Water & Storm Country (coming June 7, 2013!)

The Evolution Trilogy:

Book One—Angel Evolution

Book Two—Demon Evolution

Book Three—Archangel Evolution

Children’s Books by David Estes

The Nikki Powergloves Adventures:

Nikki Powergloves—A Hero Is Born

Nikki Powergloves and the Power Council

Nikki Powergloves and the Power Trappers

Nikki Powergloves and the Great Adventure

Nikki Powergloves vs. the Power Outlaws (Coming in 2013!)

Connect with David Estes Online

David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/70863-david-estes-fans-and-ya-book-lovers-unite

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/David-Estes/130852990343920

Author’s blog: http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/davidestes100

Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/davidestesbooks

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/davidestesbooks

About the Author

After growing up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, David Estes moved to Sydney, Australia, where he met his wife, Adele. Now they travel the world writing and reading and taking photographs.

A SNEAK PEEK

ICE COUNTRY

BOOK 2 OF THE COUNTRY SAGA

Available anywhere e-books are sold April 2013!

Chapter One

It all starts with a girl. Nay, more like a witch. An evil witch, disguised as a princess, complete with a cute button nose, full, red lips, long, dark eyelashes, and deep, mesmerizing baby blues.

Oh yah, and a really good throwing arm. “Get out!” she screams, flinging yet another ceramic vase in my general direction.

I duck and it rebounds off the wall, not shattering until it hits the shiny marble floor. Thousands of vase-crumbles crunch under my feet as I scramble for the door. I fling it open and slip through, slamming it hard behind me. Just in time, too, as I hear the crash of something heavy on the other side. Evidently she’s taken to throwing something new, maybe boots or perhaps herself.

Taking a deep breath, I cringe as a spout of obscenities shrieks through the door and whirls around my head, stinging me in a dozen places. You’d think I was the one who ran around with a four-toed womanizer named LaRoy—that’s LaRoy with a “La”, as he likes to say. As it turns out, I think LaRoy had softer hands than she did.

As I slink away from the witch’s upscale residence licking my wounds, I try to figure out where the chill I went wrong. Despite her constant insults, narrow-mindedness, and niggling reminders of how I was nothing more than a lazy, liquid-ice-drinking, no good scoundrel, I think I managed to treat her pretty well. I was faithful, always there for her—not once was I employed while courting her—and known on occasion to show up at her door with gifts, like snowflake flowers or frosty delights from Gobbler’s Bakery down the road. She said the flowers made her feel inadequate, on account of them being too beautiful—as if there was such a thing—and the frosty’s, well, she said I gave them to her to make her fat. Which, if I’m being honest, was partially true. Now I wish I hadn’t wasted my gambling winnings on the likes of her.

In fact it was just yesterday morning when I last stopped by to deliver some sweet treats, only to hear the obvious sounds of passionate lovemaking wafting through the black stone of her elegant front door. Needless to say I was on the wrong side of things, and much to my frustration the door was barred by something heavy.

So I waited. And waited. After about three rounds of the love-noises, soft-hands LaRoy emerged looking more pleased with himself than a young child taking its first step. In much less time than it took for the witch to put the smile on his face, I wiped it off, using a couple of handfuls of ever-present snow and my rougher-than-bark hands. I capped him off with matching black eyes and a slightly crooked, heavily bleeding nose. He screamed like a girl and ran away crying tears that froze on his cheeks well before they made it to his chin.

Hence the bigtime breakup today.

Best of luck, witch, I hope crooked-nosed LaRoy makes you very happy.

Why do I always pick the wrong kinds of women? Answer: because the wrong kinds of women usually pick me.

Walking down the snow-covered street, I mumble curses at the beautiful stone houses on either side. The White District, full of the best and the richest people in ice country. And the witch, too, of course, the latest woman to add to my so-not-worth-the-time-and-effort list.

I pull my collar tight against the icy wind, and head for my other girlfriend’s place, Fro-Yo’s, a local pub with less atmosphere than booze, where a mug of liquid ice will cost you less than a minute’s pay and the rest of your day. Okay, the pub’s not really my girlfriend, but sometimes I wish it was.

Although it’s barely midmorning, Fro’s is open and full of customers. But then again, the pub is always open and full of customers. We might not have jobs, but we’ll support Yo, the pub owner, just the same.

Snow is piled up in drifts against the gray block-cut stone of the pubhouse, recently shoveled after last night’s dumping. Yo’s handiman, Grimes, is hunched against the wind with a shovel, clearing away the last of it along the side, leaving a slip-free path to the outhouse, which will be essential later on, when half the joint gets up at the same time to relieve themselves. There are two things that don’t mix: liquid ice and real ice. I’ve seen more broken bones and near broken necks than I’d like around this place.

“Mornin’, Grimes,” I say as I pass.

Grimes doesn’t look up, his matted gray hair a dangling mess of moisture and grease, but mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Icin’ neverendin’ colder’n chill night storms…” I think there’s more but I stop listening when he starts swearing. I’ve had enough of that for one day. And yet, I push through the door of the obscenity capital of ice country.