Hi everyone!  I’m Cheryl Pierson (Cheryl #2 here at P&P)!  This is my first “official” post as a new filly, and I’m very excited to be here at Petticoats & Pistols in such great company!  I’ve done a couple of guest posts in the past, and from the moment I began to get to know my “fellow fillies,” I knew I wanted to be here amongst ya!

I won’t bore you with too many details–just want to tell you a little about me and I’d love to hear about you all, too.  I was born in Duncan, Oklahoma, in 1957.  I had two “way older” sisters (10 and 12 when I came along) and I was a Tomboy–with a capital “T” for sure!  Although I loved Barbie, I’d much rather have been playing cowboys and Indians–probably why I chose to write western historicals.

I finally got to go to a rodeo when I was about 9 with my cousin, and Larry Mahan was there!  I was in love.  After that, I wanted to be a barrel racer, thinking that would be a great way to get those handsome cowboys to notice me when I was older…of course, that was a huge pipe dream since my family was NOT into rodeoing at all.  But my first “serious” little story I wrote in elementary school had a guy in it named “Larry” and girl named “Cherry” (original, huh?)

My dad was an oilfield hand–a chemical engineer, on call 24/7 for as long as I can remember.  Mom was the “June Cleaver” type, and both of them were appalled when I told them I wanted to write books for a living.  As they predicted, that dream had to be placed on hold for many years–enough time for me to marry and raise my two kids–with a myriad of “real jobs” (as others called them) in between.

But I was writing all the time, every spare minute I got.  I started out with an idea for a western romance, and the more I wrote, the bigger the story became, until I had a 1000 page manuscript!  Of course, it’s still unsold (go figure!) but it’s the book of my heart–and I know each of you has written a book that holds that special place in your heart, as well.  That was what I needed to “get me going.”  Ideas flowed, and so did the words.

Although that first “tome” is still as yet unpublished, the third book I wrote, FIRE EYES, was published in May 2009, and went on to become an EPIC Award finalist.  The Wild Rose Press also published two of my western short stories, and my first contemporary romantic suspense, SWEET DANGER, will be released on October 1.

The fourth book I wrote, TIME PLAINS DRIFTER, was published through another smaller press.  After a few short months, we parted ways, and TIME PLAINS DRIFTER is homeless again. My daughter designed my cover for this book so it’s very special to me.  It also garnered me the award of Honorable Mention for Best New Paranormal Author in PNR’s PEARL Awards this year.

Right now, I am waiting (on pins and needles) to hear back from Berkley about one of my manuscripts that’s under consideration with them.  GABRIEL’S LAW was the third place recipient in this year’s historical category in the San Antonio Romance Authors’ Merritt Contest.  The judge for that final round asked for the full manuscript. It’s been thirty-five days, six hours and fourteen minutes…but who’s counting?

I live in Oklahoma City with my “transplanted” (from West Virginia) husband, Gary, who plans to make good on his threat to retire this fall.  My daughter, Jessica, is 23 and works at an actors’ casting agency here.  My son, Casey, is 20 and a physics major in college (and believe me, those math and science genes did not come from me!)  Along with my business partner, I teach writing classes for all ages, and have done lots of work with the Indian Education Program for one of the major school systems here in OK City.  And I’m FINALLY getting to actually write! 

Thank you all so much for your warm welcome and your generous friendships.  I am thrilled to be here–a “regular filly!”

I’ll leave you with an excerpt from one of my short stories,  A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES. 

When a wounded drifter and three children appear at her doorstep, widow Angela Bentley can’t turn them away.  Nick Dalton has a dangerous reputation, but is it truly deserved, or is it just talk?  Will love find two lonely people on this, A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES?

FROM “A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES”:

Angela placed the whiskey-damp cloth against the jagged wound. The man flinched, but held himself hard against the pain. Finally, he opened his eyes. She looked into his sun-bronzed face, his deep blue gaze burning with a startling, compelling intensity as he watched her. He moistened his lips, reminding Angela that she should give him a drink. She laid the cloth in a bowl and turned to pour the water into the cup she’d brought.

He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.

“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”

He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”

She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”

“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”

A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.

She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”

He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”

She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”

He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, she found herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”

He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley.”

http://www.cherylpierson.com

JEFFREY KOTERBA’S ARTWORK USED WITH PERMISSION

VISIT HIS WEBSITE: http://jeffreykoterba.com/

‘Twas the night before Christmas in this Junction of ours;

The sky over the prairie was ablaze with bright stars;

Our boots were lined up by the fire with care,

In hopes that Old Santa Claus soon would be there;

Felicia’s ornery mule napped snug there in the barn,

Whilst our visiting guest was spinning a yarn;

O’course Winnie in her wool socks and Tanya in her cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out in the corral there arose such a ruckus,

I sprang from bed to see what the heck was…

…outside the window, there on the barn roof,

Victoria banged open the shutters and near busted a tooth!

The moon was so bright it near blinded my eye

And the snow landed like whippin’ cream coverin’ a pie,

When, what to my hornswaggled eyes should appear,

But a covered wagon and eight dusty reindeer!

With a little old driver wearing boots and a hat,

I knew for durned sure he was related to Pat.

He was cheery and bright, a right jolly cowpoke,

And I laughed when I saw him; he was my kind of  folk.

Those reindeers, they ain’t docile. What a hissy they threw!

Nearly toppled the wagon, and Old Santa Claus too.

Quicker’n a youngin’ off to play hookie,

That old geezer came in and asked Linda for a cookie;

She found one and he ate it, so Stacey got milk

Then Karen, she presented him with a scarf made of silk.

But Mary, she hung back, I think she was a’feared

‘Cause all night she trembled and her eyes how they teared

No worry, Margaret told her, the fat guy’s a friend.

To us in the Junction and those ’round the bend,

Sure ’nuff Santa left a package in each Fillies’ boot,

Didn’t matter none to him, they was dusted with soot.

Then somethin’ happened, caught us all by surprise,

Pam and Cheryl showed up with an armload of pies.

We sat down to eat ‘em, and they tasted fine,

Though they couldn’t have baked ‘em; They hadn’t had time;

Old Santa asked for seconds; Bet that’s why he’s merry.

He tried pumpkin and apple, even pe-can and cherry.

Charlene heaped on whipped cream, and still he ate more.

His belly how it swelled! Would he fit out the door?

“It’s my big night,” he declared.  “Only comes once a year.”

Good thing for that, too, or he’d burst I do fear.

He stifled a burp, and a pipe out it came;

“Smoking’s not good for you,” we did loudly exclaim.

“All that sugar and now this, think of your health.

“Think of all the children that count of your jolly old self!”

He listened real close and even nodded his head,

Took right to his heart everything we had said.

He tossed that old pipe in the fire with a pop,

“The Missus, she’s been tryin’ to get me to stop,”

With a hearty laugh and a promise to come back.

The Fillies watched that old fella leap up the smokestack.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a yee-haw,

And away they all flew, like twister-flung straw.

And we heard him exclaim as that team took flight,

“Merry Christmas, you bloggers, and to all a good-night.”

 Margaret  Brownley

If you’re like me, you’ve probably had your full of Christmas cheer and gift wrappings about now, and are longing for a little bit of that “peace on earth” we keep hearing about.  

Still, no matter how hectic our lives might seem at the moment, nothing compares to  Christmas in the old west.  Instead of forging their way through crowded malls and reams of wrapping paper, early pioneers living in canvas homes, soddies and log cabins battled blizzards, bitter cold and driving winds. In 1849, Catherine Haun wrote in her diary that her family’s Christmas present was the rising of the Sacramento River that flooded the whole town.

Those of you planning to travel this holiday season might empathize with the passengers who spent the Christmas of 1870 on Kansas-Pacific trains stuck in snow.   Fortunately soldiers from a nearby fort provided fresh buffalo meat, which is a whole lot more than you get if you’re stuck at the airport.

We don’t generally associate fireworks with Christmas, but for some early settlers it was the only way to celebrate. In 1895, a riot broke out in Austin on Christmas Day when revelers shot off Roman candles. Animals stampeded, but law and order was soon restored.   Other parts of Texas didn’t have it so lucky.  The Fort Worth Gazette reported several incidences of people being shot and stabbed on Christmas Day over the use of Roman candles.  In some places, fire crackers were encouraged as this piece in a 1880s newspaper attests: “Firecrackers are in evidence creating the genuine Christmas atmosphere of gunpowder smoke.” 

While most pioneers decorated their Christmas trees with strung popcorn, berries and pictures from Arbuckle’s coffee, McCade Texas takes the prize for the most unusual ornaments.  On Christmas morning in 1883, three men were found hanging from a tree.  If that wasn’t festive enough, the shootout that followed provided “genuine atmosphere” a-plenty.  

What is Christmas without a feast?  Even the poorest of families managed to splurge a little.  Oysters were considered a luxury and one bride in Montana proudly served them to her guests on Christmas Day, unaware that the oysters had spoiled during transport. Her guests fared better than the man named Avery who, on Christmas day in 1850 set out to bag a deer for his dinner and was killed by Indians. 

Crime never takes a holiday and that was as true back then as it is now. On Christmas day in 1873, a group of Indians stole five army horses near the Concho River resulting in a shootout.  In 1877 Sam Bass robbed a Fort Worth stagecoach of $11.25, and in 1889 Butch Cassidy pulled his first bank holdup on Christmas Eve at a Telluride, Colorado bank.  That same year, Christmas day proved to be unlucky for a couple of cattle-rustling brothers who were tracked down and shot by the Texas Rangers. 

In the early days of the west, Christmas gifts were modest if not altogether non-existent.  Not so for Johnny Wesley Hardin who got an unexpected gift after he won a duel following a disputed card game.  The good citizens of Towash, Texas spread the word that he was the “fastest gun in the west,” which probably did wonders for his card game. He was also the meanest gun in the west, though he claimed he never killed anyone who didn’t need killing.

In case you were wondering, Christmas wasn’t all gunfire and fireworks. In 1881, Tombstone in Arizona Territory made news for having a “quiet” holiday.  Not to worry, they made up for it the following year.

Come to think of it, maybe those crowded malls aren’t so bad, after all, even without the “genuine Christmas atmosphere.” 

 

A Lady Like Sarah is available now.  He’s a preacher; she’s an outlaw.  Both are in need of a miracle.  Ride on over to my homestead and say howdy:

www.margaretbrownley.com

 

 

 

I  don’t know what it is about Christmas trees that I love, but I can’t get enough of them. The tree is the best part of Christmas decorating. To read a history of Christmas trees and see photos of my Victorian tree,

CLICK HERE for last year’s blog on the subject.

This year I’m simply going to take you on a stroll down memory lane. Well, we can’t remember back as far as these early photos, but we can sure imagine being there. That’s what we do after all: Put ourselves inn another place and sometimes another time and imagine what it would be like.

When I think about early trees, I think of stories like Laura Ingalls Wilder and the settlers who strung popcorn and berries and made paper chains to have something to out on the trees.

Some people had beautiful glass ornaments they brought to America from other countries, but the common folk usually made do with what they had around the house or what they could make with feathers and scraps of fabric and lace and flour and water paste.

It was once the custom to place the gifts on the tree, as seen in the photo on the right. Can’t see that being practical unless the gifts were mittens and handmade items. Today Guitar Hero would never fit on a tree, and the branches sure wouldn’t hold a portable DVD player.

I never had a fondness for tinsel. It was often charged with static and clung to clothes and hands and was forever on the carpet and tangled in the vacuum. But the kids loved it, so we often draped all the branches ever so carefully and watched it sparkle.

I inherited a few vintage cardboard and glitter houses that were my grandmother’s as well as a plastic Santa and sleigh. Plastic was a new invention when she bought the set! She had a whole village with bottle brush trees and cotton snow. I think I must have inherited my love of Christmas décor from her. I sure came by the collecting bug naturally too.

My grandmother had an aluminum tree with a color wheel. Can’t land one of those cheap any more. They are hard to find and expensive when you do find one.

So many times we think the things we use were recent inventions, but just look at the photo below with all the dolls and see one of the first artificial trees! And it’s lit with candles. What a fire hazard. There were also feather trees.

I’m holding my annual Great Christmas Tree Tour on my blog and have enjoyed all the trees readers and authors have shared. It’s always so much fun to see how differently people decorate.

Christmas trees are like snowflakes: No two are ever alike.

I want to take this opportunity to remind you that HER COLORADO MAN is in stores this month. I learned that the warehouses have plenty in stock, so if you don’t find a copy, ask for it at your local bookseller and they will order a copy for you.

I have my shopping finished and my Christmas tree is decorated. How about you?

This is Janet Tronstad and I’m very pleased to visit with you here in P & P. Before I mention my latest Christmas book, I just have to ask though.  Have any of you ever been kissed under one of those big kissing balls? The ones the Victorians used to make of mistletoe and hang up for their parties?

My latest novella is in a book entitled ‘Mistletoe Courtship’ and I realize I don’t even know anyone who has seen one of those kissing balls. I’m hoping that some of you have though. The mistletoe I usually see at Christmas is one of those small pressed-looking twigs that you buy in the plastic wrapper. I’m sure the Victorians would be appalled.  

From what I’ve read, they took their mistletoe seriously.  I didn’t realize that if you went un-kissed when you were standing under a kissing ball (male or female) it was supposed to mean you would never get married. Talk about pressure. I’m sure that was reason enough to line up.

In our culture, it seems to me that we save The Big Kiss for New Year’s Eve.  What’s your take on it?  Do you think mistletoe is still popular? Do any of you have any hanging in your house as we speak?  Do you plan to put some up this year?  And – for the big question – have you ever been trapped under some mistletoe with someone who wanted to kiss you and you’d rather not kiss them back? What’d you do?

I’ll be happy to send a copy of ‘Mistletoe Courtship’ to one of the people who post today so leave a comment if you can.