I’m traveling today so I may not get to check in and really talk to anyone today, at least not much. Airlines are so fussy about internet usage just because they claim it might crash their little old airplane.
So, I’m doing a GIVEAWAY today. And posting the opening scene, somewhat abbreviated, of Wrangler in Petticoats, releasing October 1st.
Leave a comment about ANYTHING to get your name in the drawing.
A quick summary of Wrangler in Petticoats, Book #2 in the Sophie’s Daughters series.
Sally McCellen finds herself injured and in the care of the biggest wimp she’s ever met. Logan McKenzie paints pictures of the wild west—and claims he makes a living doing it. When the two of them see an elk she reaches for her rifle, he reaches for a sketch pad. The word DRAW means completely different things to them. When Sally falls off a cliff practically into his arms, he decides he’s keeping her. So far her broken leg is keeping her close, but she’s a quick healer and she needs to get some tougher help, because outlaws are hunting hard for the one witness to their crime.
And now Wrangler in Petticoats
Sally McClellen fought to control her temper and her horse.
And her horse wasn’t the problem. It was her temper upsetting the horse.
He wouldn’t have been acting fidgety if not for her testy grip on the reins. So any trouble Sally had was all her own doing.
“None of this gets me one step closer to Mandy. She needs me.” Sally was so anxious to get on down the trail she thought she might explode.
They rode round the curve of a steep mountain trail and in the distance caught their first glimpse of a river lined with high banks of stunning red rock.
“Sure it’s a pretty sight, but—
“It’s more than pretty. It’s beautiful.” Paula McGarrett, Sally’s traveling companion, looked at her and smiled as. “Admit it. It was worth riding out here.”
Mrs. Garrett knew full well how impatient Sally was, but Mrs. Garrett, sweet and friendly as she was, didn’t let anyone push her around. The Colonel’s wife sat her horse side-saddle in a proper riding dress. She had made her opinion known early and often about Sally’s manly riding clothes and her habit of riding astride.
“It is beautiful.” Sally stifled an irritated sigh. They were here now, staring at the rocks. As if none of this group had ever seen a rock before. They all lived in west Texas or New Mexico. Their whole world was pretty much made of rocks.
Paula, below Sally on the trail, gained nearly level ground. The cliff no longer yawned at her side. She turned in her saddle, smiling. “You can thank me later, girl.”
Thank her? Not likely and well Mrs. McGarrett knew it. The two of them exchanged a warm smile. Mrs. McGarrett really was a sweetheart, for a tough old bird.
Her smile ended with the sharp crack of gunfire.
Paula Garrett slammed backward off her horse.
Sally’s world slowed down and focused sharply as it always did in times of danger. Her hand went to her rifle before she’d spun to face the shooting.
Another bullet sounded, from above. Someone shooting from cover.
Smelling the burning gunpowder, hearing the direction of the bullets, Sally’s gun was firing without her making a decision to aim or pull the trigger.
Mrs. McGarrett landed with a dull thud, flat on her back, behind her horse’s heels, a bloom of red spreading in the center of her chest. She bounced once, kicking up a puff of dust, then lay still, her open eyes staring sightlessly at the sun.
Sally raged at that fine lady’s death and focused on an outcropping of rocks hiding one of the outlaws. Her rifle fired almost as if it had a will of it’s own. A barrage of gunfire kept coming at her.
Her horse staggered toward the cliff. Sally dived to the ground, throwing herself to the cliff side of the narrow trail, with only inches to spare between her and the edge. Her horse went down under the withering fire and fell toward her, screaming in pain.
Gunfire poured down like deadly rain.
Rolling even closer to the drop-off, Sally avoided the collapsing horse. Raging at the senseless killing, she used her mount’s thrashing body for meager shelter.
Fighting her terrified, dying horse, Sally rolled to her left just enough to twirl her rifle in her right hand, cock it, aim, fire. She’d yet to see any of the coyotes who were attacking them but her aim was instinctive and she trusted it.
The men around her, the ones that hadn’t died in the first hail of bullets, battled with her. Sally saw Colonel McGarrett take one agonized look at his wife, lying dead and turn back to the assault from overhead. He had a rifle in his right hand and a colt six-shooter in the left. A constant roll of fire came from him as if his rage and grief were blazing lead.
Sally’s trigger clicked on an empty chamber and she shifted to reload her Winchester. A bullet struck hard low on her belly. The shot knocked her back and she felt the ground go out from under her. She pitched over the edge of the cliff and screamed.
Leave a comment to get your name in the drawing. Talk about traveling, the joys and sorrows. Talk about books. Talk about the changing of the seasons or your favorite food, whatever.
Or buy Doctor in Petticoats HERE