SHE STEALS MY BREATH, Pre-Sale and Excerpt

Howdy!

Welcome, welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Do you know what I saw last week?  Robins.  That’s right.  Robins.  Unless they are very confused, that usually means spring is right around the corner.

And what better time of year than to have a new release.  This is Book One in the new Medicine Man series, and the title is SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

This title, by the way, was inspired by a poem by John Trudell, Dakota tribe.  So, without further ado, let me leave you the details on the pre-sale — 20% off what will be the regular price, the back blurb of the book and an excerpt.

 

Karen Kay

 

New Release!

Pre-Sale!  Save 20% 

Price after March 27, 2022 $4.99

Price now  $3.99

https://tinyurl.com/5658jeuv

 

SHE STEALS MY BREATH

The Medicine Man Series, Book One

Back Cover Blurb

Her Beauty Takes His Breath Away… Only She Can Restore It

Eagle Heart of the Blackfoot Nation has not come to the trading post, Fort Union, to trade, but to find his missing brother. The medicine man has never seen a white woman, but, when she walks into the room, her beauty literally steals his breath.  

Laylah McIntosh has assets besides beauty that make her valuable to her father, the fort’s trader: her skill with numbers, her photographic memory and her knowledge of the sign language used by all the tribes. But, when she’s injured and caught in a fierce blizzard, it is Eagle Heart, alone, who rescues her.

Forced into each other’s company, their attraction deepens. But a union between them is forbidden in both their worlds.

Can their love find a way to survive the wrath?  Or will their differences separate them forever?

Warning:  Sensuous romance and a love written in the stars could cause a gal to go West in search of love and adventure.

Please enjoy this excerpt from the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH:

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Fort Union Trading Post

The Eastern Montana Territory

October 1834

 

 

“I tell you true, there is such a creature as a white woman.  I have seen her here this very day.”

Eagle Heart cast a doubtful glance at Gray Falcon, his napí, friend.  “A white woman here?” he asked.  “What you say cannot be so.  All the tribes are speaking the same words about the white man: he has no women.  In all these years we have known this man, we have never seen his women.”

“Ha’!  I do not lie, my friend.  I saw her here.  Today.  Come with me to the trading room.  You will see her, too.”

“I am not interested,” replied Eagle Heart.  “But, tell me, does she have long hair on her upper lip and chin, as well as all over her body, like the white man?  Does she smell as bad as all white men do?  And, is her hair dirty and greasy from failing to bathe?  Saa, I do not wish to see this creature.  I might lose the contents of my stomach.”

“I will not tell you any detail about her, my friend.  Come and look at her and decide for yourself if she has all these features you speak of.”

Eagle Heart shook his head.  “I do not wish to witness the ugliness of this white woman.  It might spoil the image of a woman’s beauty for me.  Besides, I must make inquiries about my brother since, as you know, this is the only reason I have made the long journey to the white man’s fort.”

“Napi, my friend, it will take but a moment to come and look at the woman.  Then go your own way.”

Eagle Heart sighed.  Truly, he was not interested.  However, if taking a glimpse at this being would appease his young friend, he would do it.  And so, he found himself saying, “Okí, let us go so I might look at this ugly and smelly creature.”

“Áa, yes…this is a good plan.”  Gray Falcon smiled.

“Okí.  Shall I hold my breath so I do not have to smell her stench?”

“Perhaps, my friend.  Perhaps.”

---

The trading room was busy this day in early October, the season when the leaves turn yellow.  With a quick glance around the room, Eagle Heart memorized the details of this place.  These included a long counter for trading where a large buffalo hide had been spread upon it; there were several beaver belts, mink and even raccoon furs which had been shoved to the side.  A large book, with many of the white man’s papers, lay open on the counter.

On wooden shelves behind the trader were stacks of many more furs and neatly folded woolen blankets.  Off to the side of the counter were mounted moose horns, and these were holding up pots, pans and various items of clothing: belts and hats, moccasins and a few fur-lined jackets.  Kegs of liquor stood upright on the highest shelves in the room, out of easy reach.

Robes and furs could be traded here for guns, but no guns of any description were on display.  Perhaps they had been put out of sight purposely.

At present, there were three Blackfoot men standing at the counter, quietly bargaining with the trader, Larpenteur, over the price of their furs, while seven Indians from an enemy tribe, the Crows, and ten Indian men from another foe, the Assiniboines, lounged against the cottonwood logs that were used for the walls of the room.

Because all the Indians, himself included, had been divested of their weapons upon entering the fort, not a man in this room could be seen who carried his quiver strapped to his back; there were no bows, no lances, not even the usual gun on display, that usually being carried in a man’s arms.  It was an odd sight for Eagle Heart to behold his enemies without their customary means of defense.

The owner of this place, McKenzie, insisted upon stripping a man’s weapons from him before entering the fort.  The white traders stated this was a common practice within these trading centers and was done for the Indians’ and the company’s safety.  And yet, the white men and trappers who frequented this place were always armed.  So deaths occurred here anyway.

It was why Blackfoot men did not allow their women to accompany them inside the white man’s gates.  Simply put, it was too dangerous.

Eagle Heart took a deep breath at the same moment he realized the room did not stink.  Instead, it was scented with the aroma of trees, logs and the distinctive fragrances of autumn leaves.  Certainly, he didn’t notice there was much unusual this day, and there was no white woman he could bear witness to.  But, giving his friend his due, he decided to wait.

Looking around the room, he noticed Gray Falcon had positioned himself so he was leaning against a far wall, directly across from the table used for trading.  Eagle Heart joined him there, and, leaning back, crossed his arms in front of his chest, prepared to wait.

Unexpectedly, the delightful sound of a feminine laugh filled the air.  He frowned, surprised, for the voice was pretty.

And, then he saw her: she had slipped into the trading center from a room in back and was standing behind the trader, Larpenteur.  When she moved slightly, Eagle Heart caught a glance of bouncing brown curls with a hint of gold within them.  And, those locks were shimmering against a very pretty face.  She laughed again and took a few steps around the clerk, a smile still affixed to her lovely countenance.  She was glancing up at Larpenteur, and Eagle Heart experienced a startling reaction: he forgot to breathe.  She was that beautiful.

Her figure was slim and small, her profile showing off a perfect nose that turned up slightly at the end.  Her eyelashes were long and brown, and her eyes were a brilliant color of green.  Her cheeks were rosy, and her full lips were still smiling.  The brown color of her hair, with gold intertwined, was of a shade he had never before seen on a woman until this moment, and the length of it fell down her back in luscious curls.  And, he saw not a single hair on her face.

Eagle Heart tried to breathe in.  He couldn’t.  She had literally stolen his breath away.

At this moment, he couldn’t force himself to look elsewhere, and he felt as awkward as a young boy who was besotted by a girl.  It was, however, impolite to stare, so Eagle Heart at last glanced away from her, only to return his gaze upon her when he heard her say, “Mr. Larpenteur, how good of you to write down all of your transactions.  It is to be regretted, however, that I cannot read your handwriting.”  She grinned up at the man.

And, Eagle Heart experienced the sensation of his stomach dropping, as though there lived both moths and small butterflies within it.  Of course, he had no idea what she’d said, for she didn’t speak the same language as he.  All he knew was her voice sounded as engaging as the song of the meadow lark.

“Ohpo’kiiyoo!  Follow!”  Gray Falcon nudged him in the ribs.  “I am leaving here.  Okí!  Come on, let us go.”

“Saa, I do not wish to leave from here yet.”  From his peripheral vision, he saw Gray Falcon frown at him.

“I admit she is pretty,” said Gray Falcon.  “Still, I do not understand how a white man’s seed can make a woman to be so comely.  But, it is so, is it not?”

“Áa, it is so.”

Within a moment, another man, a tall, dark-haired fellow with a mustache that curled at its ends, stepped out from the adjacent room behind the counter.  He put his arms around the woman’s waist, and she didn’t admonish him, as Eagle Heart thought she should since this was a public place.  Instead, she laughed softly and turned into the man’s embrace.

She must be married to the man.

Eagle Heart couldn’t fully understand the feeling that swept over him, for his spirits plummeted.  It was odd, because whether she was married to the curly-mustached man or not, it was nothing to him.  She was beautiful, yes, but she was also married, as any fine-looking woman should be.

“It is told to me that she is not yet married to this man who holds her,” said Gray Falcon as though reading his friend’s thoughts.  “Although it is also said they are soon to be married.  I think the man uses her, for he should not be keeping her so closely to him if they are not married…and before all eyes to see.”

“It is so, my friend,” Eagle Heart responded.  “Yet, the whites are a strange people, and we do not yet know their ways.  Perhaps a white man is permitted to hold her, even if they be not married.  But still, he should not do this in front of others in case her reputation will be soiled.  Okí, come, let us leave.  I must ask the white men in this fort if they have any knowledge about where my brother might have gone, for I would be on my way.”

Gray Falcon simply nodded, and the two friends quietly left the trading room.

---

Laylah McIntosh watched as two young Indian gentleman stood away from the wall in front of her and, turning, left the room.  She wasn’t certain what it was about them that caught her eye, for there were many Indian men here.  Perhaps it was the elegant manner in which the two of them were attired, for their buckskin clothing was bleached a startling white, and, set off as it was with the contrast of their black hair, their dress alone looked as elegant as any man’s might, white or Indian.

Or perhaps it was the muffled sound of their footfalls that brought her attention to them, for they made little sound as they crossed the room.  With no boots to announce their departure, their footfalls were almost silent.  They were both tall, also; their shoulders were squared back and their steps seemed oddly graceful.

“Mr. Larpenteur,” asked Laylah softly.  “What tribe of Indians are those two men?  The ones wearing white?”  She nodded toward them.

“Dey be Pieds Noirs, Mademoiselle.”

“Pieds Noirs?  Do you know the English name for the tribe?”

“De Blackfeet, Mademoiselle.”

“The Blackfeet?  The Tigers of the Plains?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

“How strange they should be so well dressed,” she said.  “I have heard the Blackfeet guard their land well and will kill any white man they find in their territory.  It seems rather savage, and yet, to look at them…they seem almost stately.”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.  De Blackfeet look so, but rob…I am rob by the Pieds Noirs too much!  De Pieds Noirs wild.  Eet has been so since Monsieur Lewis and Monsieur Clark kilt a man of de Pieds Noirs, de Blackfoot Injin.”

“It is good you have told me about them.  I shall do all I can to keep them distant from me, and shall make a mental note to never go into their country.”

“Indeed, you shall not,” agreed Thomas Sutter, who was Laylah’s fiancé.  He placed his arm around her waist and drew her in close to his chest.  “Instead,” he continued, “we shall return to St. Louis as soon as your visit to this land is finished.  And, once there, we shall marry.  Where would you like to live, m’dear.  Here?  Or in St. Louie?”

“I am uncertain, yet, as you know.  I love my home in St. Louis, but there is some undefined aspect about this land that causes me to feel peaceful, as though this is my home.”  She sighed.  “But, we don’t have to decide now, do we?  After all, we have yet to explore the woods and plains in the country.  Indeed, if the intriguing scent of the autumn leaves and the atmosphere in this country is a sample of the beauty to be found here, I admit to being captivated by it.”  Stepping out of his embrace, she chanced to give Thomas a flirty smile from over her shoulder as she laughed up at him.  “Excuse me, Thomas, for I must put my attention on business.  My father has asked me to look over the business transactions we’ve had today.  As you know, I have an affinity for numbers and often help him with his accounting.”

“Shall I assist you with it?”

“Only if you please.  This will take me but a moment.”  She scanned down the transactions that had occurred so far for the day, committing each sale to memory so she might recount them later to her father.

As the daughter of Robert McIntosh—one of Fort Union’s partners—she had unconsciously made herself into a business asset when her father had discovered she could memorize a page of numbers quickly and remember them again at will.  And so, according to her father, her talents were to be kept within the family of traders, thus her upcoming marriage to Thomas, who, though a young man, was already a junior partner in this business.  Of course his family had helped obtain his status, for they had financed this fort in part, as well as the trading post, Fort William.

Although one could argue her upcoming marriage was one of convenience, she believed this was not entirely true.  She had fallen under Thomas’ spell almost from the first moment she’d met him.  His fine manners and his tall, good looks had combined to urge her to say “yes” to his proposal of marriage.  That her father had encouraged her to wed Thomas had also swayed her decision, for the marriage would tie their families financially.

Her mother had been silent concerning her daughter’s upcoming marriage.  True, she had shown no negative emotions, though there had been no positive encouragement, either.

Her younger sister, Amelia, was, of course, excited about the upcoming marriage.  But, Amelia was young and her nature tended to be naïve at best, and, in truth, she was prone to question very little in life.

Laylah sighed, thinking back to the two young Blackfoot men.  Untamed they might be, but it had been a crowning feather in her father’s cap that he had convinced the Blackfeet to come to Fort Union to trade; especially since the Blackfeet held the reputation for being the most feared tribe of Indians on the plains.  Of course, the Blackfoot men had objected at first, for they hadn’t wished to make the long journey to Fort Union.  Yet, here they were.

She frowned.  It was hard not to notice the two Blackfoot men, since both were young and handsome in an exotic and uncultivated way.  But, she put thoughts about them from her mind.  Good-looking though they might be, they were still Indian, and, therefore, dangerous.

Besides, she would never see them again.  On this thought, she put her speculations to rest and, having committed the page of numbers to memory, turned around to hug her fiancé.

---

Eagle Heart despaired of ever coming to know what had happened to his brother.  No one at the fort seemed to remember seeing a man who looked much like Eagle Heart, himself.  Yet, he couldn’t be certain what these people said, since it was almost impossible to communicate to the whites.  Why no one at this fort had learned the language used everywhere on the plains—the language of gestures—was a mystery.

He wished he could make inquiries of the other Indians at the fort, for they were familiar with the gesture language.  But, he couldn’t.  These other Indians—the Crows and Assiniboines—were his traditional enemies.  Not that he was afraid of them.  It was simply that, being enemies, they were honor-bound to lie to him.

Somehow he would have to make himself understood by these white men.  There was no other way.

So, it was to this end, he stepped into the room used for trade.  It was a sunshiny day on this month of “the leaves falling,” and, while a part of him hoped She-steals-my-breath, the beautiful white woman, might be present, another part of him dismissed her from his thoughts.  She could mean nothing to him.  With a force of will, he put her out of his mind.

Yet, as he stepped up to the trading counter, he saw that she stood on the white man’s side of the table.  Looking up, she stared straight at him, and, though it was forbidden for a Blackfoot woman to face him so boldly, he was yet reminded how beautiful a pair of green eyes could be….

---

“Mr. Larpenteur, I believe he is asking you for information about either his friend or his brother.  I’m not certain which it is.”

The trader frowned down at her.  However, she didn’t flinch.  “How do you know dees, Mademoiselle?”

“My father,” she said, glancing downward, “hired an older Indian gentleman from one of the Eastern tribes to instruct both me and my younger sister on this language of gestures.  He insisted on our learning it before we were allowed to make this trip into the North Country.  He said if anything bad ever happened to us, we would at least be able to make ourselves understood.  Shall I ask this man what it is he is seeking?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

She nodded and, inhaling deeply, brought her right hand up to ask the Indian, “Question, who is it you are seeking?”

“Halt!” he said in gestures, bringing his right hand up, instead of down, for emphasis.  “I do not speak to women.”  He added a frown and looked so sternly at her, she felt faint in reaction.

But, she didn’t faint.  Instead, she gulped and, looking down and away from him, signed, “No one here speaks the language of gestures.  If you wish to be understood you will have to communicate to either me or my younger sister.  If you prefer to talk to my sister, I will fetch her.”

She chanced a quick glance up at this man who towered over her.  Why, he must be over six feet tall.  He was also outrageously handsome in a wild sort of way: black, straight hair, which was decorated with a single feather hung from a braid on the right side of his face; it was his only hair ornament.  He had pulled a portion of his bangs forward and had cut them so a part of them fell down over the center of his forehead, as seemed to be the custom in this untamed land.

He still wore the handsome, white clothing she had seen him wear a few days previously, and up close she could see and admire the blue, white and yellow circle sewn onto his shirt.  It was placed in the middle of the buckskin clothing, was level with his chest and looked to be made of porcupine quills, as well as beads.  Rows of colorfully sewn porcupine quills of the same colors decorated the outer portion of his sleeves, while white fringe, situated next to the porcupine quills, draped from those same sleeves.  She noted that some of the fringe was also composed of black hair.  She shivered to think of the reason why this kind of hair ornamented his shirt.

Fierce though he might be, there was an unknown quality about him that drew her to him.  His eyes were black, his nose straight and slightly aquiline, but not overly so.  His lips were full, and the color of his skin was tan, not red, though there might have been a slight tint of red running beneath the outer layer of his skin.  He wore no paint as did most of the Indians here at the post.  This observation eased her nerves a little, for she had heard it said that the Indians painted themselves only when going to war.

Still, she shivered at the thought of any man having to go to war with an Indian like this.

But, he was answering her question, and she gave his hand gestures her full attention.  He said, “I see I have startled you.  There is no threat or insult meant to you; rather, a man should not speak to a woman who is not his wife.  To do so abuses her standing with her people and can cause a man’s woman to be jealous, also.”

“You are married, then?” Laylah signed, then gulped and looked away from him.  Why had she asked him this?

But, he seemed unoffended and was responding to the question.  “I am not,” he stated by means of the gestures.  “But, I believe you are.”

She shook her head and signed, “I am not yet married but am soon to be.”

He nodded, then signed, “If you do not object to the possible harm speaking to me might bring to your reputation, I do have questions no one has been able to answer.  Do you object?”

She shook her head, “No.”

“This is good.  I am seeking my brother,” he signed.  “He looks much as I do, but is older than I.  He came here a few months ago with a party seeking trade.  The others returned home, but my brother was not with them, and none of them knew what had happened to him.  My family worries about him.  Besides trade, it is why I am here.  He was last seen at this post.”

“What is his name?” she signed.

“Chases-the-enemy.”

She nodded, then asked Larpenteur, “Sir, do you know a Blackfoot man called Chases-the-enemy?”

“ Oui, Mademoiselle.  He ees Blackfoot chief.”

“Chases-the-enemy is this gentleman’s brother, and he is trying to discover what has happened to his kin.  People from his tribe say he was last seen here.  Do you know any stories concerning him that might indicate where he could have gone or why he didn’t return home with the rest of his party?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.  Der be here a Crow girl from de West called Little Dove.  He stole her.  He is to be gone…with Crow girl.  Her family very much…angry.  Go after.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

Laylah nodded.  Then, turning toward the Blackfoot gentleman, said aloud, “Mr. Larpenteur”—she pointed to the clerk then continued in sign—”says your brother stole Little Dove, a Crow girl, and left.  Her family went after him.”

He nodded.  “When?” he signed.

Laylah turned to Larpenteur.  “When did this take place?”

“I am to tell you, Mademoiselle, eet be five month.  Maybe he captured.”

“This happened about five months ago,” she signed.  “Mr. Larpenteur”—she pointed again to the clerk—”says your brother and the girl might have been captured.”

With his hands flat and extended outward, he sent them forward and toward her in a sweeping motion, effectively saying, “Thank you.”

She nodded, then signed, “What are you called?  My name is Laylah.”  She spoke her name aloud.

But, he didn’t answer.  Instead, he reached upward to the feather in his hair, loosened it, put it in his palm and extended it toward her.  When she reached out to take it from him, he closed his other hand over hers, and, when she gazed up at him, he nodded and gave her the understanding the feather was now hers.

Then he smiled at her and said, “Nitsíniiyi’taki, Aakíí-ikamo’si-niistówa-siitámssin,” and Laylah thought the earth might have moved beneath her feet.  She didn’t know what to do.

The timbre of his voice was low, baritone, pleasant, and it, added to his touch, affected her oddly.  Her entire body was shivering, but whether from fear or a reaction to his words, his touch or his voice, she didn’t know.

She did, however, accept the feather.  Moreover, she thought she might come to treasure it.  Always, it might remind her of a handsome Blackfoot warrior who had once shown her kindness.

---

She is beautiful in both body and spirit.

She hadn’t wanted to speak to him.  Everything about her had told him she was afraid of him.  And yet, despite her reluctance, she had spoken to him in the language of gestures.

He had been impressed with her beauty from the first, and now he was captivated by her courage as well as her knowledge of the gesture language.  It was to be regretted that soon she was to be married.  But, at least he had been able to give her a part of him by extending the feather to her.  And, she had taken it from him.  He could hope that maybe she would not forget him.

He thought back to what he now knew: his brother had found himself a Crow woman and had stolen her.  Had his enemies found him?  Not likely, since his brother was a scout, as well as a chief, and could hide in a way that would not allow another to discover him…unless he wished it to be.

But, if his brother were well, the silent and distant communication between them would not be so irregular.  Because of this, he knew something was wrong.  But, what?

He was going to have to talk to She-steals-my-breath once again and ask if she might inquire about who the Crow girl was.  He did not wish the white woman to speak to the Crow people about this, however—there could be danger for her in doing so.  But, there would be no harm in asking her to make inquiries of other white people.  Someone might know who the girl was and might even have more information.

Perhaps tomorrow, he would seek her out again.  He was surprised by the instant pleasure that washed over him at the thought.  And, even reminding himself that she was soon to be married didn’t cause the pleasure to dim.

---

She was surprisingly taken by the manners of the Indian gentleman.  He had been firm in his questions to her, yet had also been kind, being considerate about her reluctance to speak with him.  He had shown her respect, as well as sensitivity to her situation by giving her the option to withdraw from speaking to him.  Further, once he had obtained the information he had sought, he’d given her an eagle’s feather.  She knew enough about the tribes to realize the gift was bestowed in appreciation.  But, there was more: it had come from his heart.  His hand over hers had symbolized this.  And, the gift had, indeed, touched her.

Oddly, her hand still remembered the feel of his touch.  She placed her fingers to her face, imagining her fingers were his and were smoothing over her skin.

No!  She dropped both of her hands.

What was wrong with her?  Perhaps he was simply too handsome and too…charismatic.  Never had she ever imagined she would react to an Indian man in such a way.

Instead, she had expected the natives to be dressed in cavemen-like fashion: in repulsive skins and furs, with gaudy feathers, tattoos and ornaments covering every inch of their bodies.  Never had she thought to admire an American Indian’s dress nor his manners.  Moreover, besides the obvious beauty of his people’s clothing, she had never expected to see a gleam of intelligence behind the Indian man’s dark eyes.

She sighed, realizing she was thinking about this Blackfoot Indian much too greatly.  It was a useless mental exercise, for it was unlikely she would ever see him again, which was as it should be.  She reminded herself she was soon to be married.

But, her encounter with the Blackfoot man did cause her to ask questions of herself: was it wise to marry Thomas when his touch did not affect her in an emotional, passionate way? A man who did not make her tremble in anticipation?

The thought was troubling because she had felt a spark between herself and this Blackfoot man.  But, surely her reaction was not a flicker of pleasure; probably, it was fear.

He will be gone tomorrow, and I will never see him again.  And, this is very good!

 

 

The photo to your left is a photo taken toward the end of the 19th century (sometime in the 1890’s, I believe).  It is a photo of Black Bull on the left and Chief Stabs-by-Mistake on the right, overlooking what is now known as a section of Glacier National Park.

I love this photograph.  I believe it was taken by author and Blackfeet by marriage, James Willard Schultz.

I’d love to hear from you.  Please do come on in and leave me your thoughts on this photo, on the cover and also the excerpt or anything else you’d like to say or add.