Thank each and every one of you who dropped by and commented on my post yesterday.  I truly appreciate you.  It was hard to select a winner, but by random draw congratulations goes to  …

                Linda C. and Melinda E.

Linda and Melinda, if  you’ll contact me at PhylissMiranda@aol.com and let me know which book you’d like, plus give me your snail mail address, I’ll get them in the mail as quickly as possible.  Please remember that “Give Me a Texas Outlaw” won’t be out until late next month, so I’ll keep your name and address and will ship it as soon as a copy is available.  Congratulations!

In December 1917, a permanent ban on the manufacture, sale and transportation of alcoholic beverages was enacted by passage of the 18th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.  The amendment was ratified in January of 1919 and took effect a year later. 

Proponents of this so called “noble experiment” claimed that without alcohol the nation’s health would improve and crime would drop. It was also claimed that industries like dairy, would prosper as other types of beverages increased in popularity to fill the void left by the absence of alcohol. Juvenile delinquency was also supposed to be virtually eliminated.

By the time the 18th Amendment was repealed in 1933, it was obvious that the measure was a failure.  Instead of promoting health, the opposite was true.  The illegal products brewed in hidden rooms or backwoods stills were often dangerous or much higher in alcohol content than the beer, wines and spirits they replaced.

The attempt to decrease the “evils” of alcohol actually created more – and new – types of crime.   Since illegal activity was required to market the illegal alcohol, criminal activity became organized and led to the rise of powerful crime syndicates that used murder, and the bribery of public officials to move large quantities of the illegal substance.  Criminals like Al Capone rose to power as gangs battled for control, climaxing in the infamous St. Valentine’s Day Massacre of 1929.  (And there you have it.  Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!)

U.S. Marshals (see photo) were the principal enforcing agents of the Prohibition laws until the Treasury Department created the Bureau of Prohibition in 1927.   This brings me to U.S. Deputy Marshal Ethan Beaudry, the hero of my March book, THE WIDOWED BRIDE.  Ethan comes to Dutchman’s Creek, Colorado in the summer of 1920 to break up a bootlegging ring.

He meets his match in statuesque, flame-haired Ruby Rumford who came storming into the last chapter of THE HORSEMAN’S BRIDE.  Ruby has moved to Dutchman’s Creek to be near her brother and make a new start.  But she’s a lady with secrets – secrets that cause Ethan to suspect the worst of her.  Can he do his job, even if it means arresting the woman who’s stolen his heart?

You can learn more and read an excerpt on my website: www.elizabethlaneauthor.com And I’ll be giving away one copy of THE WIDOWED BRIDE for every ten readers who post.  So you’ll have a one-in-ten chance of winning.  Good luck.

Here’s an excerpt . . . 

The Outlaw’s Return

 Chapter One

Denver, Colorado
July 1876

When J.T. Quinn vowed to find Mary Larue, he never once imagined they’d meet on a perfect Sunday morning in Denver. On those long nights when he’d lain alone in his bedroll, he’d imagined seeing her on a stage in some high class opera house. He’d pictured himself in a black suit and a white shirt leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed as he listened to her hit the high note only she could hit. Their eyes would meet and she’d recognize him. She’d miss a beat, but she’d pick up the song with even more power than before and he’d know . . . she still loved him.

That wasn’t going to happen today.

It wasn’t Saturday night, and J.T. wasn’t wearing a suit.

It was Sunday morning, and he had trail dust in every pore. He also smelled like the inside of a saloon. He hadn’t visited such an establishment for six months, but last night he’d walked past a gaming hall with a head full of memories. A drunken cowhand had stumbled out to the boardwalk with an open bottle of whiskey, and the contents had sloshed on J.T.’s trousers. The smell had sickened him in one breath and tempted him in the next. He’d have changed clothes, but the garments in his saddlebag were filthy. They stank, but not with whiskey. He’d resisted that temptation, and he’d done it because of his love for Mary Larue.

Heaving a sigh, he looked down at his dog. “What should we do, Fancy Girl?”

She whapped her tail against the boardwalk and looked up at him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. J.T. didn’t know what kind of dog she was, but they’d been best friends since he’d walked out on Griff Lassen at the Dudley place. They’d been running off Ambrose Dudley and his brother, squatters up in Wyoming, when the dog had charged at them and started barking. Griff had ordered J.T. to shoot her dead.

J.T. had done a lot of mean things in his life, but not even he could shoot a dog. On the other hand, he’d come close to shooting Griff. When the man aimed his Sharps at the mutt, J.T. had shoved the barrel downward. The bullet had ricocheted off a rock and creased Fancy Girl’s head. J.T. had mopped her blood with his bandanna and fed her jerky from his pocket. When she’d followed him to his horse, he’d poured water from his canteen into a pot. She’d lapped every drop, and he’d filled it again.

He’d left the Dudley place with the job undone and Griff promising to get even, but the dog had followed him. That night he’d named her Fancy Girl because her fur reminded him of Mary’s blond hair, and he’d made a decision. He didn’t want to be the kind of man who hunted squatters and shot at dogs.

For the past ten years, J.T. had sold his gun for money. He’d been nineteen when he’d sold his gun for the first time, and next month he’d turn thirty. For a gunslinger, he had a lot of years on him. Today, standing outside a saloon and listening to Mary sing, he thought back on those years. He’d drunk oceans of whiskey and been with too many women. The whiskey had never failed to work its magic. The women, though, had lost that power and it was because of Mary.

She’d been in his head for two years now, ever since Kansas where they’d been a pair and she’d made him smile. Really smile. Not the sneer he usually wore. And not because she was generous with her affections. Mary made him smile because she believed he was a good man. He wasn’t, but after the mess at the Dudley place, he wanted to try. Leaving that day with Fancy Girl, he’d decided to find Mary and make a new life. He had some money saved, enough to open a saloon, a place where she could sing and live the life she’d always wanted. He didn’t plan to marry her. He’d changed, but not that much. Picking up where they’d left off seemed noble enough.

He and Fancy Girl had been searching for six months, and he’d finally caught a break. He hadn’t touched a woman or a drop of whiskey since the mess in Wyoming, but he still had to eat. Last night he’d taken supper at the boardinghouse where he was staying with his dog. One of the boarders, an old man with bad eyes, had told him about a woman named Mary who sang like a nightingale.

You’ll find her tomorrow morning at Brick’s Saloon.

Not once had it occurred to J.T. that Mary would be singing a hymn in a makeshift church. His mind had gone in the opposite direction. He’d imagined her finishing up a night’s work that involved more than singing. He’d been sick to think she’d fallen so low, but in the next breath he’d been relieved. No matter what Mary had done to survive, he still loved her. He wouldn’t wish her the suffering of selling herself, but he rather enjoyed the thought of riding to her rescue . . . 

* * *

I hope you enjoy J.T.’s story.  The book will be available February 8, 2011.   Good luck in the drawing!