Elizabeth Lane

A couple of weeks ago, I was watching a news feature on TV.  The reporter tracked a “typical” well-off American family to see how much food they wasted in a single month.  By the end of the month they were astonished to learn that they’d thrown out $500 worth.

My grandma would have been horrified!

Grandma Hannah, who passed away in 1962, was the daughter of a pioneer farm family scratching out a living in dry, gravelly Southern Utah.  She learned early how to make a little go a long way.

I knew her well.  During World War II, while my dad was in the Navy, my mom, my baby sister and I moved in with Grandma and Grandpa.  Since Mom’s  younger brother and his new bride were also living there, they had a houseful.  Grandpa was a carpenter and part-time farmer.   Grandma kept house and tended us two little girls while Mom taught school to help make ends

meet.

One of my favorite treats was something called jelly punch.  When Grandma got to the bottom of a glass jelly jar and couldn’t scrape any more out, she’d add some water, dissolve the traces of jelly in it, and give it to me to drink.  I loved it.  She also made me

something called pearl tea, which was nothing more than hot water, sugar and milk.   Peppermint tea came from the mint that grew along the ditch banks in our little town—as did asparagus and rhubarb, which we picked wild.

Grandma had one of those big black coal-burning cook stoves, and  she took a lot of pride in keeping it shiny.  Back then, bread wrappers were made of oiled paper.  Grandma would use those wrappers to polish her warm stove until it gleamed.  And she would save every scrap of stale bread to make bread pudding.  These days they serve bread pudding in fancy restaurants, but I have yet to taste any as wonderful as Grandma’s.

When our clothes wore out beyond mending, we gave them to Grandma.  She would cut them up for quilt pieces or tear them into strips for weaving the beautiful, durable rag rugs she sent up to the Pioneer Handicraft store in Salt Lake City, her only source of income.

The quilt I sleep under now was pieced by Grandma and quilted years later by my mother (the photo shows a similar one).  Every little piece of fabric is a memory of a happy childhood and a woman whose loving hands and thrifty ways I will never forget.

How about you?  Do you have any comments about today’s throw-away society?  Do you know someone like my Grandma who lived by the old adage, “Fix it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without?”

There’s something about twins—or unrelated people who look alike—that captures the imagination, especially in stories.    Think of the classic stories—The Prince and the Pauper, The Man In the Iron Mask,  A Tale of Two Cities.  We could brainstorm a long list.

My first literary encounter with twins was probably “The Bobbsey Twins” series by Laura Lee Hope (actually a pseudonym for a string of writers).  Anyone who can remember, Bert and Nan, Freddie and Flossie as well as I do has been around the block a few times.

My new Harlequin Desire story is about twin brothers, but only one is living.  Jordan is tormented with guilt over his brother Justin’s death in a plane crash.  When he finds out his brother left a son, he is determined to take the little boy in and raise him.  But Angie, Justin’s former fiancée, has other ideas.  Angie has raised her son with pictures and stories about his father, and Lucas understands that his daddy is in heaven.  But she wants nothing to do with Justin’s family, who treated her badly.  This excerpt describes what happens when Jordan shows up at Angie’s apartment for the first time.

“Where’s the boy, Angie?  Where’s Lucas?”

“You have no right to ask!”  She was on guard now, a tigress ready to strike in defense of her cub.  “Lucas is my son.  My son!”

“And my brother’s son.  I have a copy of the birth certificate.  You listed Justin as the father.  I’m assuming that’s the truth.”

Something crumbled inside her.  “I did that for Lucas, so he’d know.  But Justin…”  She gulped back a surge of emotion.  “He never even knew I was pregnant.  I was going to tell him when he came home for my birthday.”

“So you were never married.  Not even secretly.”

“No.  You needn’t worry on that account, Jordan.  I have no claim on your family’s precious money, or anything else.  So go away and leave us alone.”

She studied his face for some sign that her words had made an impact.  But his expression could have been chiseled in basalt.

“You might have told us,” he said.  “It would’ve meant a lot to my parents, knowing Justin had left a child.”

“Your parents hated me!  How could I expose my innocent baby to those ugly feelings?” 

“I want to see the boy.”

No!  Angie’s heart slammed.  She’d had no warning, no time to prepare Lucas for this.

“I don’t think—” she began.  But it was too late.  She heard the opening of the bedroom door and the cautious tread of small sneakers.  Evidently, Lucas had grown tired of waiting and decided to check things out for himself.

Short of lunging for her son, there was little Angie could do.  She watched in mute horror as Lucas emerged from the hallway and caught sight of their visitor.

His brown eyes opened wide.  Then his face lit with joyous wonder.  “Daddy!” he cried, racing across the room.  “Daddy, you came back!”

* * * * *

Here”s a snippet from a lovely review by Romance Junkies:

“Filled with witty repartee, complex characters, an intriguing plot, family dynamics, secrets, guilt, forgiveness, true love, second chances and a truly

emotional ending, this story is sure to steal your heart. It is one that you will remember long after the last page is read and the book is closed.”

You can learn more and find a purchase link on my web site.

Do you have any twins in your family?  What is your favorite “Twin” story?

The winner of IN HIS BROTHER’S PLACE is CONNIE J!  Connie, please send your snail mail to me at elizlane123@msn.com, and I’ll get that book right out.

Between the readers and Fillies who commented, and a little rounding up, I’ll be sending $15 to Have a Heart Humane Society.  Thanks for your support and your heartwarming stories.

The wild horse, roaming free, has long been a symbol of the American West.  But unlike the buffalo, wolves, bears and other majestic animals, wild horses, or Mustangs, by scientific definition, are neither American nor wild.

Until about 500 years ago there were no known horses on the American continents.  Then, in 1519, Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés landed on the shore of Mexico with a ragtag army of fortune hunters.  They brought guns, armor, some horrific diseases, and something that would change America forever—horses.  The native Indians were terrified of the huge beasts.  At first they thought mounted man and horse were one creature.  Only as the conquest progressed did they discover that horses were separate animals, and that they could be killed.

As the Spaniards settled Mexico and moved northward, horses escaped, multiplied and found a new home on the vast North American grasslands.  This was where our Native American tribes found them.

Imagine what those first encounters must have been like—the discovery that a human could climb onto a horse and ride like the wind, hunting, raiding and defeating enemies.  Had someone seen Spaniards riding horses, or did the Indians figure this out for themselves?  The answer is lost to history.  But horses became valuable possessions and the measure of a man’s wealth.  The tribes with horses—the Cheyenne, the Sioux and others, became the lords of the plains.  Only the arrival of European settlers put an end to their power.

These settlers from the East also discovered the wild Mustangs.  They put them to use, running them into corrals to rope, brand and break.  Horses too spirited to ride became bucking broncos.  These captives made possible the settlement of the West and the great cattle drives.  They helped create the legendary figure of the American cowboy.

Still, some wild herds remained free, as they do today.  Pushed from the prairie, they survive in the harsh mountains and deserts of the West, enduring drought, fierce winters, and the mountain lions that prey on their foals.  But their main enemy is man.  In the spirit of keeping down their numbers for the sake of the environment, wild horses are chased by planes and helicopters into corrals, where they’re put up for sale or adoption.  The lucky ones are set free to roam until the next roundup.  But their future is uncertain.  Some people want to protect them, others to eliminate them from the land.  Whatever their fate, the wild horse will remain a symbol of the free American spirit.

If you like wild horses, you’ll enjoy this book—a Holt Medallion finalist and winner of the 2006 Cataromance Reviewer’s Choice award.   Here’s a blurb and an Amazon Kindle purchase link.

Was she only guilty of stealing his heart? When his young prisoner dies during a botched escape attempt, U.S. Deputy Marshal Matthew Tolliver Langtry knows he’s in for trouble—in the form of Jessie Hammond, the young man’s fiery sister. Even as he finds himself falling for her, Matt must deal with his growing suspicion that Jessie, not her brother Frank, was the one who
should have been arrested for murder.
Jessie Hammond will do anything to prove her brother’s innocence, That includes joining forces with Marshal Matt Langtry, the man she blames for Frank’s death. But how far can she trust Matt when his own reputation is on the line? And how can she find peace in the arms of a man she has every reason to hate?

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/175-4941357-3075844?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Wyoming+Wildfire%2C+Elizabeth+Lane

Have you ever seen wild horses?  Do you know anyone who’s adopted them?  How do you think their future should be managed?

Whether in a parade, a show ring or a Western movie, the palomino horse is a superstar. With its golden coat and creamy white mane and tail, palominos possess a near-magical beauty, all the more magical because the way it comes about is a genetic toss of the coin—a lucky accident.

The palomino isn’t a breed, it’s a color—a color as rare and precious as gold itself. The true palomino color is caused by a single color-diluting gene, usually working on a chestnut (red) coat. But the gene is rare and elusive. Even two palomino parents may not produce golden foals.

The color-diluting gene works on other colors, too. For example, on a bay coat, the gene will produce a buckskin, with a golden body but a black mane and tail. A double gene will produce a very pale horse, not a palomino at all.

I’ve simplified the explanation here. The reality is so complicated that breeding palomino horses is like throwing dice in Las Vegas. If some breeder ever finds a golden stallion that will always sire golden colts, then the palomino will become a breed instead of a color. Meanwhile, breeders wait with high hopes for foals to be born. Only about half of the expected palominos will turn out to be the real thing.

Palominos may appear by surprise among breeds like American Saddle Horses, Tennessee Walkers and Quarter horses. This accounts for the fact that palominos have been around for hundreds of years, long before the gene was known. They came to America by way of Spain (as did the ancestors of our wild horses).

A California rancher named Don Esteban is credited with owning the first known palomino in America. In 1800, as the story goes, he offered a reward for the most beautiful horse in the country. His peons looked at horses, but the ones they saw were covered with dust and mud. A little Indian boy saw a glint of gold. He captured the colt, washed it clean and presented it to Don Esteban for the reward. In the Mexican version of the story, Indians stole a pure white stallion and a buckskin mare from a hacienda. A year later the mare escaped and returned to her owner with a little golden filly.

Whatever the real story, palominos continue to be show-stoppers, and their golden color is a true treasure.

The hero in my January Desire does ride a palomino—but I really wanted an excuse to show you my new cover, which I love. The book isn’t available yet but can be pre-ordered on Amazon.

Here’s a link to more, along with an excerpt.
http://www.elizabethlaneauthor.com/inhisbrothersplace.htm

I can’t claim to be a horse expert. But if you can add to the information here, or if you’re a fan of palominos, we’d love to hear from you.