History – General

The Tattoo Culture in the Civil War

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If you read the Fillies’ “It’s Yee-Haw Day” on Monday, you know that I got a tattoo…my very first (and probably my last!) in early February. My nephew owns a tattoo business in Florida. At the invitation of my son and daughter-in-law, we flew down for a long (and I might add, VERY COLD) weekend. While I was getting the tattoo, we talked about the history of the art of tattooing.

My daughter-in-law immediately got on her phone, offering information. When I heard that it was popular during the Civil War, my radar went up as I was researching interesting tidbits for my next book.

Tattoos have a long history as a means of identification in the military. In ancient Rome, mercenaries were marked with a permanent ink from acacia bark, corroded bronze and sulphuric acid to help in identifying deserters. When King Harold II was disfigured beyond recognition at the Battle of Hastings, his common-law wife was only able to recognize him based on his tattoos.

Tattoos were used to mark slaves, criminals, and gladiators, and the Latin word “stigma” was used to mean a brand, or scar–any permanent mark left on a person’s skin. When French and British traders met native people, they often recorded the markings on their bodies, instead of their names in trading logs. During the Revolutionary War, colonial sailors decorated themselves with symbols of their newborn country–the “goddess” Columbia, the face of George Washington, eagle with sheaves, or the American flag. 

“A sailor may not wear his heart upon his sleeve, but he does wear it upon his chest.”                                                                  E. Barnes

With the onset of the Civil War, these patriotic themes gained in popularity. Martin Hildebrandt, a talkative man with a crucifix inked on his back was happy to tell newspaper reporters about his unusual trade.

“During the war time I never had a moment’s idle time. I must have marked thousands of sailors and soldiers…I put the names of hundreds of soldiers on their arms or breasts, and many were recognized by these marks after being killed or wounded.” 

Tattooing can be excruciating (I can testify to that!) and in the Civil War, methods were relatively primitive and conditions less than sanitary. Hildebrandt’s tattoo method required about six #12 needles, bound together in a slanting form, dipped into India ink. The puncture of the skin was made at an angle, ensuring that the needles pricked only the surface. Colorants could be made up of ink and wet gunpowder. However, he was restricted to only two colors, blue and red.

       

“If we could only get a green to work into a wreath, the contrast would be charming, but I am afraid it can’t be done.”      M. Hildebrandt

After the tattoo was done, any excess blood and ink was washed off with water or alcohol, usually rum or brandy. Many a soldier had his name, regiment, and residence inked for identification. 

“Every regiment had its tattooers, with outfits of needles and India-ink who for a fee decorated the limbs and bodies of their comrades with flags, muskets, cannon…and patriotic emblems…It was like writing one’s own epitaph, but the custom prevented many bodies from being buried in ‘unknown’ graves.”                                           William Hinman

In addition to identification and patriotism, tattooing during the war was used to memorialize the experience of war and the lives of fellow soldiers. Much like the sailors who pioneered tattooing before them, these soldiers wanted to honor the memories of fallen comrades, to show regimental pride, and demonstrate their love for their homelands.

But beneath their clothes, many men held the marks from the war–voluntary scars to commemorate a shared trauma, claims of individuality in the face of mass death, assertions of humanity that couldn’t be taken away.

*******************A Giveway!*****************

To win a digital copy of “No Finer Dream,” comment on the following question…

Have you gotten OR would you be interested in getting a tattoo?

 

New release coming tomorrow, March 6th…

“Your journey doesn’t have to end in disappointment.”

Lila Hartley had waited for hours on the frozen train platform, a mail-order bride no one came to claim, her trunk beside her like a tombstone. The man who’d promised her marriage, a home, and a future, left her stranded two thousand miles from Boston with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heart full of shattered dreams.
Just when hope was fading, a man emerged from the white curtain of snow like an apparition, took off his coat, and changed her life.

Clay McCallister viewed every woman who had taken a chance on the frontier as the sister he’d failed…a woman who’d risked everything for the possibility of something better, much like the woman standing on the platform in the bitter cold.

Sometimes warmth doesn’t always come from fire — sometimes it comes from the heart.

Pre-Order Link

 

 

Common Scams in the Old West

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Recently, a friend of mine was complaining about the number of scams she’s hit with on daily basis. I doubt there’s anyone who can say they don’t regularly receive suspicious phone calls from someone claiming to be with the IRS or emails from foreign “multi-millionaires” wanting to share their fortune with us. All we need to do is provide these people with our personal banking information which will either erase our debt or make us rich.

While these particular scams are relatively recent, deceiving people out of their hard-earned money has been around for centuries, if not since the dawn of civilization. What’s the old saying? If you believe that, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you.

Scams in the old West were no exception and abounded. Who hasn’t heard of The Lost Dutchman’s Mine—a popular legend here in Arizona where I live? One of the reasons the unproven story of the mine’s existence (to this day at least) gained such traction is because industrious scammers drew up and printed fake maps which they then sold to unsuspecting and gullible fortune hunters. Not only were wannabe prospectors sent on wild goose chases, many, sadly, met their deaths.

The Lost Dutchman’s Mine wasn’t the only scam of its kind during the days of gold fever. The practice of selling fake mining claims thrived. A common scheme called “salting” was used to dupe eager individuals looking strike it rich. Ore from a producing mine was scattered over a barren area. The soft ore would embed into the rock and give the appearance of a valuable claim. If done right, these salted areas often passed inspections by assayers but then, after the sale was complete, the poor buyer discovered no gold other than what the unscrupulous seller had scattered about.

Another old West scam was the origin of what eventually became a popular saying that still endures. I can remember my grandmother referring to a local real estate agent as no better than a snake oil salesman. And while she was using the term to refer to con men in general, a snake oil salesman is actually someone who proports to have a miracle cure. One of the first and most renowned snake oil salesmen was Clark Stanley, nicknamed the Rattlesnake King. While he claimed his tonic contained rattlesnake oil, it did not and was completely worthless. On a side note, Chinese laborers who came to the U.S. to work on the railroads did bring snake oil with them as an ancient medicinal treatment, which is likely where old Clark Stanley got the idea.

A different, popular scam along these same lines was the traveling medicine show which, if you think about it, was an early infomercial combining entertainment with hyped up sales techniques. These tonics, like Stanley’s snake oil, were worthless and made from common household items like castor oil, ginger, and alcohol. I did a bit of research, and there were several movies made featuring traveling medicine shows. Here’s just a few oldies but goodies:

Paradise Canyon with John Wayne

Sante Fe Marshal with William Boyd as Hopalong Cassidy

Riders of the Dawn, a musical western (I think I need to see this one)

Prairie Badmen with Buster Crabb

And the scams don’t end there. Really, there are just too many for me to list in detail. Land fraud was abundant with fake deeds being sold to families coming out West and desperate for a fresh start. Even the poor, noble horse, a necessity back then, was often used to separate the naïve and trusting from their money. A young and healthy horse was sold but an old, broken down nag was swapped out. There were crooks who cheated at poker with hidden cards (an Ace up the sleeve) and loaded dice. Gullible people were fleeced by shell games and other slight-of-hand tricks. And lets not forget the psychics who claimed to see the future or speak with deceased loved ones.

Sadly, there will probably always be disreputable individuals who find new and innovative ways to take advantage the easily influenced. The most we can do is be on the lookout. Remember that the next time someone tries to sell you some oceanfront property in Arizona 🙂

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

P.S. – don’t forget to check out of Facebook Reader Page at:

Petticoats & Pistols FB Readers Group

Welcome Misty M. Beller

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Hello Reader Friends!

I’m BEYOND excited to be back with my Petticoats and Pistols family again today!

And I get to share the brainstorming behind my new series, The Lords of the Rockies. This idea has been percolating in my mind for a couple of years now—a mash-up of two of my favorite historical romance worlds: Regency England and the rugged American West.

When we think about the American West, English dukes and titled gentlemen don’t usually come to mind. We picture cowboys, homesteaders, and folks chasing a fresh start under wide western skies—not men raised in manor houses an ocean away.

But here’s the fun historical truth: English aristocrats really did head west, especially younger sons who had little waiting for them back home.

In England, the system of primogeniture meant the eldest son inherited the title, the estate, and the future. Younger sons were expected to find respectable paths—often the military, the church, or law—but not everyone was suited to those roles. And not every family could afford to set each son up comfortably.

For many of those younger sons, the American West offered something England didn’t: opportunity without expectation.

Out West, no one cared who your father was. What mattered was whether you could work hard, hold your own, and pull your weight. Land could be earned. A man could reinvent himself. Titles meant little when cattle needed herding and fences needed mending.

British newspapers and letters home talked about open land, ranching opportunities, mining booms, and railroads pushing into new territory. English money was already flowing into western investments, so the idea of heading to America didn’t feel quite as far-fetched as we might think.

Some English gentlemen came west to manage land or investments. Others came for adventure—or escape. Quite a few stayed and put down real roots.

There are plenty of real-life examples of Englishmen trading tailored coats for dusty boots. Some learned quickly that ranch life was harder than it looked. Those who succeeded were the ones willing to set aside Old World habits and embrace western practicality.

For men raised with strict expectations they never chose, the West offered something powerful: a chance to be judged by who they were, not who they were born to be.

Of course, the past doesn’t always stay put. An unexpected death, a title suddenly in play, or family duty could call a man back across the Atlantic—sometimes just when he’d found the life that fit him best.

That tug-of-war between duty and freedom is one of the most fascinating parts of this little corner of history.

That blend of English tradition and western grit is what inspired my Lords of the Rockies series. In Book One, Mail-Order Duchess, English inheritance finally catches up with a life built in Montana. And in Book Two, Mail-Order Baroness—coming February 10th!—the ripple effects of those aristocratic ties continue to complicate lives that once felt safely distant from England.

Because when English aristocrats head to the American west, things are bound to get interesting.

I pray you love Mail-Order Duchess—and that you’ll be just as excited to return to Montana for Mail-Order Baroness very soon!

To celebrate, I’m excited to give away a signed copy of Mail-Order Duchess! To be entered for the giveaway, I’d love to hear what you think: If you could reinvent yourself in the American West, what would you do—and where would you go? Let me know in the comments!

Churning Butter and a Give Away

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When I was eight years-old we started getting our milk directly from the local dairy. After the glass gallon jars sat in the fridge overnight, there was a good two inches of cream at the top. I’m sorry to say that I thought cream was gross. I’d scoop it off when mom wasn’t looking, instead of shaking it up as directed, so that the “good” milk didn’t get contaminated with butter fats. Silly child. But the one good thing about all that cream was that sometimes my dad would scoop into a quart jar and make butter by simply shaking the jar. He had pretty good stamina because I remember him shaking for a long time. Then with a little salt, you had a very decent glob of butter. I loved butter.

All this came back to me the other day when I was whipping cream for a frosting and overwhipped it and came up with, you guessed it, whipped butter. I still put it on the cake, but it was a little greasier than it should have been. My husband is not particular, thank goodness.

Butter churning has been around for thousands of years. The earliest butter churns date back around 6,500 years to Israel. They were ceramic vessels that mimicked animal skins. Why? Because that was how nomadic cultures churned butter and made kefir. They put the cream in a vessel made of animal skin and shook it, very much like the way my dad would shake his quart jar, or even easier, simply tie it to a pack animal. The butter would churn as the animal walked. The ceramic churns were made to lay on their sides and rocked back and forth, sometimes with the aid of a rope.

The plunge churn was used in early America and is the churn I think of most often. It consists of a wooden contain into which the cream is poured, a flat lid with a hole and a plunger, which is worked up and down until butter forms. After the butter forms, the buttermilk (yes, that’s where it came from) is poured off and the butter is placed in a shallow trough called a butter worker. A fluted roller was rolled over the butter, water was added, then drained off. This process continued until all the buttermilk was removed from the butter.

 

The paddle churn is what my dad should have had. It’s a container, sometimes glass, that has a lid and a handle that turns a churn, which creates the butter.

The barrel churn appeared in 18th century Europe and works on the same principle as the paddle churn only on a larger scale.

There were of course many variations on these themes, including one in which the churn was attached to a rocking chair and the churner rocked their way to butter.  Someone else came up with a treadmill upon which a sheep or dog would walk to turn the crank and churn the butter. One of the more realistic designs involved a foot treadle like those on old fashioned sewing machines. That would have been my go-to.

Now let’s get silly. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, what is the most creative way you can think of  to churn milk into butter?

Welcome Guest Linda Ford!

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I love historicals. There is a wider breadth of dramatic events to choose from. For instance, what in our present world compares to the scope of adventure in a wagon trek westward, the challenges of living in a sod shanty, or the sheer grit of surviving endless dust storms or  a vicious snowstorm?

I got a taste of real pioneer life as a child. My father did road maintenance work in remote areas. My parents—brave souls—gathered up us children and took us along. We lived in a VERY primitive bunkhouse. There were absolutely no modern conveniences (you have to remember this was about 200 years ago. lol) We experienced firsthand some of the tasks our pioneer forefathers did.

Of course, not everyone agrees. I had one reader write me and briskly inform me that there was nothing romantic about the  ‘good old days’. The hard work was numbing; the hardships devastating. Life simply wasn’t pleasant.

I have great admiration for these people, their hardy spirits and their absolute stubborn joy because it always hits me when I read their stories that few of them were bitter or complaining. They simply faced and accepted the challenges of their situation, striving to make things better and in the midst of it all, clinging to a sure faith. As many of these people say in their stories, God was their strength and their shield. In Him they found forbearance and hope. I’m convinced their lives have much to teach us.

In my new series—Stagecoach To Golden Valley—I strive to portray their grit and faith. In preparing to write my previous series, Montana Cowboys, I had done research on gold mining. I had visited Libby, Montana which experienced a gold rush in the 1860s. While in Libby, I poked through the museum, took pictures of cabins and equipment, browsed the local history section of the library, traipsed through the woods, and sat to admire the waterfalls. BTW, I am in love with waterfalls and have used them often in the new series.

The only thing I needed to complete my research was to learn about stagecoaches. I gleaned some interesting facts. The wagons were pulled by three matching pairs of horses. The interior was often crowded with three benches—one facing forward, one facing to the back and one in the middle. Each bench could hold three passengers—with barely room to breathe. A stagecoach traveled about 5 mph. The team of horses had to be changed every 12-15 miles so there were way stations at those points. The overnight stations were often referred to as Home Stations. Food, drink and a place to bed down were provided but not necessarily with much comfort accompanying them.

Riding a stagecoach lacked any hope of relaxation. The coach swayed and jerked and bounced. Elbows jabbed into ribs. Passengers were tossed against each other. Then there were the dangers associated with travel over rugged terrain—landslides, washed out roads, steep and narrow embankments. There was always the risk of robbers.

There are other reasons for making the treacherous journey across the mountains besides the hope of finding gold. Some travelers wanted escape. Some wanted shelter. Others wanted to start over or find missing family. Some even arrived under mysterious circumstances.

FROM THIS DAY

A past too dark to forgive…a love too powerful to deny.

Addie Stone has devoted her life to helping her adoptive parents care for the less fortunate. She and her mother are journeying to Golden Valley to continue this work and help the preacher. She lives a plain life believing it will protect her from criminals—and pain.

Nash Burns, a handsome young rancher, has strong ideals—hard work and honest gain. The last thing he wants is to be like his father.

The pair are stranded along with the other stagecoach passengers when heavy rains wash out the road. They are soon drawn to each other, finding similar goals and ideals. When the secrets of their past are revealed, they wonder if they can possibly forgive each other.

Will they find their way to forgiveness, healing and a love that satisfies the yearnings of their hearts?

The tropes of this book are:

  • stranded
  • guilty secrets
  • family saga
  • second chance

Which of these are your favorites? Or is your favorite something else? I’ll give away one ebook copy of From This Day so leave a comment.

Hear a Little About Early Hearing Aids

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I’ve had a big change in my life recently—one that took me a bit by surprise. I got hearing aids. Let me start out by saying I’m WAY TOO YOUNG to need hearing aids. But here we are, right? Truth be told, I had noticed some difficulty hearing things this past year. It became really apparent when I went to a conference and struggled to hear the speakers. So, not long after that off to the ENT doctor I went and got tested. I don’t like the word “profound” but that’s what he used when describing the level of my hearing loss. Sigh.

I decided to be optimistic about this change, and I’m glad I did. I actually love my new hearing aids. I have a good friend who talks very soft, and I used to miss about a third of what she said. No more. I hear every word! And who knew my favorite pair of shoes squeaked when I walk? Or that the neighbor’s dog barks all day (okay, maybe this isn’t a good thing). I told my husband, I can now hear the sun shine and grass grow.

This got me wondering a little about how people throughout history dealt with hearing loss. I mean, these devices I’m currently wearing are so technologically advanced, I think they could transmit a message into outer space while tracking a bald eagle in the Colorado Rockies (only slight exaggeration – ha, ha). So, I did a little research.

The first recorded use of hearing aids, which may date back as far as Egyptian times, were called ear trumpets. They were pretty much what you’d imagine them to be—a horned shaped object, small on one end and large on the other. Most were constructed of wood, hollowed out animal horns, and in later years, brass. During the old west, hollowed out buffalo horns were often used. These ear trumpets didn’t work all that well, amplifying sounds only directly in front of the user and then to a small degree. They functioned best when someone spoke directly into the ear trumpet at close range.

The interesting part, however, was how clever ear trumpets became in their design. No one likes admitting to having a hearing loss, so inventors created some pretty cool ways to make hearing aids less conspicuous and a true fashion statement. They hid the devices in wardrobe accessories like ladies’ fans and headpieces and men’s canes­. In the home, hearing aids could be hidden in vases. King John IV of Portugal had a throne designed for him with ornately carved lion heads on the arms. The lions’ open mouths transmitted sound to the back of the throne and into the king’s ear via a speaking tube.

In 1898, the first electric hearing aid, called an Akouphone, was invented. As you can imagine, it was huge and bulky and not very portable. But then in the early 1900s, carbon hearing aids came into being, using similar technology to early microphones and telephones. While they amplified sound, they weren’t all that effective. In the 1920s, vacuum hearing aids came along, an advancement that allowed the size to be greatly reduced. One of the biggest jumps came after WWII with the invention of transistors–which reduced the size of hearing aids even more. For a while, there were even hearing aids built into eyeglasses, though these were awkward to wear and didn’t last long.

In the early 1960s, some smart person came up with the first behind the ear hearing aids – a style still in use today by 70% of people who wear hearing aids. But everything changed around 1995 with fully digital versions hit the market. Rather than simply amplifying sound, the user could now differentiate between low, mid, and high frequencies and adjust the hearing aid to their surrounding.

Interesting, huh? You know what I like best about my new hearing aids, besides the improvement to my hearing? They are connected to my phone, and I can listen to audio books without earbuds or headphones. Now that’s cool 🙂

 

 

America Newton – Successful Western Businesswoman and a Giveaway!

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This week, we’re so happy to welcome Tina Dee! She’s been here many times and her posts are always so interesting. Plus, we love her to death. 

In 1869, gold was discovered by an African American rancher and former slave, Fred Coleman in a creek on his property, which started Julian, California’s gold rush. The town became a tent city, practically overnight, with men and families moving in to stake their claims and strike it rich—or make money off those who hoped to. Quickly, this small gold mining town, located in the Cuyamaca mountains, rivaled the city of San Diego in number of residents. It also boasted up to eleven saloons, and only one small jail house featuring two small cells in the middle of town, no office, just the two cells, no frills.

During this rough and rowdy time, one woman, in particular, stood out. Her name was America Newton (1835 – 1917). An African American pioneer, she was one of the earliest Africa American settlers in the area and helped to found the former mining town of Julian. Formerly from Kansas, where she worked for James Cole, America came to California in 1872 with her daughter and ran a laundry service for miners and residents of Julian, though she could neither read nor write.

America, a former slave, operated her laundry business servicing Julian’s population during its gold rush days. She became of the first African American woman to operate a business in the area.

Water for the laundry was obtained by carrying buckets of water from a nearby creek. She heated her irons by the fireplace, which she kept burning by chopping and carrying her own wood. James Cole supplied her with a horse and buggy, which she drove around town to deliver the clean clothes to residents and gold miners. It’s said that she was right hospitable to those who picked up their laundry from her cabin, serving them a drink and a bit of local gossip, no extra charge. Folks enjoyed her friendly and talkative nature.

The Cole family helped America file to own a homestead of 80 acres outside of Julian. They also built her a cabin next to their home. America lived in Julian for 50 years. It’s said that she had a hearing problem and used an ear trumpet to hear.

She had moved to a small, wild, western gold mining town in the mountains, so very far from where she had gained her freedom. As a former slave, widow, and single mother—and with a little help from her friends—she rose to become an entrepreneur in a time when being a woman, and one with black skin, made it hard to just exist. But not only had she existed, she thrived in the Wild West and was successful in her business venture. And, she made people feel good, not just in the fresh, clean clothes they wore, but because she could make them laugh while living a tough life under harsh conditions.

I think about America Newton often. She has the gumption a lot of my heroines are made of.

Just for fun: Please share about someone who has inspired you (family member, friend, or someone from your life, or from history). A winner will be chosen by one of the Petticoats & Pistols Fillies to receive a pretty coffee tumbler with lid (approximately $20 value).

Thank you all for joining me today! It’s always a treat to spend time with Petticoats & Pistols readers. I’ve made two stories free today and tomorrow. One from each of my pen names, each with a heroine I believe has that same gumption America Newton had:  

Kaitlene Dee: Falling for Tallulah

Tina Dee: Keeper of my Heart

Kaitlene Dee, aka Tina Dee, spends time daydreaming about western romances with spunky heroines who insist on having their own stories written, and the swoony cowboys who love them. She often rescues stray dogs and can’t wait to give a forever home to her next dog or two…or five. Kaitlene enjoys gardening, traveling, writing, watercolor painting, and hanging out with reader friends in her Facebook readers group or with her newsletter readers. She’s an avid coffee drinker—and don’t even think about getting between her and a bear claw pastry. Follow her for updates on upcoming releases on Amazon or for many upcoming freebies, giveaways, and fun on her newsletter, here: Join Kaitlene & Tina Dee’s Newsletter

10 Facts About Stage Coach Travel or Why I’m OK With the Middle Seat

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Read on for a Give Away!

I’m traveling today and as usual I have the middle seat on the plane. Because I do not claim both armrests, I spend most of the flight feeling like my elbows have been glued to my ribs. It’s not particularly comfortable, but after researching stage coach travel, I’ve decided that I’m in no position to complain.

Here are 10 facts about travel in a Concord Stage Coach, the most common coach used in the west during the late 1800s:

1.  The interior of a stage coach was very small, measuring about 4 feet wide, with a ceiling height of about 4 ½ feet. Each passenger had about 15 inches of leg room.

2. A stage coach held up to nine passengers but their knees and legs had to be entwined between one another.

3. Additional passengers could ride on the roof with the luggage. Some luggage was stored in the boot at the back of the stage coach.

4. The interior had three benches. The center bench had no backrest and the people riding there had leather straps to hold for support.

5. The passengers were protected from the elements by leather curtains, that may or may not do their job.

6. The seats were padded but could still be very hard.

7. The average pace of a stage coach was 5 miles per hour. An average person can walk 3-4 miles an hour.

8. A stage coach could travel up to 70 miles a day, depending on road conditions and terrain.

9. If a stage had to go up a steep hill, the passengers might have to walk.

10. If the stage got stuck, the passengers would push and help dig it out.

Doesn’t that put the middle seat into perspective?

To qualify for the giveaway, a $10 Amazon gift card, tell me your favorite way to travel and one reason it can be inconvenient. 

Please Note: I may not be able to answer comments today due to travel…but at least I’m not pushing a stage coach up a hill. 🙂 Winner announced on Saturday.

 

Riches Beyond Measure–It’s OUT! And a Giveaway!!!

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The great thing about having a book release is IT’S BORN AFTER BEING IN LABOR FOR ONE YEAR!!!

Both a triumph, love and the end of a LOT of work.

The other thing…also great…I guess is…it’s on to the next book. (oh, come on there is NOTHING bad about it!)

One more month of me talking about Riches Beyond Measure, book #3 in the Golden State Treasure Series.

Here’s one of the things about this series…it’s set in California. To me, I never think of California as truly western. So none of my cowboy writing reflexes aim me at California.

But historically it’s a big cowboy state.

The main thing I did that was truly Californian is EARTHQUAKES. This is actually the sixth book I’ve set in California. Ninth if you count the three I set around Lake Tahoe…though I mainly think of that as Nevada…but…well, my point is NINE BOOKS and I’ve never had an earthquake before. Well, that is OVER.

Riches Beyond Measure includes an earthquake. And it’s my 80th book. It makes me wonder what else obvious have I skipped about history? You’d think I’d’ve hit on nearly every area of history…I mean sure there are always details. But earthquakes are big and obvious. Hmmm…it renews my desire to keep writing, keep researching and keep thinking big as well as small.

Riches Beyond Measure…released October 8. To get your name in the drawing to win a signed copy  of Riches Beyond Measure, leave a comment talking about things you’d like to see in a novel that you think have been missed.

Buffalo stampede? More about wagon trains? The flooding rivers? Tornadoes? What am I missing out on?

Riches Beyond Measure

When they leave the ranch in search of stolen treasure, will the spark between them survive the perils ahead?

When an earthquake strikes Two Harts Ranch, it shakes the life of Annie Lane along with that of Cord Westbrook, who has been working as a cowboy on Annie’s family ranch in anticipation of purchasing his own. The only thing delaying his plan is the deep attraction he feels toward Annie, a widow with a child and an established life as a teacher at the Hart School for Orphans. Unfortunately for Cord, she seems determined to avoid romance.

The aftermath of the earthquake reveals that prized artifacts from the long-sought MacKenzie’s Treasure have been stolen from the ranch. But the return of the MacKenzie family from out east has everyone focused on what other precious finds might be waiting at the end of the legendary two-part map. As Cord, Annie, and the MacKenzies set out in search of riches, they face dangers more treacherous than earthquakes. With gold in their sights and love within reach, Cord and Annie realize that some treasures may fade, but life’s true riches are far more valuable than earthly goods.

Embark on a rousing California wilderness adventure filled with danger, deception, and second chances in this riveting conclusion to Mary Connealy’s Golden State Treasure series–ideal for fans of frontier romances, cowboys, and treasure hunts.

Petticoats & Pistols