Kit Morgan

Tracy, you’ve won a free e-copy of Miss Ellie Mae (The Brides of Fiddler’s Gap, Book 4)
Contact me at authorkitmorgan@gmail.com so I can get your e-book to you.

In my latest book, Miss Ellie Mae, (The Brides of Fiddler’s Gap, Book 4) I decided to have my heroine play the tuba. She’s petite, so handling a tuba is no mean feat. But she does it and my old west town full of musicians determined to build their orchestra (and marry off the bachelors) are very happy to have her!

When we hear the word tuba,  many think of a sousaphone, which is the instrument used in marching bands. Though it is also played in regular bands as well. Women playing brass instruments wasn’t the norm back in the day, and to see a ladies brass band was almost unheard of.

Even today, ladies brass bands are a rare phenomenon. However, there was a “golden era” for them in the late 1800s and early 1900s here in the USA.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon to have a few women  in brass bands, but they were still a minority. The male-dominated British brass bands didn’t see any major involvement from women until the 1950s. In contrast, women in USA brass bands were more prevalent and faced less discrimination.

The first female bands appeared in the 1850s and 1860s as part of family musical groups. Non-family female bands emerged in the 1870s, and were quickly embraced and accepted here in the United States. While some bands consisted solely of women, others had male directors or occasional male players. The skill of these women was as good or even better than the guys in the band, and were chosen for their skills rather than their appearance.

Some of these female bands were professional or semi-professional, performing on stage, touring with vaudeville troupes, or going off on concert tours around the country. Most, however, were local and provided entertainment services similar to those of male bands.

In my Brides of Fiddler’s Gap series, some of the brides come from well to do or wealthy families. This is because in the nineteenth century, part of every wealthy girl’s education included learning to play the piano and sing. As cities and the middle class grew, playing an instrument  became a standard of that class. Unfortunately, the musical instrument repertoire for  women was small. Women were often discouraged from playing orchestral instruments as they didn’t look lady-like or getting a good sound from the instrument required too much strength. The bassoon is the toughest instrument to play as far as lung power. The flute the second. Though women were allowed to play those. In the early 19th century stringed instruments, like the violin, were associated with the devil; therefore, respectable girls generally didn’t play them. Now that little nugget was a surprise to me!

Have you or a family member ever played an instrument? I’m giving away one free e-copy of Miss Ellie Mae (The Brides of Fiddler’s Gap, Book 4) to one lucky commenter. Here’s a little more about the book:

Ellie Mae Ruggles was horrified at the thought of an arranged marriage to the likes of Elmer Grant. How could her parents even think she’d be interested in the old codger? So, she took matters into her own hands and made a run for it. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision, but it was the only one she could come up with in the heat of the moment. Now here she was, in a nothing of a town called Fiddler’s Gap after seeing an advertisement for a mail-order bride. But now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure she’d done the right thing.

Cassius Herber was elated that someone had answered his advertisement for a virtuous woman who was also a virtuoso. He was the third man in town to get himself a mail-order bride. But his wasn’t too happy when she first arrived, and was also having second thoughts if his guess was right. How was he to win her? He wanted to court her a little first, but was that giving her too much of chance to change her mind and hightail back to where she came from? And wouldn’t you know, just as he’s making some progress, the unthinkable happens. Can Cassius win his bride and convince her to stay?

AMAZON

Kerahberah!
You’re my Winner!
You’ve won a free e-book copy of my new release Rescued by the Preacher
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In my newest release, my heroine is the daughter of a deceased lawman who was also a bounty hunter. In my story, he’s been a gun for hire, then a lawman, and then a bounty hunter. He was also a famous sharpshoot in the civil war. But you always stumble upon little tidbits after the book is done, and I happen to with this one. For one, bounty hunters in the old west didn’t all look like Randolph Scott. And two, my heroine’s father couldn’t have made a living as a bounty hunter unless he was really good at it.

 In fiction most bounty hunters are the rugged, independent (and handsome of course) men we see  romanticized in movies and books. But this didn’t exactly represent the majority of bounty hunters at the time. For one, most of them were lawmen or employed by detective agencies and private companies like Wells Fargo. In other words, they moonlighted as bounty hunters. Heck, my dad moonlighted while he was still a homicide detective, and worked for the Oregon Racing Commission on their security. Once he retired, they made him the chief of security. But things were a little different in the old west.

To see how different, a study was done. Out of two hundred and fifty-five gunfighters, only a small handful fit the typical bounty hunter depicted in the movies, and even then, they only pursued bounties sporadically. The sad truth was, most rewards were too puny to bother with and not offered often enough for anyone to use as a consistent source of income.

Even so, there were men who became bounty hunters out of necessity, hoping to supplement their meager wages as lawmen. Heck, even the  famous lawman Pat Garrett collected a bounty for killing Billy the Kid. Others worked for banks or train operators.

And among the small percentage of gunfighters that could be classified as true “bounty hunters” because they managed to scratch out a living by getting rewards on a consistent basis, it was no picnic to get your money. Pat Garrett may have successfully captured Billy the Kid in 1881, but he had to really fight for the five-hundred dollar reward from Governor Lew Wallace of New Mexico.

The governor had placed an ad offering the reward for the notorious outlaw’s capture. But when Garrett  showed up to claim the bounty, Wallace tried to stiff him, stating it was a “personal offer” that wasn’t binding on the territory itself. But after persistent efforts from Garrett, he eventually received the reward – though not before local citizens expressed their disgust by raising eleven hundred dollars and sending it to Garrett.  I bet that upset the governor, but at least someone was willing to pay poor Mr. Garrett  for his trouble.

Have you read books or seen movies that have a bounty hunter as the hero? I’ve got a bounty hunter in my stable of characters. Lucius Judrow from my book Love is Blind.  My current book, Rescued by the Preacher only has the daughter of a bounty hunter, but the hero is a spy for the president. Jules Monroe was a preacher for all of a few months before he was recruited as a spy. Now he’s stuck in Apple Blossom, in the Montana Territory, in a town full of quirky characters. Sixteen of which are all clamoring to get married now that a preacher is in town. But when a young woman stumbles into the church the day he’s just finished his first sermon things get a little off track. He doesn’t know who the woman is, but he’s determined to help her. Can Jules help a woman who’s been attacked by outlaws, be undercover as the new town preacher, and protect the person he was sent to warn that trouble was coming? It was a lot to juggle, but hey, he can handle it. It’s why he was chosen for this mission. Now if he could just keep himself from falling in love, he can wrap this all up in a nice bundle and be on to the next mission. But darn if his blasted heart doesn’t have other ideas!

I’m giving away one free e-book copy of Rescued by the Preacher to one lucky commenter. Just tell me if you’ve ready any books or have seen a movie where there hero was a bounty hunter.

Kim Hampton
You’re my Winner!
You’ve a mail-order bride romance ebook of mine of your choice.
Contact me at authorkitmorgan@gmail.com so I can get your ebook to you.

Who doesn’t like Gary Cooper? He’s been in his fair share of westerns and I’m sure most of us have seen at least one of them at some time. But did you know, that when Gary Cooper was just a little tyke, he crossed paths with a larger-than-life figure? The year was 1900 when little Gary met Stagecoach Mary, a six-foot-plus powerhouse who could outdrink, outsmoke, outcuss, outfight, and outshoot any man around. As Gary put it, “She could take down any two fellas in the territory, and she had a knack for knocking back the hard stuff like nobody’s business.” Mary also went on to delivering mail. But before she got to that point, she had quite the life.
Mary was born into slavery in 1832. The Civil War eventually set her free, and she found herself working on the Robert E. Lee steamboat. She loved regaling folks with tales of her adventures, like the time the boat raced against the Natchez in 1870, with crew members tossing anything they could find into the boilers to keep them firing hot.

Later on, Mary landed a job with Judge Edmund Dunne, becoming a trusted figure in his household. When tragedy struck and the judge’s wife passed away, Mary was there to help, proving her mettle to the core.
Things took a wild turn when Mother Mary Amadeus Dunne, the judge’s sister, ventured to Montana to start a school. Mary followed, stepping up to nurse the ailing nun back to health and then sticking around to tackle whatever needed doing at St. Peter’s Mission. From hauling freight to fixing up buildings, Mary did it all, even if her language and rough edges rubbed some folks the wrong way.

Despite the occasional raised eyebrow, Mary endeared herself to many, earning nicknames like “White Crow” from Native Americans who couldn’t quite figure her out. And when trouble came knocking, Mary wasn’t one to back down, whether it was facing off against a skunk or settling a score with a disgruntled coworker in a gunfight.

Eventually, Mary’s path led her to become the first black woman to manage a mail route in the United States. Armed with her trusty rifle and a no-nonsense attitude, she tackled snowstorms, wolf packs, and even the occasional keg of spilled molasses with her trademark gusto.

After retiring from her postal gig at age 71, Mary settled into a quieter life in town, where she became a beloved figure among the locals. From free meals at the hotel to a new home built by the community after hers burned down, Mary’s impact was felt far and wide.

When she passed away in 1914, the whole town turned out to bid her farewell, a testament to the lasting legacy of a woman who blazed trails and captured hearts wherever she went.

Decades later, Gary Cooper, now a Hollywood icon, fondly remembered the indomitable spirit of Stagecoach Mary, celebrating her as a symbol of freedom and resilience in Ebony Magazine. As he put it, she wasn’t just another face in the crowd—she was a force of nature, as unstoppable as she was unforgettable.

I haven’t written any books about mail carriers in the old west. But I do have a lot of mail-order brides! I’m giving away one free mail-order bride e-book of mine to one lucky commenter! Just tell me a story about the mail, or mailmen or women. Funniest story I have is about the time our mother was supposed to be getting neighbor’s mail for them while they were on vacation. We also had to feed their goats and horses while they were gone. She set the mail on a stump and went to feed the horses, and one of the billy goats started eating the mail. Unfortunately, he ate the neighbor’s paycheck!  Howard the neighbor, who worked for the forestry department, had quite the time explaining that one! Do you have a fun story? Share it in the comments!

Patricia Barraclough
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You’ve won a free e-book copy of Miss Penelope: The Brides of Fiddler’s Gap, Book 1

Contact me at authorkitmorgan@gmail.com so I can get your book to you.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Mail-Order Musicians? Well, not exactly. I created a new series and the first book released this month. Miss Penelope: The Brides of Fiddler’s Gap. Yes, they’re mail-order brides, but when you have a town made up entirely of orchestra members looking not only for brides, but to increase the size of their orchestra, then yes, those brides are required to also be a musician.

Enter Penelope Smith, an heiress, and a flutist, who’d rather play her flute than her mother’s social climbing games. She’s twenty-two and considered on the shelf. So, her father takes it upon himself to arrange a marriage between her and one Leopold Wadsworh the third. Penelope isn’t having it, so when she sees an advertisement for a woman of virtue that is also a virtuoso, she makes a run for it. Unfortunately for her intended groom, all she cares about is joining the town orchestra. Little does she know that’s the whole town. All eighteen people. Here’s a little snippet from the book:

The stagecoach came to a jolting stop, making Penelope jump. “Oh!” She blinked back sleep, shook her head to clear it, then peeked out the window. The stage had pulled up in front of a general store. It was painted yellow with white trim and had a white sign with “Johnson’s General Store” painted in bold black letters on it. She smiled. “Finally.”

Before she gathered her things, the stagecoach door opened. “Hurry, Miss.” The driver looked this way and that, a nervous glint in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Not yet, but if we don’t hurry, there might be.” He motioned her to disembark.

She frowned. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He helped her down, got her trunk off the back of the stage, then set it at her feet. She noticed he’d already tossed down a mailbag. Wasn’t he going to take it into the store?

The driver tipped his hat. “Have a nice day ma’am.” He looked around again, let loose a cackle, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Penelope was about to ask him why he looked so relieved, when two huge black dogs bounded out of the general store.

The driver let out a yelp and scrambled up to his perch atop the stagecoach. The horses reared when the dogs barked, and he gave the team a slap of leather.

Penelope’s jaw dropped when he left her in a cloud of dust. And a growling noise. She slowly turned to face the dogs that chased the stage partway down the street. They were looking right at her, one of them emitting a low growl.

“Great Danes.” She gulped as her eyes darted to the store’s double doors. Where was the dogs’ owner? She smiled at the animals as they slowly approached. “Nice puppies, perhaps you ought to go home?”

There came a trumpet blast from somewhere up the street. As if cued, the dogs ran her way, barking.

Penelope’s eyes widened as she dropped her valise and made a run for it. She ran up the street where she saw an older man step onto the porch of a small church.

The barking dogs were right behind her. “Help!” She held onto her hat as she ran, then let go to pick up her skirt and run up the church steps. Penelope hustled past the man on the porch into the church and tripped. The barking dogs reached her and… licked her face?!

“Oh, get off me!” One of the dogs ran his tongue over her lips while the other stuck his in her ear. “Someone help!”

“Mozart! Brahms! Get off!” came a man’s voice.

“Mozart!” A woman’s voice this time. “You ought to be ashamed!”

One of the dogs whined and laid on top of her! “For crying out loud, get this horse off of me!” Penelope wheezed.

“Oh, dear me,” came the woman’s voice again. “Brahms, now you know that isn’t polite.”

The Great Dane sprawled on top of Penelope gave the woman a happy bark. The other dog sat and thumped his tail on the floor.
“I’m terribly sorry,” a young, dark-haired man said. He grabbed the collar of the dog laying across her and pulled. “Mozart, come along.”

The dog whined and did as he was told.

Penelope lay on her back, her face covered in dog slobber, and looked at the faces gathering above her.

“Oh, my goodness,” an older plump woman said. “You didn’t happen to come here as a mail-order bride, did you?”

Penelope tried not to swallow. If she did, she feared she’d be swallowing dog drool. She opted for nodding.

The plump woman’s face lit up as she clapped her hands together. “You are? That’s wonderful! Oh Sheriff Cole!”

“What if she’s not the sheriff’s?” asked the young man that pulled the dog off. The beast looked like he still wanted to make a bed out of her. Mozart, or whatever his name was, pulled the young man in her direction a few steps before he managed to pull the dog back.

Penelope wondered if she had a cracked rib and tried taking in a lungful of air. Good, no damage there…

Another man’s face joined the others. His was handsome with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. “Ma’am.” He offered her a hand.

She took it and let him pull her to her feet. “Thank you.” She took a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped her mouth first, then the rest of her face. That done, she gave the dogs the stink eye. “You should at least have the decency to look guilty.”

A fortyish looking woman with light brown hair had hold of one, the young, dark-haired man the other. The two looked like they were related. Mother and son, perhaps?

She looked at the dogs. Both were watching her, their tongues hanging out their mouths as they panted. Probably in anticipation of tackling her again.

The woman gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about Mozart and Brahms. They get a little excited around strangers.”

Penelope gave her a weak smile in return, then wiped at the dog slobber on the front of her traveling outfit. “Guard dogs?”

“Of a sort,” the woman said. She extended a hand. “I’m Clara Johnson and this is my son Taylor.” She motioned to the young man with the other dog. “We run the general store here.”

Penelope took a few steps toward her, never taking her eyes off the dog the woman held back and reached as far as she dared to shake her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mrs. Johnson dragged the dog to the church door. “Go home, Brahms. You too, Mozart.”

The two dogs took off as soon as they were released and bounded from the church.

Penelope breathed a sigh of relief.

“Miss?”

She turned around. “Yes?” It was the handsome man that helped her to her feet. She peeked behind him to make sure there were no more dogs or anything else that could slobber all over her.

“I’m Sheriff Aubrey Cole. And you are?”

“Penelope Smith of Albany, New York.” Her jaw dropped when she realized who this man was. She absently pulled the advertisement from her reticule and looked it over. “You’re Sheriff Cole?”

“That’s right, ma’am.” he smiled.

Penelope gulped. “You?”

He looked to his right, then left. “Were you expecting someone else?” He glanced at the piece of paper in her hand. “May I see that?”

She handed it to him.

He read it, then held it up and smiled. “She’s mine!”

A cheer went up as the others gathered around him, slapping him on the back and offering their congratulations. What was going on?

She didn’t have time to ask. She heard growling outside, followed by a tearing sound. Penelope turned to the church door just in time to see her valise being ripped in two by Mozart and Brahms. “My luggage!” She ran for the door, intent on saving what she could. A petticoat fell out. One of the doges grabbed it and took off. The other hot on his heels. He got hold of the other end of the petticoat and pulled, ripping it in two. She didn’t care. She ran for the torn valise, spied her flute, and snatched up the case.

I’ve been a flute player for fifty years. And I’m a music major. One would think that after ten years of being a full time author, I’d have come up with this years ago! But, better late than never! And so we have a series of mail-order bride stories with a twist. This will be fun!

Do you love twists on the same old thing? A recipe, a book trope, a hair cut? I’m giving away a free e-copy of Miss Penelope to one lucky commenter!  

I’m in California this Christmas, and so this isn’t the usual holiday for me. I managed to get a tree up and as that’s all I’ve managed here, I thought I’d share what the cabin in Oregon looks like instead, along with another place I can wind up spending Christmas.

In Oregon, we have a fourteen foot high beamed ceiling, so sometimes the trees are big! These are fun to decorate (so long as you have a ten foot step ladder which we do) but can take some time. Back in the day, we used to ride our horses into the woods, select a tree, cut it town, tie a rope to it and drag it back to the house. If the terrain was too rough, we had to hike on foot to get one.

My sister sent me a picture of this year’s tree. I think she got it from a tree farm. It’s too uniform to be a wild tree, and almost goes to the highest point of the ceiling.

I remember when my brother and sisters and I were little, Dad would lift us up so we could put an ornament on the tree. When you’re a child, the tree was so HUGE. Especially when you compare the tree to us little tykes. This picture is from the late sixties is my guess. And yes, that’s my brother and me. But look how big the tree is compared to us. My mother couldn’t get all of it in the picture! By the way, that’s our Great Dane Astro waltzing by when Mom snapped the photo.

We have a buffet that has been in the family for years. Sometime we put a nativity scene on it, sometime’s its food! Yes, that’s me in the mirror taking a picture of it in the second photo below. You get to see another Christmas tree too! Some years we get a smaller tree and put it in a corner of the room.

And then there was the year I spent Christmas in New York with my daughter and oldest son when they were there. There’s nothing like New York at Christmas time. But when you’re on the fourth floor of an old Victorian building that doesn’t have an elevator, one tends to get a different kind of tree…

I think Stasha, the Doberman my daughter was pet sitting over the holiday was bigger than the tree! And by the time we got the rest of the presents around it, a third of the tree could no longer be seen! But that was a fun Christmas. 

So when you have your kids spread out around the country, you get used to a variety of decorations being put up. Decorating for the Christmas holiday is fun, no matter where you are. And of course, it’s the people you’re with that make the holiday special. 

This year I’m spending Christmas with my middle son and some other relatives here in California. I already share this tree in the Petticoats and Pistols readers group, but it’s fun to share again. 

I hope you’ve enjoyed a little peek into the different places I wind up decorating for the holidays! Here’s wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas!