Archive for December, 2008.
SHOWDOWN
Copyright © Patricia Potter. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER TWO
4:01 p.m.
Little had he known, Jared thought, when he lowered the rifle and allowed that fourth aider to escape, that he’d made a choice that would dog his heels all his adult life and, finally, bring him to this: a showdown with the kid he’d let ride away.
Was it his imagination or was his shadow lengthening? Only a minute or two had passed since he’d walked into the street, yet the shadow loomed so large. Or was he seeing the shadow of the man he’d once been, the man he’d tried to bury, along with his reputation? The man whose fingers inched toward the Colt in its holster.
Jared’s gaze held steady on the man opposite him. He hadn’t always known the names of the men who had tried to best him. He knew this one, though. Billy Joe Carter, youngest brother of the men who had murdered his family. The men who he, in turn, had killed. Carter still didn’t look old enough to be living for revenge. He should be courting a girl, building a future, not throwing his future away for the chance to avenge his brothers.
Jared studied him closely, saw the determination, fueled by hatred, radiating from him. He’d been determined enough to force this showdown that he’d threatened to burn the town if his quarry wouldn’t face him. Jared didn’t doubt that Carter and the cousins he’d brought with him could do it, yet he might have called the man’s bluff – except that Carter had also threatened Mary Beth. That was a risk he wasn’t going to take.
Maybe Carter was bluffing. Then, again, maybe he wasn’t. Either way, the message was clear: Carter wouldn’t accept his refusal to fight. He wanted revenge. He wanted to be the man who killed Tom Garrett. And he’d wanted a town full of people to see it. Nor was there any law to stop him; New Hope was too isolated, too peaceful to need a sheriff.
And so here he stood, left once more with no choice but to kill or be killed. That’s the way it had always been, and that’s the way it was – no matter what Mary Beth thought.
This time was different. This time he was going to lose his life, no matter the outcome of the gun fight. Either Carter would kill him in fact, or he would kill Carter, and at the moment he did, he would lose his home, his friends, and the woman he loved. If Billy Joe Carter died today, Jared Walker would die, too – and Tom Garrett, gunslinger, would be resurrected.
Carter moved a couple of steps to the right in a clear effort to gain a better position, one that did not make him face straight into the sun. Jared knew the problem Carter was having. He always made sure that his opponent would have to squint into the sun. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? Survival.
Sweat trickled down Jared’s back. Concentrate. Don’t think about yesterday. Or tomorrow. There’s only now, and the slightest mistake, the barest hesitation, will wipe away any hope of there being more tomorrows.
Trouble was, he wasn’t sure he wanted more tomorrows. Was sure he did not if they were only going to be like all the yesterdays . . .
###
He buried his family that same evening they were killed: his father, whose body he’d found sprawled next to the corral; his mother, who had been lying inside the front door, her hand outstretched, even in death, in gentle entreaty; his sister, for whom he’d had to search before he found her huddled behind the wood pile. At first , he’d thought she was simply hiding, because her eyes were open, looking at him; then he’d realized those soft brown eyes were frozen forever in a look of lifeless horror.
He’d buried them all, then said a prayer over the graves. But no amount of praying could erase the sorrow or rage he felt. Or the guilt. He’d wanted to be free. Free of the farm he didn’t want. Free to lead his own life. Well, he was free, all right. And it struck him as bitterly ironic that the God he’d been taught to believe was gentle and peace-loving had liberated him in such a hideous, violent fashion.
In the days that followed, he came to see that acts such as his family’s murders weren’t acts of God but of the devil. He also came to understand that he was by no means free. Thanks to the boy he’d let escape, men started coming after him. Carters by name, kin of the young men he’d caught raiding his home. In order to survive, Tom met the challenges, and won. Reluctantly, and with no planning on his part, he earned a reputation that constantly attracted would-be gunmen whose names weren’t Carter. He met those challenges, too, one after another. Somewhere along the line, he became one of those hard-eyed gunmen he’d so foolishly admired. He became a killer, the bearer of the mark of Cain.
For ten years the killing never stopped; he’d never had a moment’s peace or any sanctuary. It seemed that someone was waiting for him in every town. And they seemed to get younger every year. He, on the other hand, grew older and weary, too weary to care whether or not he won.
It was inevitable that sooner or later he would make a mistake . . .
www.patriciapotter.com
Of all my Christmas decorations, I treasure my All Through the House (Dept. 56) collection the most. Each piece is colorful, wonderfully detailed and represents a house and family as they would’ve lived in the Victorian era during the holiday season.
It all started about ten years ago when a member of my critique group gave me the Christmas tree as a gift. It was her intention to add pieces for me as time when on, but I didn’t want to wait that long–and besides, she moved! During the next several years, I fashioned the set to represent my own family. Four little girls, mama and papa, a kitchen wing and parlor, complete with an overstuffed chair.
Ironically, two of the girl figures have the same name as two of my daughters. The family is centered around that Christmas tree and decorating it in anticipation of Christmas morning.
My sofa table reigns supreme with that Christmas scene. It’s the first thing anyone sees as they walk into our living room. Here, I caught my little granddaughter standing quietly, studying each piece in fascination. It truly warmed my heart.
Ah, Christmas through the eyes of a child!
MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM MY FAMILY TO YOURS!
SHOWDOWN
Copyright © Patricia Potter. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
Texas, 1875
4:00 p.m. Thursday Afternoon
Jared Walker’s shadow lengthened on the dusty Texas street. The fingers of his right hand tingled. They seemed to have a will of their own, those fingers, and they itched toward the Colt.
Live or die. Kill or be killed. Which was it going to be?
He stood motionless in the main street of New Hope, waiting for another man some sixty feet away to make the first move toward his gun.
How many times had he stood like this, waiting for another man to draw?
How many bodies had he left for the undertaker? He had tried to forget the faces, each one contorted in surprise as his bullet found its mark, but the gallery he carried in his head never closed – not even in his sleep.
The face of his current challenger was young. He looked little more than a boy, but Jared had learned long ago that men like him, men with boyish faces and a longing for some kind of immortality, were far more dangerous than older, wiser men. And this man, Billy Joe Carter, had more reason than most to want to kill him.
He hadn’t wanted to kill again, ever, and if it were only his own life he was risking, he wouldn’t. But other lives were at stake. The lives of people he had called friends and neighbors for the past two years. He wouldn’t abandon those people now, despite that they had all abandoned him.
Even Mary Beth.
Was she watching? He tried not to look at the stores lining the street, tried not to hunt for that special face he knew he wouldn’t see. In the past forty-eight hours, their love had been tested – and found wanting. He might look for Mary Beth, but he wouldn’t find her. And in the time it took him to accomplish his futile search, Billy Joe Carter would kill him. Not that it mattered now. He’d lost his one and only hope.
Jared shifted on his feet and tried to concentrate. The silence surrounding him was overwhelming. It was late afternoon, yet stores were closed, windows shuttered. Horses had been removed from the street where they might wind up in the line of fire. It was as if the world had stopped, and he and young Carter were the only two survivors.
Jared knew, though, that other men waited in the shadows, ready to take Carter’s place. If he wanted to survive this challenge, two men had to die. He wasn’t being given a choice. But then, he’d never been given one. At least that was what he believed.
Carter rocked on the balls of his feet, and Jared felt his fingers flex again. Damn those fingers, so ready to kill. He’d spent ten years honing that killer’s instinct, and two years of raising cattle didn’t seem to have dulled his edge.
He should have known better. He should have known he could never escape the stench of death. He should have known he could never escape Tom Garrett, the man he’d been.
There is always a choice, Mary Beth had said as tears glinted in her blue eyes. He didn’t believe it, though. The only time he’d been given any real choice was twelve years ago; the path he’d chosen then had determined all roads he’d taken since. And it seemed all those roads were going to end here, in New Hope, with Billy Joe Carter facing him from the opposite end of the dusty street.
He had heard that your life flashed across your mind when you knew you were about to die. It had never happened to him. Not in any of the many times he’d exchanged gunfire with strangers. Yet as he stood here, the hot Texas sun blasting his back, soaking his shirt, waiting for Carter to make his move, in his mind’s eye Jared saw every one of the past twelve years in slow, excruciating detail . . .
###
1862
He was eighteen. A Kansas farm kid who could shoot a rabbit from a thousand yards away. His pa was proud of his kill. He’d won every turkey shoot in west Texas. At the last one, his prize was a new and rare Henry repeating rifle. He had won a pistol, too, in a private contest that his pa didn’t know about. A rifle for killing game was one thing; a pistol, good mostly for killing men, was another.
His pa was a Quaker, a pacifist caught in a war that had neither use nor sympathy for those who refused to take sides. Quakers didn’t believe in killing – ever. But young Thomas Garrett knew he was good with a gun, any kind of gun, and he secretly admired the legendary lawmen. He’d been practicing his quick draw on the prairie, far away from his pa’s gentle eyes. He figured he could draw as fast as anyone alive.
He wanted to test his skills. He wanted to join the army and fight the Rebs. But his mother was sick, and his sister was only ten, and his pa couldn’t handle the farm alone. So here he was – grudgingly – feeding chickens and milking cows, with rebellion frothing inside him.
He was driving some milk cows from a pasture when he heard gunshots, blasting loudly across the open prairie. He spurred his horse toward the farmhouse and spied four riders milling about, tearing down fences, driving out his father’s gelding and the old mare. Tom looked for his father, his mother, but didn’t see them.
He did see one of the raiders fling a torch at his family’s neat little house.
Without hesitation, he took his treasured rifle from its scabbard. His father thought he carried it for hunting, and he did. But knowing that “Bloody Kansas” had come by its name honestly, he also carried it as protection against human dangers. It seemed every thief and killer was using the war as an excuse to rob and loot and kill: the Jayhawkers and Red Legs, different sides of the same coin.
He didn’t care who the men were as he rode hard toward the house. None of the raiders saw him approach. They were far too busy destroying what his father had spent fifteen years building. When they turned, it was too late. Too late for them. Jared’s fingers closed around the trigger again and again, not stopping until three of the four lay on the ground, and the fourth – a sorry excuse for a lookout who couldn’t be more than fourteen – was hightailing it across the fields.
Tom started to aim, then stopped and lowered the rifle. He had to see to his family, although in his heart he knew what he would find . . .
www.patriciapotter.com
Published at December 21st, 2008 in category
Holiday Fun 
Just for all you good little darlin’s, we’ve brought back a special treat. My, my, my this cowboy honey can shore fog up your glasses! Hmmm, I wonder if he’s cold in those skimpy clothes. It’d be too darn bad if he takes a chill. Maybe some woman with a warm heart will give him a shirt for Christmas. Or maybe not.
Click on the picture and he’ll be bigger than life and cozying right up to you. Then, you can send all us Fillies here a big thank you. Mind your manners now.
We’re very excited here at Wildflower Junction. Company’s coming! YOU!
We’ve decorated our saddles, polished up the silver and have the fireplace roasting. You’re invited to join us for the next fun-filled two weeks for holidays jam-packed with surprises, and incredible storytelling by our very own Miss Patricia Potter.
Her story is called SHOWDOWN. Set in Texas, it’s an exciting tale about a man in a gunfight who’s about to draw his weapon, debating about all the things he’s done in his life to get to this desperate point, and what he’s going to do about the woman he loves. The whole story takes place in six heart-stopping minutes. That’s right, only six, and you’ll be amazed how Pat weaves the story seamlessly together and keeps us guessing minute by minute what Jared Walker will do next.
Here’s how Pat describes her inspiration: “SHOWDOWN first appeared in a short story collection, IN OUR DREAMS, published by Kensington. Other participants included Linda Lael Miller, Mary Jo Putney, Susan Wiggs, Barbara Cummings, Ruth Glick and Mary Kirk. The theme was Heartthrobs, Hunks and Heroes. We each took a favorite hero from movies and television. Mine was inspired by Paden (played by Kevin Kline) in Silverado. He epitomized the reluctant hero, my favorite western theme.”
Sounds great, doesn’t it? We’re honored that Pat is sharing her story with us!
Starting early tomorrow, we’ll be posting a new chapter each morning, Monday to Friday, so please stop by for another riveting installment. And don’t forget our guest author next weekend.
We’d also like to invite you into our homes and show you what special things we’re doing for Christmas and the New Year, sharing our photos, recipes and traditions. Each afternoon, a new Filly will share something special to her. So pour yourselves an eggnog, give the kids something to distract ‘em, put your feet up and stay a while.
During these next two weeks, the Fillies are taking a holiday break away from our computers. But just like you, as we’re visiting family and spending time with friends, we’ll be stopping by to read Pat’s story, each other’s blogs, and all the wonderful messages you leave for us. So please do continue to post your thoughts and messages, for we appreciate each one.
Enjoy the holiday season, don’t let your feet get too sore from running around, and drop by anytime to relax at Petticoats and Pistols!
The Fillies are sending each of you our very best wishes for a loving holiday season.
Published at December 21st, 2008 in category
Holiday Fun
CONGRATULATIONS to JESSICA NELSON!
Email your address to staceykayne@gmail.com and I’ll send out your book and dragonfly clip.
Thanks to all for stopping in to post during this busy Pre-Christmas weekend!
Wishing Everyone a very Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year!
Pst…we’ve got some great treats lined up for the next two weeks 
{{Holiday Hugs}}
Published at December 21st, 2008 in category
Drawing 
I hope everyone had a ghostly good time blogging about things that go bump in the night. You shared lots of wonderful stories, some that made my hair stand on end.
Kathy’s two book set she’s giving away goes to……..
COLLEEN
Woo-hoo!! Please email me at lindabroday@live.com with your address and Kathy will get the books to you.
Thanks everyone! Come back tomorrow for the start of the Fillies’ ten day Holiday celebration. It’ll be interesting and fun.
I am thrilled to be blogging here at Petticoats and Pistols. This is one of my favorite places and I love western fiction.
Coming here right before Christmas started me thinking about my 
favorite Christmas movies. What would the holidays be like without A Christmas Story or It’s a Wonderful Life? My all-time favorite holiday movie (and story) is A Christmas Carol. I love all the incarnations, from Bill Murray’s Scrooged to the terrifying Alistair Sim version to A Muppet Christmas Carol. After wondering why I can watch them again and again and never get tired of the story, I came up with the answer. Jacob Marley’s ghost, the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and my favorite, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
See a pattern? A hint at what makes this story so fascinating? One word. Ghosts.
I love ghosts. From the time I almost died of fright in Girl Scouts during the ghost tales around the campfire, I’ve been hooked. I’ve always been fascinated by spirits and apparitions from beyond the grave, and here’s a confession—I’m in front of the television for every episode of Ghost Hunters.
I’m also interested in the concepts of ghosts and haunting, from the literal sense—spirits who appear to people—to haunting of a different kind: when you just can’t forget someone or something. When you have regrets, maybe something you didn’t say or do before it was too late. Memories that follow you, urge you to remember, contemplate, and feel. Deeply.
A haunting—whether literal or figurative—forges a connection with the past. Tales of people and the lives they lived flourish throughout time. Ghosts keep stories alive.
When I decided to set my newest book in a mining town in Colorado in the 1870s, I started researching. Guess what I found? Yep! Enough ghosts to make even me happy! From Cripple Creek, Colorado to Jerome, Arizona I discovered haunted places filled with stories and legends that still resonate today. I went on every ghost tour imaginable, and each story I heard transported me to the past.
I even had my own personal ghost experience. I woke up in the middle of the night at the Bed and Breakfast where I was staying. The building used to be a miners’ hospital. I clearly heard heavily-booted footsteps on wooden stairs. The next morning I was surprised to find all the steps in the place carpeted. When I asked about a wooden staircase, the desk clerk said very calmly, “Oh yes, all the steps are carpeted, but you heard our ghost. He’s actually disembodied legs and boots of a miner who died here back in the 1800s. The steps were wood back then. We often hear him, and some guests have even seen him.” Wow, was I sorry I didn’t get up to check that out!
I heard and read hundreds of mining ghost tales. Many towns I visited sold “Haunted” books in their stores. The stories are so woven into the fabric of the history of these towns and mines, I became inspired to “haunt” my own book and characters.
My main female character, Milena, a Romani (gypsy) is a medium who can see spirits. 
Fascinated by her culture, beliefs, and of course, her psychic abilities, I was excited when her story began emerging. Like all Romani, she is at heart a traveler, and as I followed her, Jasper Mountain began to take shape.
The Romani are mysterious people who reveal little to nothing about themselves or their culture. Often persecuted and hunted, they keep moving and stay distant from outsiders as a safety precaution. As Milena battles to survive life in an 1870s mining town, she has more than a few challenges. She is a woman alone in the Old West, her cultural upbringing makes her suspicious of everyone and ironically, everyone suspicious of her. Plus she is psychic—sensitive to Jasper’s inhabitants, and aware of the ancient spirit of the mountain. She connects to those who have passed into the Otherworld of death. In other words…she sees dead people!
Milena meets Jack Buchanan, an ex-rancher and miner whose recent tragic past has destroyed his faith. He only believes in things he can see, but the memories of his ranch burning down and his inability to save the life of his twin sister follow him to Jasper. He’s haunted by regret and pain, and when Milena meets him she sees his sister standing beside him. At first he thinks Milena is pulling a “fortune teller’s trick” until she reveals specifics she couldn’t possibly know. When miners begin disappearing, he needs Milena’s wisdom to help him discover why the inhabitants of Jasper are vanishing.
So those are my ghost stories, heard, experienced, and told. Does anyone have any of their own? Ever been “haunted” by a story, or actually seen or heard a ghost? Or researched and found a heartbreaking or fascinating story behind a haunting? Do you believe in ghosts? Do you believe in things you can’t see or prove? Do you love a good ghost tale? Have you been anywhere that is haunted? Do you love a good ghost movie? Which stories are your favorites? Who is your favorite ghost in A Christmas Carol?
I’ll be giving away a two-book pre-Christmas gift—autographed copies of my debut novel, First, There is a River and my current release, Jasper Mountain. I’ll draw two winners from the names of those who post a comment and send both books. So ghost-post away! Good luck! And happy holidays to everyone!
Buy from Amazon!
Ah know this is a busy time for everyone but we all need to take a break and relax a spell.
How better to do that than with Miss Kathy Steffen.
Miss Kathy is on our doorstep as I speak. She’s here to visit with us tomorrow at the meetin’ place. You know where it is right here in Wildflower Junction.
You can learn about ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night. Ah just hope she isn’t bringing them with her because I don’t want to wrestle with one when ah’m on my way to the privy. No sirree! Spirits and I haven’t gotten on speakin’ terms yet.
Miss Kathy is also going to talk about her new book. You won’t want to miss that. Or the chance to win a two-book set that she’ll give away to one lucky person.
We need your help in making her visit one to remember. Shake the wrinkles out of your bustle and head over here!
Published at December 19th, 2008 in category
Holiday Fun 
One week to Christmas! So, is everyone ready?
Today marks the end of semester finals for my boys and school bus duties for me–wooohooo!!! I love it when my boys are out of school for Christmas break. We have some serious hustling and bustling to do over the next week–sad to say, but we still need a tree! We had hoped to be moving back home into our remodeled house this weekend, but a big snaffu with kitchen cabinets has dashed those hopes, so it’s time to deck the halls we’ve got while painting the ones where we’re not We plan to find time to head up the mountain while my boys are out of school for a day in the snow, and of course, build snowmen. We don’t live in the snow but we can see it–the mountains are beautiful!! Anyone have any winter activities planned? Or plans on staying inside where it’s cozy and warm? Am I the only one still Christmas shopping?
For those still in need of a stocking stuffer–I’ll be giving away a copy of THE GUNSLINGER’S UNTAMED BRIDE and a beaded dragonfly clip to one lucky poster today!
Hope you enjoy these snowman funnies…the first one is so fitting for my guys…
The Gunslinger’s Untamed Bride (Harlequin Historical Series)
