Howdy! And a hardy welcome to y’all!
How you enjoyed the Patriot Wrap-up Party! It was lots of fun with games galore, give-aways and more! Yes, our eight book Patriot series is done now…all books have been released. But, in my heart, the Patriot Series will go on and on.
But, moving along, we come to the book, RED HAWK’S WOMAN, which is being released today, Tuesday 11 August 2026. The book has been newly edited and proofed. It has a new and beautiful cover. Now, I originally wrote the book in 2007 for Berkley Publishing, a subdivison of Penguin/Putnam. It’s part of The Lost Clan series, a series of four books, where the future lives of different bands of a tribe rest on the heroes of these stories being able to break a curse. I should say here that it was written during a time when my editor and the publishing world in general asked for love scenes and so the book is a sensuous love story.
But the new cover is sensational and I’d like to draw attention to the hero on the cover. He is dressed in his best regalia, complete with quill work and bead work, a looping necklace, beaded moccasins and a quiver case holding his bow and arrows. And, pay attention to his hair. This is historically accurate. The Blackfeet men (and many other men of the northern tribes) wore their hair as shown with a braid at each side of their head and their hair straight up in a pompadour style. The Blackfeet, unlike other northern tribes, also wore a braid in back. Also, all Indian men wore earrings. I keep files of historical photographs of both men and women … and children at this time period. And I can say that it is rare (very rare) to see a picture of an Indian man during this time period who did not wear earrings.
Note that In the heroine’s hand is a feather the hero of the story, Red Hawk, has given her.
Then there is the environment. From the snow-topped mountains in the background to the dry prairie, the pines butting up to the foothills, the shallow stream and the horse in the background, it is a beautiful depiction of Montana.
So, I’m going to post the blurb for the book here and follow it up with an excerpt from the book. Hope you’ll enjoy!
RED HAWK’S WOMAN
A spellbinding and sensual Native American historical paranormal romance featuring a centuries-old curse, a passion strong enough to wake a god’s wrath, and two hearts bound by a single morning neither time nor distance could erase.
Their passion is thunder and lightning.
Their fate could be a flood of sorrow.
When Red Hawk’s visions leads him back to the girl he never forgot, he is surprised to to find no flicker of recognition in her eyes…
Effie Rutledge is twenty-five, unmarried, and in no hurry to fix either—she would rather finish her father’s quest than keep house for any man. That quest is four lost artifacts with the power to free a clan trapped between worlds, and she means to see it through, even after every guide in the territory writes her expedition off as cursed. Every guide but one.
He draws her the way water finds the sea, and the pull only deepens as buried memories rise between them. But trust comes hard for them both, and a love this consuming is exactly the kind the Thunder god punishes—with the fate of an entire lost clan hanging on what they choose.
Perfect for readers who love:
– Fated lovers and a centuries-old curse
– A spirited archaeologist and her enigmatic guide
– Sensual Native American historical paranormal romance
RED HAWK’S WOMAN
An Excerpt:
The weather on this fine day in Niipiaato’s, or June, the summer month, was pleasant, warm and sunny. It was a condition he had expected, since it had been foretold by the red sun at sunset on the previous day.
“The sun will not lie to you,” he could almost hear his grandfather say, “and if it is red at sunset, the next day will be fair.”
At present, Red Hawk was riding his mustang, a mare, a little distance ahead of the others. His senses were alert for signs of enemies, but not blind to the splendor all around him. The countryside was as fine an example of Mother Earth at her best as he could remember.
Here was a meadow of newly growing green grass. To his right was another sea of green, which was littered with a profusion of flowering dogwood, pink twin flowers and a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. He took careful note of the latter, for it had a medicinal purpose.
After swinging his left leg over his pony’s neck, he jumped down and walked the short distance to the other meadow, where he proceeded to gather up parts of the plant. They might prove useful later, for their medicine was often good for sore throats or swellings.
The scent, as the wind blew its fragrance around him, was clean, balmy and full of the perfume of the grasses and flowers, and he relished it as he drew in a deep breath. Even the smell of balsam wafted through the air, for this part of the prairie was flanked by stands of pine trees.
In the distance from these meadows, and due north, were snow-capped mountains, majestic looking, steep and rugged, though from this angle, they appeared deceptively serene. These would be the mountains that Effie’s party would either skirt or cross, depending on the safety of the various trails. It was his hope to escape the dangerous mountain passes and bypass them entirely.
“It’s like a fairyland, isn’t it?” He recognized Effie’s voice at once. On foot, she stood above him, since he was still hunched over the ground.
“Fairyland?” he queried, gazing up at her.
“A place of mystical beauty. That’s what a fairyland is. I think that when I was younger I fell in love with this country.”
This he could understand. “I, too, love this land…almost as much as I love and respect my…people, my grandfather.”
“Yes. What is it you are collecting?”
“A plant. We call it a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. It is used as a medicine for sore throats. We may have need of it later.”
She nodded. “How many days’ journey are left before us, do you suppose?”
“It will depend on the weather and the trails, and if we are bothered by the Crow tribes or not.”
“Bothered?”
“We are in Crow country, and though they are friendly to whites, they are my traditional enemy. Many of their warriors would covet my scalp, if they see I am here. This would not be good, since we are vulnerable to attack.”
“We are?”
“Aa, we are. Though there are four other men with us, I have not observed that any of them are good shots. Perhaps they fight better in hand-to-hand combat. I do not know. I can only hope that the fear of the whites and fear of their retaliation will keep the Crow from attacking us.”
“But we never had trouble when I was here with my father, many years ago.”
“As you have already told me.”
“I guess we were lucky back then.”
“Perhaps you were,” he said. “And I pray that luck is with you as much today as it was in the past.”
“As do I.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “May I help you pick these flowers?”
“I would welcome it. You must grab hold of the flower, stem and all. Do not bother with the roots, for it is the flower and stem I require.”
“All right.” She fell into silence as she worked, but after a moment, she said, “Mr. Hawk, I wish to speak of a delicate matter between us.”
“You may say whatever you please to me.”
Her look was guarded at first, but then she shook her head. “Very well. I have many questions I might ask about you, your life and the Lost Clan, as you might well understand. But first there is another matter that sits heavily on my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Truth be told,” she continued, “I never did answer your question as to marriage, and you have never inquired after it. Have you changed your mind?”
Her question, as well as the subject itself, was indeed delicate. It also had the effect of knocking the breath from him, but he kept the reaction to himself.
“I do not change my mind,” he said, dismayed to hear that his voice was unsteady. “I simply try to give you space to consider it, as well as some time away from me so as to decide the matter for yourself.” He paused. “Did you think I might have changed? That I would take back my offer?”
“Yes.” Her glance skimmed off of his. “You have been…distant from me since we started this journey.”
“I have much on my mind—it is my duty to lead and to protect us.” Again, he hesitated, then, “Did you have an answer for me?” He didn’t look at her. He dared not.
“Yes.” She reached out to touch his hand. “I…I am afraid…that I cannot marry you.”
He nodded without looking at her. It was as he had expected.
But then she added, “Now…”
“Now?”
“I need to find out more about you, about what you said about the Lost Clan, before I can… I was so startled by what you said,” she continued hurriedly, “and you left so quickly after, that I haven’t known what to think. So as you see, I have many questions.”
“Aa, I have had much to consider. But I am here now. If you have other concerns that trouble your thoughts, feel free to question me.”
She didn’t respond right away. In truth, she seemed to be carefully choosing her words, as now and again she sent him a tentative look.
Gazing at her now, with her fiery hair as well as her dress blowing softly about her, she presented such a beautiful picture, it was almost more than he could do to keep himself from staring at her like a lovesick buffalo calf. Though she was on her knees picking several flowers, she now and again frowned at him, and he felt urged to smooth out those two wrinkles between her brows.
“Very well,” she acknowledged, sitting back. “My first question is about the Lost Clan.”
He nodded. “I thought you might have questions for me about this.”
“Yes. Well, what I’ve been trying to understand, and what I can’t quite comprehend is this: You said that you are of the Lost Clan?”
“Aa.”
“But how can this be so? They are a clan of legend, are they not?”
“’Tis so.”
Her frown grew deeper. “I still don’t understand. I am here to dig for evidence that they did at one time exist…but in the past. To say you are of that tribe would infer they are in the present, and not in the past…” Her voice trailed away.
He hesitated and considered her question solemnly. “I understand your confusion, and you are correct, the Lost Clan is a clan of legend. But it is also a clan the Creator blessed with a chance to end the curse.”
“Yes. That’s right. I had almost forgotten that part of the legend. Once a generation, a boy is chosen—”
“To take on real form,” he continued for her, “and to go out into the world in an attempt to end the curse for the Clan.”
“Real form? Then what you’re saying is that you were once entrapped in the mist?”
“Aa.”
“Excuse me, but I find what you are saying a bit hard to believe.”
He shrugged, looking away from her, and glanced back toward the ground. It was as he had thought. The truth was too bizarre to be accepted.
She continued to speak, however. “So what you are saying is that you are one of those boys who was chosen to try to end the curse?”
He grimaced. “Aa, it is so.”
“Hmmm…”
“And yet, no, I am not truly a chosen one.”
She shook her head. “Now I’m really confused.”
“Let me explain. The elders did not wish to choose me. It is as uncomplicated as that.”
“But if they didn’t want to—”
“They had no one else from whom to pick. The rest of the boys from my tribal band were injured.”
“Oh.”
“The day when we met, I was coming from the council where I had been named as champion for my band of the tribe.”
“Were you? How exciting. You must have been delighted.”
“No,” he said flatly. “Though I had long wished to be champion, knowing I was picked only because there was no one else was not the way in which I had dreamed of becoming our tribe’s defender.”
He noted that whether she believed him or not, she at least bestowed upon him a sympathetic look, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“You do not need to be. Regardless of how it was done, I am still the one who must break the curse for my people or live with the knowledge of my failure. You must realize I take this obligation seriously, if for no other reason than to make my grandfather proud.”
“And so you should. It is very commendable. I notice you speak of your grandfather often. You must love him dearly.”
“Aa, it is so. He adopted me when I was so young I do not remember it.”
“Adopted?”
“Aa, though I am of Blackfoot descent, the Lost Clan is not my tribe of birth. My parents, who were visiting the Clan at the time when the trouble began, were killed by the Thunderer. I would have been left homeless, were it not for Grandfather.”
“Your parents were killed by the Thunderer?”
“Aa, aa. In my youth, I often dreamed of revenging myself on the Thunder Being or the Thunderbird, as he is sometimes known, because I blamed him for all my troubles. But I have since grown up, and I have put those desires of vengeance away from me…or at least I have tried to. Now I only seek to free my people, my grandfather.”
“I see.” She drew her hand over the ground, as though trying to decide which flower to pick next. “But tell me, if all you say is so, why are you here with me
now? Why aren’t you out somewhere trying to break the curse?”
“Because,” he said without even hesitating, “I am out somewhere trying to break the curse.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are somehow connected with the Clan.”
“Oh, am I?” She brightened suddenly. “I think I’m beginning to understand what this is all about. It’s the artifacts, isn’t it? Somehow, these artifacts I carry, and those I search for, are important to you. Am I right?” She looked to him hopefully.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t and remain true to his vision, for a vision, if told to anyone other than a medicine man, was to render the prophecy powerless.
She gazed away from him, and all the while the reddish strands of hair that framed her face fluttered prettily in the wind. He wished he could take her in his arms, if only to make her believe him. But he knew if he wanted her to trust him, to really trust him, he dared not do it.
At last, she said, “I don’t know what to think, Mr. Hawk. Your story is fantastic. Nevertheless, my father certainly believes in the legend, which is the only reason why I am here. However, I have to admit that not only you, but this entire trip, is incredible, more like fantasy than real life. Perhaps if we lived in a more mystical place and time, I might be more inclined to believe these stories. At present it is difficult.”
“Mystical? What do you mean by this word?”
She arched a brow at him. “Mystical means something to do with people or places or things that are not necessarily of the flesh—those instances of mystery, of magic perhaps.”
“Haiya, but there is mystery all around us.”
“Is there, now?”
“’Tis so.” Sitting back on his haunches, he motioned to the environment surrounding them. “Have you never wished for something, and it came true? Never seen the birth of a colt? Never witnessed the Creator’s hand in every blade of grass that grows? Is it so unusual that the Clan is cursed? After all, there is a price to pay for all one’s ill deeds. Grandfather told me this before I left the Clan: he said that no one can escape the consequences of his own acts, for life is an endless circle, and what one forces another to experience, one will, himself, be made to endure. The Clan killed the children of the Thunder god, and now they pay the price for having done so.”
She exhaled. “I think that whether I believe you or not, your grandfather was a wise man.”
“Aa, he was, he is. I have tried to remember those words, for the urge for revenge still festers within my heart.”
“Truly?”
“Aa. I am a warrior. I would risk a warrior’s death to avenge my parents. But I cannot. I must not. I am on a quest—I can never lose sight of this. Grandfather, my entire Clan, depends on me.”
“It is indeed a hefty responsibility that you carry.” She paused, then sat forward, so she might look behind her. “Mr. Hawk, listen. Do you hear them? The wagons? They are not far behind me, and I would like more time to speak with you earnestly about one or two other concerns…”
“Other concerns?”
“Yes. More about the Lost Clan—I still have questions—also, I feel I should tell you that I think someone could be following us. I’m not certain, for I have seen only shadows, but I fear we might indeed have a straggler in our midst.”
“Humph!” Red Hawk considered her words somberly. “I have not been scouting to our rear. Perhaps this has been an error.”
“Perhaps. I will leave it to you to determine. But again, I would like a moment more of your time—away from the others.”
“Aa,” he said, then suggested, “we could talk again while the others take their noonday nap.”
“We could, or maybe we might have our conversation tonight? Once the others are asleep?”
“It could be arranged.”
“Very well, then. I look forward to seeing you tonight. Thank you for your time.”
They both stood then. She turned toward him and dazzled him with a radiant smile. He took hold of her hand, and, as awareness of her swept through him, he wished to never let her go, to never let this moment slip away.
But time has a way of plodding forward, and no man can hold it back. Eventually, she pulled her hand away. Before she left, she brought forward from a hand she’d been hiding behind her back the bouquet of flowers she had picked. “My gift to you.”
It was a simple overture. Still, he hardly knew how to react. As he watched the sun dance off the unusual color of her hair, it came to him how utterly beautiful she was. The freckles on her face had become more pronounced under the steady influence of the sun, and, after raising his fingers toward her, he touched each golden fleck on her face, one by one.
It was almost as an afterthought that he accepted her gift, though as he grasped hold of the flowers, his fingers caressed her palm, stroking her sensitive skin.
Tentatively, she raised her gaze to his. Her lips parted, their wetness engaging, inviting. Unable to help himself, he accepted what he hoped was an invitation, and he bent to press his lips to hers, gently, adoringly.
Desire shot through him. Raising his head only slightly, he brought up a hand to smooth over her cheek, moving down to her neck, her shoulders, pulling her in closer to him.
He said, “Kitsikakomimmo,” then he kissed her again.
“What do those words that mean?” she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps.
“I will tell you tonight.”
“Do you promise?”
“Aa,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Her eyes were closed, and bending, he smoothed his cheek against hers, confiding in her ear, “I have something for you too.”
“Oh?”
“Keep your eyes closed, and give me your hand.”
She complied.
Reaching up to the back of his head, he unfastened the eagle feather suspended from his hair, drew it off and urged it into her hand.
“Open your eyes.”
She did so, and seeing the gift, she smiled up at him.
“’Tis from a golden eagle,” he said. “For you are like this very bird to me. Proud, protective, majestic. Kitsikakomimmo.”
“Kitsikakomimmo,” she repeated after him, and listening to her speak the words, even though he knew she did not grasp their meaning, had his insides tied in knots.
He swallowed hard. “I, too, hear the sounds of the wagons, and they are close. Soon they will be in view, as we will be to them. We will finish our talk tonight.”
“Yes. Tonight.” She stepped back, out of his arms, and he immediately felt bereft. “Thank you for the feather.”
He nodded, then watched as she turned and walked away. Soon, as she stepped toward the wagons, she faded from sight. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but think, Oh, that she had said yes.
RED HAWK’S WOMAN
Available at Amazon: $4.99 e-book or get it free on Kindle Unlimited
I’ll be giving away this book to one of the bloggers today, so please come on in and leave a post.
Quanah had a plan. He convinced twenty-one young warriors to accompany him and his bride. They rode hard and fast for hours, and then traveled by night, dividing into smaller groups to elude pursuers, reuniting in west Texas at the North Concho River. This would be their new home. From there, they did what Comanches had been doing for centuries in Texas: raid and steal horses.
Howdy!
Howdy! Howdy!
