When ex hillbilly–punk rocker turned cadaver make–up artist Joy Valentine is visited by the ghost of a high–profile murder victim begging for Joy's help to find her kidnapped baby girl, Joy knows from experience the cops are going to think she's crazy. So she takes it to the one guy she knows who won't.
The last thing disgraced ex–cop turned private investigator Dash Dent expected is a woman from his past turning up to complicate his present with a nutty, woo–woo story. The problem is he knows Joy is telling the truth and he can't ignore the compelling plight of baby Isabella whose disappearance six months prior transfixed the nation.
Discounted and discredited by the police, Dash and Joy work together to uncover the mystery and find Isabella, with a whacky supporting cast including Eve, a brothel madam; Stan, an excommunicated priest; Katie, Dash's ten–year–old daughter; and two horny goldfish. It's a race against time and against all odds – but the real battle for Dash and Joy might just be keeping their hands off each other.
Dr. Augusta “Gus” North can’t believe the grumpy—and annoyingly hot—builder she’s facing in court cares more about demo-ing some cabin than the lives of 200 bunnies. But when the judge orders Marshall to stay on the island and help her rehome the rabbits—the entire month—she knows they’re going to need to lay some ground rules.
Like, for example, absolutely no kissing. Might as well go ahead and get that in writing. Sure it’s on a napkin, but that still counts.
How hard could it be to keep their hands off each other amidst all the fighting? Surprisingly, harder than wrangling 200 bunnies...
To say CC’s notice is a bombshell is an insult to bombs. Wade can’t imagine his life without his “left tackle.” She’s the only person who can tell him “no” and strangely, it’s his favorite quality. He’ll do anything to keep her from leaving, even if it means playing dirty and dragging her back to Credence, Colorado, with him.
But now they’re living under the same roof, getting involved in small-town politics, and bickering like an old married couple. Suddenly, five years of fighting is starting to feel a whole lot like foreplay. What’s a quarterback to do when he realizes he might be falling for his “left tackle”? Throw a Hail Mary she’ll never see coming, of course.