Yes, I have a new historical romance coming soon. This is book #6 in the Medicine Man Series. It’s still in editing at the moment, but I heard from my editor today and she says she is almost done with the edits. When this happens, it means about 2-3 weeks for me to do the edits and to get them thoroughly proofed and then getting it published, which can take a few days as well. And, so I thought I’d put out a call for anyone who would like an ARC (Advance Reading Copy) of the book, These ARC’s are sent out most usually to readers would like to do reviews. It’s not necessary to do a review, of course, but this is most usually the reason an ARC is sent.
If you would like to have an Advanced Copy of the new Historical when it is released (or perhaps a little before), please let me know in the comments.
So, that said, I thought I’d give you an except of the new book. We’ll start with the blurb and then an excerpt from the very beginning of the story (the Prologue).
PROLOGUE
Northwest Indian Country
Territory of the Blackfeet
The Month When Geese Come (May) 1871
Máóhkataatoyi, Red Fox watched as Pokaa’aakíí (Poka’aki), Child Woman, or as the white’s called her, Briella Fehér, raised her hand and shouted, “Watch me take down this buffalo calf with one shot!”
“Saa! Wait! Do not shoot! There are—”
BLAST!
It was too late! The damage was done. Hadn’t Poka’aki seen the buffalo herd hidden in the shallow, plain-like valley below?
And now the buffalo, having heard the shot, would assume hunters were close-by; it would cause them to stampede. But, perhaps their direction might be to run along the valley rather than to climb the hill and…
As Red Fox heard the unmistakable thunder of hundreds or perhaps thousands of the buffalo’s hooves coming closer and closer to him, he knew the stark reality of what this was: a stampede on its way—toward him and Poka’aki.
There is, perhaps, nothing more terrifying to the heart of a man than the sound of snapping wood, the whooshing of shrubs and bushes, as well as the quaking and ratting of the ground beneath one as the tremendous force and speed of a stampeding herd of buffalo was on the run.
Even now the air carried the dirt and rocks kicked high into the air by those buffalos’ hooves. With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew the herd would be here before Poka’aki had time to get out of the way, and, if she didn’t move fast enough, they would trample her to death.
“Get out of here!” he shouted and waved at her. “Quick! Leave here! Go! Fast!”
But he knew his words were useless. All sound was blocked except the thunder of the stampede.
In a time quicker than it takes to think it, Red Fox knew that George, who was Poka’aki’s brother as well as his own almost-brother, was too far away to come to Briella’s rescue. George had left their hunting party early in the morning, his intention being to return to the tribe and report this enormous herd of buffalo to the chiefs, letting them decide if they would call a tribal hunt of the buffalo or secure a buffalo caller to send the herd, one and all, over the cliff of the pisskan, the buffalo jump.
Inwardly, he cringed. Because of his and Poki’aki’s actions here today, the stampede would interfere with the tribe’s ability to obtain enough food for winter storage, if only because a stampeding herd of buffalo could run through the day and into the night, taking the vast supply of food completely out of Blackfoot territory.
This was why, when a large mass of buffalo had been spotted, the chiefs banned all hunting until the tribe’s men could, as a single body, hunt the game.
On this very day, the chiefs had sent both himself and George—two scouts—out from the camp to look for buffalo. No one in the tribe yet knew this large herd was even here. And yet, it would soon be gone.
The thunderous, ground shaking roar of the stampede caused all further thought to cease. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Red Fox caught sight of the black, horned creatures coming into sight and directly at him. Just then, his horse reared as a wave of the black, hairy beasts encompassed him and his mount, and pushed him and his pony in alongside of them.
With a quick action, Red Fox brought his pony under control. There was no running from them now, and, within the batting of an eye, Red Fox and his mount were caught up in the stampede…but he was on the other side of the herd from Poka’aki.
Because the sharp-horned cows enveloped him and crowded in on every side him, his pony was forced to keep time with the stampede; Red Fox spared a glance behind him to see blackened masses of the animals to the rear of him, seeming as though they were without end. There was to be no retreat from them.
Once more, he looked toward Poka’aki, seeing she was caught up within the herd, as was he. He had to save her—but how?
He was on the complete opposite side of the solid mass of charging buffalo. He knew well that even the best of horses could not last for long within a fleeing herd of these animals; the buffalo’s lungs were large and strong and the muscles in their legs were sturdy, allowing them to run both day and night without ever stopping.
But, not so a horse. Even the best buffalo horse could not long keep up with a running buffalo herd; instead, a good pony was trained to take his master toward a buffalo, allowing the man to grab quick shot and then to retreat, carrying himself and his rider to the side of the terrorized animals.
Glancing at Poka’aki on his left and across a field of the terror-stricken and plunging buffalo, he took stock of her horse…a three-year-old mare not trained to a buffalo run. Her horse wouldn’t last longer than a breath. Worse, Red Fox could see she had lost control of the reins, causing her to cling to the pony’s mane, the reins being dragged behind, which could be stepped on by a buffalo…
All Indian hunters know that the only way to remain alive in a buffalo stampede is to gradually guide one’s horse to the edge of the stampede and then leave the massive push of the herd. But without reins? How was she to guide her horse?
With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew Poka’aki ‘s chances of surviving the stampede were all but impossible.
But, she must survive! She must! She, the girl he had loved for so many years!
He had to get to her! Her horse would soon become tired and would be overrun by the sharp hooves of the buffalo pushing in on her from behind, trampling them both into the ground.
His one chance to save her was to guide his horse toward hers and then lead them both to the side. And, this he would do; this he must do.
In a moment out of time, he devised a plan. He knew that the buffalo do not see well; they follow the leading cow in front of them, creating little paths within the stampede.
Poka’aki was slightly ahead of him, and he counted three rows of the buffalo between himself and Poka’aki. All he had to do was to kill the buffalo on his left and take its place in the path behind the cow ahead. Over and over he would do this until her pony was on his left. Reaching down to pull his rifle from its case, he found the container empty.
Empty? Without a gun to clear each pathway to his left, how was he to get to her? Quickly, he reached behind him, his hand lingering for a moment over his bow and arrows. With the gun having taken the place of the bow and arrow for most Pikuni men, the quiver with bow and arrows was seldom worn anymore. However, today he had placed both upon his back, thinking to kill an animal quietly with the bow and arrow rather than announce where he was by the boom of a gun.
Pulling the bow from its quiver, as well as many arrows, he placed all but one arrow into his mouth, and, holding them with his teeth, he fitted the first arrow to his bow. He took aim.
Whish! The arrow went down well below the ribs, straight to the heart of the buffalo. The animal made only one more jump before it went down. With his knees, Rex Fox guided his pony into the downed buffalo’s place. He did the same with the next buffalo, taking its place.
Only one more row of the bulls and cows and he would be next to her. But, her horse was now plunging about madly, making it difficult for Poka’aki to stay her seat.
But, what was this? What was wrong with her saddle?
How could it have come loose? And yet, with another plunge, her saddle flew back onto the rear of her pony. Worse, she had lost her grip on the animal’s mane and was desperately holding onto the horses neck. All it would take was one more jump, and Poka’aki would fall from her horse and be trampled.
His heart stopped for a moment. But, he was only one pathway and a jump away from her horse. Quickly taking aim with another arrow, he shot at the buffalo closest to him right behind the ribs to the heart of the beast, and, as the buffalo went down, Red Fox and his pony took its place. Then, by whacking his bow on his horse’s flanks, he came to be even with Poka’aki. She was falling off her horse!
Reaching out to his left, he caught her by the waist and pulled her up onto his own mount, laying her crosswise in front of him.
Because the sharp horns of the buffalo were closing in around him again, he didn’t have a moment to set her up straight. Indeed, he knew his horse, with its double load could not long keep pace with the frightened buffalo, especially since Red Fox sensed his pony was winded. However, using his bow, he kept the animal in step with the buffalo, despite his pony fighting for breath. Then, taking up his bow again, he positioned another arrow to his bow, took aim and felled the buffalo to his left.
He did the same with his remaining arrow, and then all his arrows were gone. All he could do now was to force his horse into the remaining two rows of buffalo to his left, one at a time. Saying a prayer beneath his breath, he forced his pony into the next pathway of buffalo.
Only one more row of the stampeding herd remained, but his pony was clever and worked his way to the side again and into the pathway to the left. And then Red Fox steered his pony to the left again.
Free! At last, we are free!
Red Fox turned his mount again to the left, putting some distance between Poka’aki, himself and his pony from the stampeding buffalo. He reined his horse to a stop beneath a quivering pine. Jumping to the ground, Red Fox pulled Poka’aki off the pony, and when she would have collapsed in his arms, he held onto her tightly, pulling her closely against him.
He could feel her sobs at his shoulder, and he tightened his grip on her, saying in a low voice, “It is over. We are alive. We survive.”
She was crying and in between gasps, she whispered, “I would be dead now if not for you.”
He didn’t know what to answer in response, and so he said only, “Come, you can sit beneath this tree and recover your breath while I go to find your bother. We must report what we have found to our chiefs.”
“No! Do not let me go! I beg you, do not let me go!”
With her face against his shoulder and she standing so closely in his arms, all of his energy suddenly focused on her instead of their narrow escape from death. Indeed, all of his bent-up emotions and the joy of his success was centered upon her and only upon her. And for a moment, he thought he had not only escaped death this day, but he might have found the white man’s heaven, as well.
How long was it now that he had loved Poka’aki? All those years ago, when her brother, George, had asked him to tutor her in the ways of the plains, who could have predicted he would fall in love with the girl? Certainly, he hadn’t foreseen it.
But, he had, indeed, surrendered his heart to her. However, she was younger than he by seven winters. And so, he had waited for her to grow up before turning his mind toward the idea of approaching her father with many horses and asking for her hand in marriage.
And so, in all these years, he had held himself back from declaring himself to her. He knew she liked him well enough, but so beautiful was she, he was a little afraid of her: fearful, he was, of her possible rejection of him. Or worse, she might agree to marry him simply because they were friends.
Even now, breathing in the sweet, yet fragrant scent of her, he remained silent, doing little more than savoring the moment.
Leaning her head back a little, she looked up into his eyes and, in a whisper, declared, “I am to blame for this. I almost killed you and me, too. And I…and I… I love you, Red Fox. I do not wish to leave this world without you knowing how I feel about you. Indeed, I think I have loved you since the day you first came here to tutor me, although I didn’t know it then. Since I have known you, I have been of the opinion of you being the handsomest of men; you, with your black hair, always so neatly braided and your dark, mysterious eyes. Always, you have appeared before me dressed in your best buckskin clothing and, when there have been times you have had to take off your shirt, I…I…have wondered what it might feel like if you were to hold me, to press your lips against mine.
“But, you are older than I and much taller, too, and I have had to wait to grow up a little. But, I have always looked upon you with the idea in mind that one day you will come to love me. And, if I were to have been the cause of your death here today, I do not believe I would ever be able to forgive myself, not even in the hereafter.”
She loves me? All this time she has loved me? She has even desired my embrace?
This couldn’t be real. He swallowed hard, gulping.
“Do you not feel it, too?” Poka’aki asked, her voice breathless. “I have seen the looks you have given me sometimes in the evenings when we sit around the fire. Please tell me. I am not making this up, am I? It is not all one-sided, is it? Do you love me, too?”
Red Fox shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, slowly he bent his head to hers and touched his lips to hers. At their touch, every sense within him awoke to the splendor of her and his heart began beating as fast as it had been only moments ago when they had been swallowed up within the buffalo stampede.
Raising his head only slightly and inhaling deeply, he looked up into the heavens before bringing his lips down to hers yet again, and he kissed her once more, but deeply this time. His tongue opened her mouth to his persuasion, and thereupon, he proceeded to love her with his kisses, one after another, as though he were a hungry man and she were the only sweet thing that could satisfy him.
She kissed him back and as she did so, the world around him seemed to come alive. Indeed, the sun, shining down upon his shoulders, felt warmer. The wind seemed to join in with the sun in a kindlier fashion as it whirled around them, sharing its cooler temperature with them. Truly, it felt to him as though the life force of the earth and all of His creatures were as happy as he.
Bringing his head down toward hers, he touched his lips to hers yet again.
Áa! Magic! It was as though they had been waiting longer than mere years for this one, precious moment to declare themselves to one another.
How splendid it would be to make her his wife this day. If he were to do so, it would put to rest the very real possibility of her father denying her to him.
After all, it was her brother, George, who had included him as a tutor for her all those years ago…not her parents. In truth, it was with a critical eye her parents, József and Mária Fehér, had watched him teach her to shoot, to ride, to track and hunt game as well as any man. Added to this, for the past month, Poka’aki’s elder brother, Frederic,—who lived in a faraway, eastern part of the Americas—was now temporarily in residence here in Pikuni country. And, though Frederic had brought with him his wife and their child for the visit, Frederic held himself and his immediate family aloof from all things Pikuni.
Niitá’p, indeed, since Frederic’s arrival, Red Fox had noted a change within her father’s behavior toward all things Pikuni, too.
Needing to breathe, Red Fox broke off the kiss, listening to his…and her strained breath. Then, a little huskily, and with a silent air of doubt in her voice, she asked, “You do love me, don’t you?”
So enamored was he with her, his voice was shaking when he answered, “Of course I do. For many years I have loved you. And, if I loved you a little less than I do, I would make you my wife now under the eye of the Creator, thus letting the world around us be joyful along with us or condemn us.”
“Oh, yes. Please. I am ready to become your woman, your wife,” she whispered.
Once again, he shut his eyes as the throes of passion came over him. He was more than ready to cause them to marry. Did he dare?
Saa, no, he silently answered his own question; a good man would approach her father and ask for her hand in marriage. Besides, he did not wish to disrupt her family and his. After all, her other brother, George, was married to Red Fox’s sister.
Inwardly sighing, he realized it was true.
He swallowed, hard, bringing control over his impulses. No, this had to be done in the right way; it was his place to approach her father, bringing with him as many horses as he could gather together from his herd, since this was the traditional Pikuni way of asking for a woman to be his.
Moving his forehead down to hers, he said, “We will go to your father’s house tonight with many horses and I will ask your father to give you to me as my woman for all my life.”
She swooned in toward him, and said, “I will help you herd your horses my darling, handsome tutor. I am certain my father will say yes. After all, he speaks very highly of you and how you have patiently taught me how to survive on these plains.”
Red Fox, however, had his doubts about this. All he said, though, was, “Come with me as I go to the chiefs and report what has happened here. Then, together we will take all I can quickly find of my pony herd, excepting this animal who carried me to you this day. We will then ride to your father’s home and I will ask him to accept the horses I give him as he, likewise, gives you to me.”
“Yes,” she said, placing her arms around his neck and bringing his head down to hers once more. “Imagine. Soon I will be your wife.”
Laughing, she brought her lips up to his in a sweet, yet stirring kiss.
Ending the caress, Red Fox said, “Come, let us find your brother quickly and tell him our happy news. Then, we can all go to the chiefs and report what we have found concerning the buffalo herd. And, after we have made our report to our chiefs, we will seek out your father.”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Let us hurry!”
I have to confess that I panicked last year when my publisher Jane Porter asked me to move from River’s Edge, my little town on the Ohio River to Marietta, Montana. I mean, holy schnikeys! Except for flyovers and the very urban Bay Area of San Francisco to visit our kids, I’d never been west of Mississippi, and now I was supposed to write in the mountains of Montana? About cowboys? And rodeos and ranches? Yikes!
To be honest, the only things I had going for me as I headed into this new writing territory was a love of and experience with horses, the fact that I’d read a lot of Tule Publishing’s Montana Born books, and a deep respect for Jane and the team’s marketing expertise. They’d never steered me wrong yet, so I took a deep breath and dove in. I even took a trip to Big Sky, Montana, in July with my pal, mystery writer Carol Light, just to get a feel for the setting. Wow, was that ever grand!
He was a prince of California. One scandal made him an outcast.
When Clara Alexander returned from finishing school to Virginia City she had two goals: to become a reporter and make peace with the father who betrayed her mother. But even in the West, there is no room for her in the newsroom or in the family her father made when he married his mistress. Clara is forced to take desperate measures to prove her worth to an editor—including a reckless venture into a dangerous mine shaft.
Howdy!
well-to-do homes, it a was even earlier. However, the luxury was slow to arrive out west. In the more remote areas, homes didn’t rid themselves of the outdoor facilities until well into the 1900s. As a child (1950s), I remember one aunt who still used her outhouse. Believe me, for an eight-year-old, that pre-bedtime hike was both exciting and scary. Especially when you were being followed by an ornery turkey.
Earlier this month, I released Lost in Her Dreams as part of the Chasing a Dream Series. I set the story in Alaska at the time of the Klondike Gold Rush. My fact sheet was full for that one.
Confession? I don’t know any real cowboys. I’ve read about them in the novels that my fellow western romance authors write; I’ve watched myriad TV westerns both new and old and rodeo videos galore. We had horses for fifteen years, so I’ve met lots of horsemen, some may even have thought of themselves as cowboys, some sure acted as if they thought they were. But a cattle drive in Montana is very different from riding the horse trails in a state park in the Midwest.
But as I learned more and more about cowboys, I discovered that “alpha” didn’t really define the cowboy heroes I was reading about and watching. The swaggering stereotypical cowboy I’d always imagined was so far off the mark that I was actually shocked … and delighted. That quiet strength, that determination that I’d written into my beta winemakers, veterinarians, carpenters, college professors, and chefs were also hallmarks of the cowboy persona. When I created bronc rider Del Foster and rodeo cutting champion Bo Kennedy, those qualities—gentleness, intelligence, supportiveness, loyalty, steadiness, awareness of their own emotions as well as others—were all things my cowboys could be … and are.
The Cowboy’s Comeback
Hi! Nancy Fraser here! I’m so pleased to return to Petticoats & Pistols for another visit. Just last week, I uploaded my final book for 2025 and now I’m going to take a much needed few week’s off before I begin again working on 2026. Hard to believe we’ve almost reached another year-end, isn’t it?
Clothing styles are another fun search. The array of references out there is sometimes overwhelming (and not always accurate). Given I write mostly small-town settings with everyday characters, it’s hard to go wrong with a simple skirt and plain blouse, or a calico dress. Trousers (not jeans) for the men and a gray or off-white shirt. Jeans (specifically Levis) are okay if we’re into the mid to late 1870s. Even though plaid/flannel was created by the Welsh in the 17th century, the fabric didn’t become popular in the western U.S. until the late 19th century.
NANCY FRASER is a bestselling and award-winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.
carries with it a little echo of the time in which it was written — the mood I was in, the people I loved, the memories I wanted to hold on to. 
When I pull out all the Christmas books – mine and those of other authors’ I’ve come to love to read – and set them out on shelves, tables, and by my bedside, surrounded by twinkling lights and soft music, I am overcome with gratitude for the stories themselves, for the people who read them, and for the way writing them has deepened my love for this beautiful season.
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.
