Excerpt

To Love a Beast Coming Soon!

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My next western fairy tale releases in less than a month. WooHoo! I can’t wait to share this one with you. Beauty & the Beast is my favorite fairy tale. How could it not be with a bookish heroine and a wounded hero? Add some forced proximity, a quirky supporting cast, and a vain villain seeking vengeance, and you know we’re going to have loads of fun!

 

 

Allow me to introduce you to our cast of characters.

Everett Griffin – Once known among New York’s elite as the American Adonis, he hides away in the wilds of Texas after being horribly disfigured by an outraged woman. Seeking to avoid public interactions, he embraces his beastly persona, frightening away anyone who steps on his land uninvited. (Everett means “wild boar” and Griffin is a mystical beast with a lion’s body and a bird’s head.

Callista Rosenfeld – Callista helps her father run a struggling book bindery. When her father injures his hand after taking on a large commission that would save their business, Callista takes the job upon herself, determined to complete the project no matter how many obstacles are thrown into her path. Including a beastly employer, his giant, man-eating dog, and a gloomy house that looks to be straight out of a gothic novel. Gargoyles included. (Callista means “most beautiful” and Rosenfeld pays homage to the rose that plays such a vital role in the fairy tale.)

 

Spartacus  – The giant Mastiff who roams Manticore Manor.

 

Mrs. Potter – The motherly housekeeper and collector of teacups. (Obviously a play on Mrs. Potts.)

Mr. Lightfoot – Mr. Griffin’s valet, man of business, and best friend. (“Light”foot pays homage to a certain dancing candelabra.)

Mr. Timens – The stuffy butler, local trivia expert, and a tinkerer of watches and clocks. (After all, “Time” is in his name.)

Yes, Disney’s Beauty & the Beast played a significant inspirational role in this story; however, the plot is completely new. Here’s a sneak peek at how the hero and heroine meet:

 

Courage, Callista. Just because you can’t see any evidence of his presence doesn’t mean that God isn’t with you. We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen.

Even as that scriptural assurance moved through her mind, something unseen made its presence known. Something with a deep bass bark that rumbled over her like the thunder of an approaching storm.

Her head spun to the right. Her gaze scoured the shadows for the guard dog whose territory she’d invaded. She saw nothing.

Heart thumping, she rushed ahead, praying the manor would be around the next bend. But before she could reach the bend in question, the barking shifted direction, now coming from in front of her. She stumbled to a halt. Leaves rustled nearby. The low-pitched barks grew closer. Nearly upon her. She’d never be able to outrun the beast.

Callista squeezed her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around her middle, and prayed for a miracle.

Gruff barks echoed with a percussive depth so near, she could feel them like tremors in the earth. Instinct urged her to flee, but reason glued her feet to the ground. He hadn’t attacked yet. She’d not give him reason to think of her as prey. Perhaps if she imitated a tree long enough, he’d grow bored and search for entertainment elsewhere.

However, the barks grew increasingly insistent. Apparently, her tree act wasn’t as convincing as she’d hoped. Or perhaps she was too convincing, for the beast decided to fell her. He rammed his head into her ribcage and threw her backwards. Callista let out a startled yelp as she stumbled and landed on her backside. Eyes wide open now, she stared into the face of the massive beast who stood over her. Even her imagination could not have conjured a dog like this. On all fours, he towered over her, his fur the tawny gold of a lion, contrasting with the dark brown of his face and eyes.

He barked again, and she flinched, bringing up an arm to fend him off.

“Spartacus. Heel!”

The dog’s countenance cleared as he turned toward the voice. A heartbeat later, he loped off the path and into the mesquite.

Callista scrambled to her feet, dusted off her rump, and turned in the direction the dog had gone. “Thank you, sir.” She lifted her voice to be sure the man could hear her. She strained for a glimpse of him but saw nothing. “My name is—”

“I don’t care what your name is. You’re not welcome here.” The harshness of the man’s tone took her aback. “I want you off my property. Now!”

Callista fisted her hands. She had not come all this way to be bullied into leaving before she’d made it to the front door. “I have an appointment with Mr. Lightfoot.”

“Mr. Lightfoot takes his orders from me, and I want you gone. End of discussion.”

End of discussion? Not likely. This boorish excuse of a human being needed a lesson in manners.

Swallowing her mounting frustration, Callista called forth the conciliatory tone she used on the rare occasion she had to deal with a difficult client. “I’m sorry if there has been some miscommunication.” She stepped off the path and began wending her way through the mesquite, hoping to have a civilized discussion face-to-face instead of yelling at one another across the vegetation. “I’ve been hired—”

“Stop right there!”

Did she detect a note of fear beneath the dominating anger? She took another step.

“Come any closer and I’ll sic Spartacus on you.”

She didn’t believe him. He might be rude and overbearing, but he’d called off his dog earlier. Intuition told her he wasn’t the type to harm an innocent woman. Scare her, yes. But not harm her.

Callista dared another step. “Please, sir. If you’ll just listen to what I have to say. . .”

“I’m done listening. Be gone!”

Hurried footsteps echoed from within the brush, and a moment later Callista caught a glimpse of the back of a man clad in a reddish-brown greatcoat darting between the trees, a giant dog at his side.

He had fled from her. Interesting.

With the threat of the Mastiff no longer looming, renewed determination bolstered Callista’s courage. She returned to the path and marched forward with purpose. The master of Manticore Manor would soon learn that she did not surrender so easily.

Preorder To Love a Beast Here.

What do you like best about the Beauty & the Beast tale?

The Romance
The Redemption of the Hero
The Bookish Heroine
The Library
The Supporting Cast
Other?

A sneak peek at my new release, plus a free ebook and audiobook for everyone!

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Hello everyone! This month, I wanted to share the first chapter of my brand new release! Stick around because at the end, I’m sharing the links for the prequel which is free, and it’s on ebook and audio, whichever you’d like. (Or both!) You ready? Gosh, I’m sooo excited for you to meet Eli and Hannah.

The Gunslingers

Chapter 1

1870s Oregon

 

“Shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Now, Gus,” Hannah Carson sighed. “Don’t say that. Especially around Meg.” She glanced over at her four-year-old daughter, who was wrapping her rag doll in a blanket. While her daughter hadn’t seemed to notice the old ranch hand’s comment, she didn’t want her repeating such things.

“I’m telling you, that’s what you do with men like that,” old Gus retorted. “I’m not leaving you while he’s here.” He folded his tanned, thin arms, heavily corded with veins, and leaned against the wall. “If I were a young man again,” he muttered, and then mumbled something so low Hannah couldn’t hear him.

Laying a hand on his arm and giving a gentle squeeze, Hannah nodded. She appreciated the gesture more than he likely knew, and tried to steel herself as Wallace Carson, her former brother-in-law, rode closer onto the property, approaching the house on his black mare.

“I’m going outside to talk with him,” she said, her voice quiet. If it quivered a little, Gus pretended not to notice.

“Not alone, you ain’t,” he said.

“Please, Gus. Look after Meg. Keep her inside.”

Gus frowned, the wrinkles in his weathered face growing deeper as he looked between Hannah and her daughter. Through the kitchen window, they could see Wallace dismount. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m staying near the window to hear. You scream, I’ll come a running. Won’t let him keep bothering you.”

With a short nod, Hannah stepped through the kitchen door and into the yard. She left her apron on, not wanting Wallace to think he was welcome or worth looking nice for. She left the door cracked so Gus could hear better. “Wallace,” she greeted, her voice neutral.

“Hannah. Came to see if you’d made up your mind,” he greeted, stepping close.

For a man with such an important question to ask, he sure didn’t look like he cared at all about how his appearance, she thought. He looked like he’d been out working in the fields all day, even though he never lifted a finger unless it was to boss someone else around.

Under his cowboy hat she knew sat a curly head full of graying brown hair filled with grease. His shirt was stained, with wet splotches under the arms and across his chest. The hem of his pants and the bottoms of his boots were mucky. She knew it wasn’t mud. They’d not had rain for well over a week now, though she wished it would pour, just so he’d leave.

That wasn’t to be, though. The sun shone brightly, the sky was a perfect-colored blue, and it was all in stark contrast to the gloom the man brought with him. Hannah steeled herself and shook her head. “I’m not marrying you, Wallace. I’ve told you that.”

As if he didn’t hear her, Wallace walked a few paces to the left and stared out at the field where a few dozen cattle grazed. He let his gaze roam over them, then turned, taking in the large garden and the barn, where inside four horses resided. A chicken wandered in the yard, pecking her way past, a chick following close behind. It was a feisty hen, and for a moment, Hannah let herself wish it would peck at her unwanted visitor.

Wallace looked back at her. “You can’t run this place on your own,” he told her. “It’s too much for you.”

“I’m not on my own. I have Gus,” Hannah said calmly.

“That’s not what I meant.” Wallace gave her a hard look. “You don’t have a husband. You don’t have a son. The land defaults back to my family, now that Jim’s gone.”

Hannah knew that. She’d always known that. Jim had told her before they were married, his fifty acres and all he had belonged to the family. The only way to keep it was for him to have a son. Then, it would rightfully pass to him. If something were to happen to him, it went back to his brother and his brother’s sons. Right now, Wallace had two, both in their twenties. Jim had been the youngest of six, so he was twelve years younger than his brother, and the only other boy.

At the time, she hadn’t worried about it at all. Jim was strong, healthy. So it was unexpected when, one day, he was attacked by a bear in the barn. Jim had shot it, but not before he’d been clawed badly. The wounds had gotten infected, and the doctor couldn’t help him. He’d died a few short weeks later, and his brother had been by several times since.

Each visit made during the last six months since Jim’s death had been the same. Asking her to marry him, and then threatening her when she said no. She half wondered if he was as tired of this as she was. Still, he didn’t give up in his persistence, and neither would she give in.

“You’ve no other option,” Wallace said. “Where would you go? You can’t stay here. This isn’t your land anymore.” He smirked. “There’s a nice spot waiting for you in my bed. Just say yes.”

With a shudder running down her spine, Hannah threw back her shoulders. From the day she’d first met Wallace, she couldn’t stand him. It might have been the way he leered at her, and every other woman he saw. It might have been the fact he’d always been jealous of his hard-working brother, who was their father’s favorite. It could even be that she just didn’t like him. She never could tell, but there was no way Hannah was marrying him. He’d worked his first wife into her grave. Everyone knew it. The woman had near wasted away. He treated her as little more than a slave. Hannah had met her once, just before she married Jim. The woman hadn’t spoken once. She was bone-thin, paler than a cup of milk, and had hollow eyes. Hannah didn’t want that to be her.

“I’m out of patience,” Wallace snarled. “Marry me, today. Or leave.”

“I can’t,” Hannah said, her voice firm. She was pleased it wasn’t shaking. Her shoulders back, she fixed him with a cool stare. “I’ve every right to be here. I’ve spoken with the lawyer.”

“No, you don’t,” he argued. His voice grew loud, and behind her, Hannah could hear Gus at the window moving closer. Without even turning around, she knew the old man was glaring at the man who he loathed as much as she did. She just hoped, for his sake and hers, he wouldn’t do anything foolish.

“I do,” she answered calmly. “You see, I don’t know yet that I don’t have a son.” She placed her hand gently on her stomach, her eyes fixed onto Wallace’s. “I have until my child is born before I either need to leave, or he claims the land.”

Wallace’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he snarled, “That’s what you think.” He climbed back on his horse and turned it sharply.

As he rode out, the cloud of dust rising behind him, Hannah watched. She couldn’t feel triumphant. She didn’t dare. While she hoped for a son to give him his father’s inheritance, she knew that wasn’t something she had control of.

A shadow fell, and she looked over at Gus next to her.

“His face when you told him that,” he chuckled.

Hannah didn’t answer. She hadn’t cared about Wallace’s shocked expression. No, what concerned her was the hard look in his eyes, and the anger laced in his words. “That’s what you think,” he’d said.

Was that a threat? To her or to her unborn child? What kind of a man would do that?

But Hannah didn’t even have to ask herself that. She knew. Wallace would. The man was as evil as they came, and he’d always been envious that this land, Jim’s land, was better than his own. But he was right about one thing. She really didn’t have any options. If her child wasn’t male, there was nothing else she could do, because Hannah refused to marry Wallace Carson.

But would she be safe until then? Hannah glanced at Gus. She was sure worry was written on her face. It was hard not to be concerned. His single headshake, also showing his concern, didn’t make her feel one bit better.

“He’ll be back,” Gus sighed, and turned back toward the barn. He muttered as he walked, “Men like him don’t never give up.”

Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “And I don’t know how to stop him,” she whispered.

Keep reading here…

 

 

And, get the prequel where you first get to meet the gunslinger, and his friends!

 

 

Free audiobook here

Free ebook here

Now, before I go, I have a question for you all! What’s your favorite kind of hero to read about? Do you like a lawman? A cowboy? Someone who has a trade? What’s your favorite kind of guy to read about? I’d love to know!

New Release! Training the K-9 Companion {Giveaway!}

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Meadow background, book cover Training the K-9 Companion by Jill Kemerer, text "New Release & Giveaway, Petticoats & Pistols"

The third book in my Wyoming Legacies series is in stores now! TRAINING THE K-9 COMPANION follows Cade Moulten, a rancher opening a high-end horse-boarding operation, and Mackenzie Howard, the new veterinarian in town, as they train little Tulip to be a therapy dog for his grandmother. This Love Inspired book takes place during the summer in fictional Jewel River, Wyoming.

I enjoyed learning how rural vets utilize mobile trailers to treat cattle and horses on ranches. I also love writing books with dogs in them. Talk about a win-win! Mackenzie’s trying to convince local ranchers to trust her with their cattle, but she’s terrified she’ll make a mistake and lose an animal. And Cade needs high-paying clients to offset the reduced rates he plans on charging the locals to board horses at his new stables. On top of that, Cade’s mother insists on training a therapy dog to comfort his beloved grandmother, who has Alzheimer’s. Poor Cade never knows what to expect when he visits Nana.

Dementia and Alzheimer’s are terrible diseases. My father suffered from Parkinson’s and dementia, and I spent a lot of time at the nursing home with him before he passed away. I’m blessed with a supportive family who loves Jesus, and this story reflects it.

Don’t worry–the book isn’t all gloom and sadness! Cade’s mom is an unrelenting matchmaker. Add the warm, rowdy members of the Jewel River Legacy Club, and you won’t want to put the book down.

 

Book cover Training the K-9 Companion by Jill Kemerer. Mountain background, Pomeranian in meadow with daisies

Man’s best friend…
Could be the key to a second chance.

When rancher Cade Moulten decides to get a therapy dog for his ailing grandmother, he doesn’t expect a fluffy Pomeranian—or a pretty veterinarian trainer. But Cade will do anything to prove he’s a changed man, even train the small K-9 alongside Mackenzie Howard. Soon the weekly sessions with Mackenzie have Cade wishing for more. But will he risk revealing his shameful past for a chance at acceptance?

 

Purchase Training the K-9 Companion

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Read an excerpt!

As usual, the restlessness snuck up on him, and, too late, Cade Moulten realized his mistake. Offering to help his mother train a therapy dog was just another attempt to atone for his past.

He couldn’t back out now. He wouldn’t if he could. Cade had other reasons—good ones—for being here.

“It’s not much to look at, is it?” His mother, Christy Moulten, sat in the passenger seat of his truck and stared at the small industrial building with faded gray aluminum siding. Next to it, a matching structure roughly three times its size shared the parking lot. The early June sunshine began to fade as the day wound down.

Cade cut the engine, and his mom bent to pick up her purse. A few months shy of turning sixty-four, his mother hadn’t slowed a bit. Her stylish blond bob, subtle makeup and smile lines gave her the appearance of someone who enjoyed life, but she also had a stubborn streak wider than a country mile.

At thirty-five, he’d mellowed to the point of not minding driving her around town whenever her driver’s license was suspended—and that was often—nor did he mind living with her in the big house on the ranch. Kept her out of trouble.

Maybe they kept each other out of trouble.

He pocketed his keys. “What’s it supposed to look like? It’s a vet clinic, not a spa, Ma.”

Cade had personally taken a loss on this property by selling it to the new veterinarian and her father for pennies on the dollar. Anything to convince a vet to take a chance on moving to Jewel River. When Dr. Bill Banks, the only veterinarian within two hours of here, retired last fall, it had affected every rancher and pet owner in this swath of Wyoming.

Jewel River needed a veterinarian ASAP.

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Want to read more? Purchase Training the K-9 Companion!

You can find Training the K-9 Companion in Walmart and all stores that carry Love Inspired books!

To celebrate, I’m giving away one copy of  Training the K-9 Companion (US winner will receive a signed paperback, International winner will receive an ebook, void where prohibited by law.). Simply leave a comment below, and I’ll select a winner via random number generator. Giveaway ends on July 3, 2024 at noon EST, and winner will be announced in the comments of this post and in a separate post!

Do you love books with dogs and cowboys? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Thank you for celebrating my new release with me!

Banter is in the Eye of the Beholder by Valerie Comer

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I’m no rom com author, which is a very sad state of affairs. You see, I love a good smirk, even though I rarely truly LOL at the snark in stories. If a story billed as humorous makes me smile or snicker once or twice, I figure it’s done its job, because my sense of humor is a little on the oddball side, and a direct score is rare.

Which makes me all kinds of nervous as a writer. I know better than to claim to be funny, but I do always hope my readers will find something to smile about here and there. Dare I hope for an actual laugh? Maybe? I’m also happy to hear if readers shed a tear or two. Yeah, I’m mean that way.

Therefore, I don’t like to claim “fun banter” for my stories. I wait until a few readers have commented before I believe that my sense of humor has any sort of appeal to the wider range of readers. So humor me a moment. (See what I did there? Sorry. Couldn’t resist…)

To set the stage, Paisley and Weston have been working at the same ranch resort for over a year. She’s determined to crack his shell. He’s equally determined to keep her at arm’s length. She joins him on a trail ride against his wishes as they seek out a good camping spot for a group of tweens coming to Sweet River Ranch the following week. They’ve now reached their destination and are settling in with their lunch.

“What’s in your thermos?” Weston lifted it.

“Uncorrupted Earl Grey tea.”

He sent her a questioning look. “Uncorrupted?”

“Tea the way God intended. No sugar. No cream. Just black as sin.”

“Sin is corruption.”

It took her a moment before she burst out laughing. “Did you just crack a funny, cowboy? I’m impressed.”

That lopsided grin nearly hit both of his cheeks before flattening out. Progress.

“If you want some tea, I can share.”

Weston shuddered. “Coffee all the way over here. I brought a billy can.”

It was her turn to wonder what he meant. “Billy can?”

“For cowboy coffee. Who needs a thermos when they can brew up their own when they want?”

She settled on a rock and unscrewed the thermos’s lid. “Yet here I sit with my hot tea and don’t have to work for it right now.” She poured some into the cup that formed the lid and saluted him with it.

Weston had gathered a few twigs at some point. Now he added a handful of dry moss from the lower branches of a nearby tree and struck a match to it.

“Oh, a match! I thought you might rub two sticks together.”

He glowered at her before bending to puff gently on the tiny flame. It caught on the moss and then the twigs before flickering to ignite the slender sticks. Weston cracked a couple of thicker pieces against his knee and fed them in as the fire grew.

“Impressive.” She munched a handful of trail mix as she leaned back against a log.

Weston shot her a glare and held out his palm. “Can I have some?”

“May I?”

“Never mind.” He pulled his hand back.

“Teasing you, cowboy. Here. Have a handful, and I’ll get out the sandwiches.”

When he didn’t reach out again, she tossed the bag at him. Whatever. He might have loosened up a little, but apparently the big bad wolf was still present and in no mood to be teased about his grammar.

If you find that excerpt amusing or at least mildly interesting, you might enjoy my writing style! A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy is the third Sweet River Ranch Romance title. There’s some general series setup in the previous installments, but Paisley and Weston’s story is complete within this one, and enough background is revealed for you to quickly catch on.

GIVEAWAY – A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy is releasing in two weeks, on Thursday, June 27. Are you interested in an ARC (advanced reader copy)? I’m giving away five digital ARCs to those who’d like to read (and hopefully review) A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy early.

To toss your name in the proverbial hat, tell me what story (title/author) you’ve read recently that tickled your funny bone and what you loved about it. Which author(s) can you count on to provide levity in your reading experience? Bonus points for funny contemporary romance with a Christian worldview!

I’ll go first. Authors of Christian rom com whom I consistently look to for a laugh are Krista Phillips, Heather Gray, Becca Kinzer, and Sarah Monzon. I could probably name a dozen others!

Who’s your go-to?

Five winners, anywhere in the world, will be awarded e-book copies of A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy via Book Funnel. I’m sorry; I can’t send paperback review copies. However, I expect both e-book and paperback versions to be “live” on Amazon on June 27. If reading in Kindle Unlimited is your thing, please look up my cowboys!

Valerie Comer is known for writing engaging characters, strong communities, and deep faith into her green clean romances. She only hopes her creations enjoy their happily-ever-afters as much as she does hers, sharing farm life in western Canada with her husband, adult children, and adorable grandkids. Valerie is a USA Today bestselling author and a two-time Word Award winner.
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Learn more about Valerie and her books at https://valeriecomer.com.

New Release & Give-Away

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Howdy!  Howdy!

Good morning, or evening!

Yes, indeed.  I have a new release out and it is book #4 in the new Medicine Man series.

And today, I’ll be giving away an e-book copy of the book to a lucky blogger.  Please leave a message.

As I often do when I have a new release out, I post an excerpt of the book, and I’ll be doing this today, also  Just as a mention, my respect for these two characters grew as the story progressed.  Both of them so different, yet both of them had so much respect for each other.

So the excerpt I’ll leave with you today comes at the very start of the novel, and is the Prologue.

 

This is the back blurb for the book:

A woman deserted.  A troubled warrior.  A passion denied. 

  1. When eighteen-year-old Czanna Fehér is forced to flee her home in Hungary, she journeys with her younger siblings and her father’s manservant to Montana in search of her cousin. Mourning for her recently deceased parents, she sings a prayer to the grand, Montana mountains.  From the first moment Stands Strong hears Czanna singing, he is transfixed.  When he meets her, he is captivated as much by her dark beauty as he is by her voice.

But, after the family’s hired guide steals their money and runs, her father’s servant leaves Czanna to go and serve justice to the man, leaving Czanna desolate and in charge.  Being of the gentry class in Hungary, Czanna knows she and her siblings cannot survive in this land without help.  When Stands Strong comes to her aid, she realizes she must trust this man.

Lakota born, though raised by the Blackfeet, Stands Strong descends from a long line of medicine men, but this legacy seems to have skipped over him.  Accepting this, he has become an expert scout.  But, when Czanna attempts to hire Stands Strong as their guide, offering him the “evil gold rock” as payment, he suggests marriage to him instead.  Czanna refuses him, even though the flame of love is burning heatedly in her heart.

Can two people from incompatible cultures ever come together?  Or are their star-guided paths meant only to briefly cross?

Warning:  A sensuous romance that might cause a desire to go West in search of love and adventure.

 

She Brings Beauty To Me

By

Karen Kay

PROLOGUE

Pest, Hungary

The Estate of József and Mária Fehér

Spring 1855

  

“Czanna, hurry.  There is no time to waste!”

“What is it, Frederic?”  Eighteen-year-old Czanna Fehér stepped from her bedroom into the grand hallway on the upper level of her family’s ancestral mansion.  By closing the heavy wooden door against her maid, who still lingered in the room, Czanna ensured her conversation with her brother would remain private.  It was important in these days after the Grand Revolution of 1848.  Even the walls had “ears.”  Indeed, since the revolution for independence had failed, their entire family was constantly on guard against spies.

Taking her brother’s outstretched hand, Czanna rushed with him down the hall, noticing details about the corridor she had always taken for granted: the white, gold-flecked marble flooring; the gold, woolen curtains and the gold hardware holding them in place; the white and gold tiles of the arched ceiling and the white columns with gold trim that supported them.

At the end of the passage loomed her favorite feature, though it stood more exactly outside the hallway.  There at the very end of the pathway stood a heavy gold-flecked glass door, opening up onto a balcony that supported a three-tiered fountain from which water fell down in every direction and at every hour of the day.  At the very top of the white fountain stood the statue of Dacso Fehér, one her noble ancestors.  And, there he reposed, captured in time, ever alert and ready to take action to defend his home, should there be a need.

Yet, she had only a moment to admire the grand walkway and its balcony because Frederic was ushering her toward the third-floor study, a room where they had often played in their youth.  He opened the door, closing it as they both hurried past the large rectangular desk that stood so stately upon a wall-to-wall woolen rug of blue and gold.  Her brother didn’t hesitate in his movements, ignoring the alcove overlooking the estate and guiding her into a corner of the room.  There he paused, and, since Frederic was acting in so clandestine a manner, Czanna prayed the acoustics of the spot would keep their conversation from being overheard.

As soon as they were both seated in the blue-and-gold chairs and were facing one another, she asked, “What has happened?”

Frederic looked cautiously around the room before he murmured, “Our parents have been arrested and are awaiting trial.”

“Arrested?  Awaiting trial?  Surely you jest!”

“I do not,” he said.  “Indeed, it is true.  There is even talk of hanging them both for their part in the rebellion of 1848.”

“No!  It cannot be true!  The new government would never go so far as to arrest a nobleman and his wife.”

Frederic reached out and took Czanna’s hand into his own as though to comfort her.  But, such consolation lasted only a moment before his gaze bore into her own, and he said, “I fear it is no lie.  Now, listen to me carefully.  Someone—and we don’t know who—has reported our parents as part of the noblemen who helped Lajos Kossuth when he was in power in 1848.  As you know, his followers, save some who escaped, have either been imprisoned or executed.”

“No!”  Czanna let out a scream.

“Sh-h-h.  Do not cry out again, Czanna.  Now, listen and hear me well.  I am working with others who supported the Kossuth revolution; we are planning to make an appeal to Emperor Franz Joseph to free our parents.  I believe we will be successful.  But, you must remain strong as I tell you this next part: our entire family, including you and me as well as our little brother and sister, could be hung along with our parents if the appeal does not go well.”

Czanna gasped.  “But, I thought the new government had proclaimed they would support the idea of freedom for all, including all those who supported the 1848 Revolution.”

“Although there is talk of this, it is not true,” replied Fredric.  “Listen carefully.  I was able to speak briefly to our father today, and we both agree you and the rest of the family must flee.  It is for your own safety and the preservation of our family.  You must leave here this very night, and you must take our younger brother and sister with you.”

“Tonight?  Leave Hungary?  Leave the only home I’ve ever known?”

“I fear you must,” answered Frederic.  “Neither I nor our father can envision any other way to keep you and the rest of our family safe.”

Czanna looked away, forcing herself to become calm.  Then, after a moment, she said softly, “Yes, of course.  I am sorry I am so shocked; it is only that—” Her voice broke.  Then, looking up at her brother, she asked, “And you?  You have mentioned our brother and sister, but what about you?  You are coming with us, are you not?”

Frederic glanced away from her, his composure hard, although a muscle twitched in his cheek.  At last, he said, “No.  I am staying here.  I fear I cannot escape with you.  There are people I am working with who also wish to free our parents, and if I am not here to help these people, our parents’ freedom is not assured.”

“Oh, I see.  You are to stay here and help our parents.  And, of course there is no one else who will work harder than you to free them.  Still, if I must leave tonight, how will I ever be able to go away unseen?  Where would I go?”

“To America.  You must go to America.”

“To America?  But, America is so far away, and I hear it is a savage land.”

“Yes, I have been given rumors to believe the same as you,” said Frederic.  “But, there are reasons why America is the only country where our father and I believe you and the rest of the family will be safe.  It is there where you will be able to hide yourself from any Hungarian spies.  I have already spoken to our father’s manservant, Henrik, and I have asked him to accompany you.  He, however, refused the coin I offered him to do it.  He said it is his duty to ensure you and our brother and sister are kept as safe as possible.  He will guide you and shelter you as much as he is able.  He also understands why I must stay here to try to free our father and our mother, and he agrees with our father and me.  He has also given me his solemn word of honor to help you and our brother and sister to reach the American frontier with as little incident as possible.  Henrik will, of course, be bringing his own daughter with him.”

“Yes, of course.  Since she is his only family, she, too, must embark upon this journey.  Although she is barely ten years and four, I believe I shall welcome her assistance very much, especially since our younger sister is still a babe.”

“Yes.  Now, listen well to me.  You and the others are to sail north on the Danube this very night, and once you are out of the city of Pest, you and the others will go by coach to the coast, there to set sail for America.  I have purchased the boarding tickets for you all on a ship sailing from the port there tomorrow.  The name of the ship is on the tickets.  I will now give them to you and not to Henrik.  Count them and ensure there are five.”  Frederic handed her the tickets.

“Yes.  There are five tickets here.”

“Good.  Now, come, I have a private box in this study where I have stored the papers you will need as well as enough gold and silver so you will be able to buy lodging and food.  Keep the money on your person at all times.  I have two strong, but light bags to serve this purpose.  Do not store the coin in a trunk or any other convenience that is separate from you, nor are you to tell anyone, including Henrik, about the treasure you will be carrying on your person.  I’m sorry.  I know this is a heavy burden I am forced to place upon you, but there is no other manner in which to ensure you will be safe from harm.  Never show what I am to give to you to another soul either—not to our younger brother and certainly not to Henrik.  I will give Henrik other monies so he will not suspect that you also carry a treasure with you.  Please bend close for what I am about to show you and tell you.  These very walls may well have ears.  I fear I am placing you now as the head of our family from this day forward.  This family now extends to both Henrik and his daughter.”

“But…about the gold and silver.  I understand what you say about showing it to no one, including Henrik.  However, Henrik has been with our family for his entire life, and he wouldn’t—”

“I trust no one,” interrupted Frederic.  “Someone reported our parents for their part in the revolution—someone who knows us and has access to our parents’ secret papers.  Because this spy is within our midst, we are all in danger.  Do you understand?  We could all be tried for treason and hung.”

“But, Frederic, since our youngest sister, Béla, is only three years old, surely it is possible for her to stay here.  After all, it will be a hard journey for her.  Is there no other way?”

“There is none.  It will be worse for her if she stays, and this is another reason why I spoke long and ardently to Henrik about the need to bring his daughter with him.  I could not have rightly placed you into the position as the head of our family if you also had to act as a nanny for Béla.  Henrik’s daughter, Lilike, will care for Béla, which will leave you free to think clearly about what is best for our family.  Do you have any other questions?”

“I…I—”

“You all must flee…and tonight.  I do not know how much time we have until the palace guards come here to arrest our entire family.”

“I…I can hardly believe it.”

“I know.”

Glancing up at Frederic’s solemn face, Czanna was startled to realize this might be the last time she would ever see her brother, unless…  “Brother, if we are all in danger, then you must come with us.  I beg you.  Come with us.”

“I cannot,” Frederic replied.  “You know I cannot.  I have it in my power to free our parents and clear our family’s name.  This means more to me than my life.  Please understand, I must stay here and fight.  But, you must go.  You must find safety in America.  Lose yourself in the wild western frontier of America.  Do not use our family name.  Trust no one.  And, under no circumstances are you to return to Hungary.”

“Never?”

“Never,” Frederic confirmed, shaking his head.  “I believe it must be so.  There seems to be no empathy in the new government towards those who strove to free the people.  But, do not fear.  There is yet a ray of light in all of this.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember our cousin Alfred?”

Czanna nodded.  “I do.  He is about ten years older than you, I think.”

“Yes, he is older than I.  Do you remember him being a part of the Revolution, also?”

“Yes, I do,” said Czanna.  “But, he became a Hungarian forty-eighter and escaped into the American West, didn’t he?  I assume he must have changed his name in order to evade capture.”

“Yes, he did,” replied Frederic.  “But, he and I have been writing to one another these last seven years.  I wish I knew where he is located exactly in the American West.  I know only the following: he uses the English name of Old Tom Johnson and he lives within the Glacier Mountains located in the far corner of the Northwest Indian Country.  I have written to him, informing him of what is happening here to our entire family, and I have told him to watch for you and our siblings in the next few years.  But, since I do not know exactly where he makes his home in the Glacier Mountains, I am trusting you—not Henrik— to hire a guide to take you to him.”

“But, why not Henrik?”

“Let me say this one more time: someone who knows us and who has access to our papers betrayed us.  I like Henrik, same as you.  But, I trust no one except you to take our family to safety.”

Czanna nodded.

“Now, I have also written a letter that I will give to you to take to our cousin, whom you may call Tom Johnson.  I am putting this letter into your care to present to him once you locate him; plus, there is one more of our family’s possessions which is, perhaps, the most important of all I have to give you.  Our father begs you to find our cousin and give him this.”  Frederic reached inside his coat to draw out an object carefully wrapped in the finest linen.  Looking around the room, inspecting its nooks and crannies in detail, he then gave the package his attention and unwrapped the linen.

Czanna gasped.  “Why, it’s our…our—”

“Coat of arms, our Crest.  It is worth a treasure, not only because it is made of bronze, gold and silver, but because it is also a seal we must preserve.  Our father instructed me to caution you to hide it well, and, to this end, I have personally created a trap in your trunk where you may hide our seal.  When you at last find our cousin, you are to give our family’s crest to him.  It is important.  The seal must be preserved, even if our country falls.  It will also identify you to our cousin.  Our father wishes you to give our cousin the seal because, if my plea to Emperor Franz Joseph fails, our cousin would then be the oldest living member of our family.  As you well know, it is always the eldest of our family who must bear the responsibility for preserving it.  Seek out our cousin.  He will help you.  Give him my letter and the seal and ask him to help you all to disappear into the rugged country of the American West.  I fear there may well be Hungarian agents who will try to follow you.  Do you understand?”

“I do.  But, Frederic.  How can I go there and leave you here knowing…knowing…?”

Frederic again shook his head.  “I cannot go with you.  Please understand this: my duty is here.  When you arrive in America, send me word of your arrival but say nothing more.  I believe you will need to hire a coach to take you to a settlement called St. Louis.  From there, you can book passage aboard a steamboat that will take you into the depths of the American West.  Our cousin has written to me telling me he has become a fur trapper.  I admit I think it is a terrible occupation, but it is, perhaps, the only livelihood for a man in the ruggedness of America.  At least where he is now, he is not in the line of fire.  Join him there, and once you are safe from harm, use the money I have given you to buy property, if you can.  I will do my best to free our parents.  I cannot emphasize this enough: do not let anyone know you carry with you a treasure in gold and silver, nor tell another living soul about the family crest; you are not even to say a word about this to our siblings, and certainly not to Henrik.”

“But, I must have some money I can easily show and use to buy necessities.  If I am to hire a man to take us to our cousin, I must—”

“Of course you will have to carry some coin with you.  But, what I am giving you to carry on your person is more than mere coin.”

“Oh, yes, of course.  Yes.  I understand now.”

“Hear me well, and do not forget what I am about to tell you: until this is over, you can trust no one who is Hungarian, except, of course, our cousin.  Someone has betrayed us.  Now, remember these words I say to you: do not ever come back to Hungary for any reason.”

“But, Frederic, not ever?”

“Not ever.  Swear this to me now: you are never to return to Hungary.”

“But, what if—?”

“Do you swear?”

Gazing up into her brother’s solemn expression, Czanna nodded and whispered, “I swear.”

“Good.  As you know, our family is one of the noble families who sided with the Revolution.  I do not have the knowledge of what the future holds here.  But, whatever our future is to be, I and our father and mother wish you and our siblings to survive.  Make a new life for yourself, as well as for our brother and sister.  Do you understand?”
Czanna nodded.

“Good.  Now, grab your cloak, gather our siblings together and go!  Outside of what I’ve given you, take nothing else with you.”

“But, my clothes, my shoes, my—”

“They are all Hungarian made.  You must disappear.  You and our brother and sister are to have nothing with you or on you that can identity you as to whom you really are.  Now, Henrik waits outside with a coach.”

Czanna’s brother, who was probably her best friend in all the world as well as being her brother, took both her hands into his own.  Breathing in deeply, he said, “Farewell, Czanna.  I will miss you and the others.  I am sorry to burden you with so much responsibility.  If there were a way to do it, I would take the cares of the world away from you, our sister and our brother.  I, alone, would carry this weight if I could.  But, there is not a manner by which to do it.  I must free our parents.  I will write.  Look for my letters, but do not write back to me except to inform me of your journey and that you have reached America.  Know this: I will never ask where you are and you are never to tell me.  Nor will I ever ask you to go against your word and return to Hungary.  Again, I am sorry I have to burden you with this, but upon your shoulders rests the future life of our family.”

Czanna nodded, looking down and hiding, if only for a moment, the shock as well as the tears in her eyes.  It was at some length when, at last, clearing her throat, she said, “I know and I understand the burden I carry.  Farewell, Frederic.  We will see one another again.  I am certain of it.”

“Let us hope your words will hold true.”

Standing up, Frederic reached out a hand to pull Czanna to her feet.  He hugged her, and, as was tradition, he kissed her gently on each side of her face.  Then, Czanna stood to her tiptoes and, reaching up, returned the endearment.

Shaking a little, Czanna stepped back and, turning away, hurried from the study, rushing toward her younger siblings’ rooms.

“Farewell,” she called as she reached the door.

“Farewell, Czanna,” answered Frederic.  “Godspeed.”

Hail Stone (Crow) and his wife, Alvina.  Although Hail Stone was from the Crow tribe, I simply l love this photo — it looks like they might have met in one of the Wild West Shows.  It is a picture showing the love between two people regardless of their cultures.

Anyway, that’s it for today.  Do leave a comment.  And have a happy day and rest of the week!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can pick up your copy of She Brings Beauty To Me here:

https://tinyurl.com/She-Brings-Beauty-To-Me

 

 

The Last Week Hustle and a Give-Away

by

Howdy!

Gosh, doesn’t the title of this blog sound like a dance?  In a way, last week was a bit of a “dance,” and hustle.  And, although it’s a brand new week, the hustle continues.

So, let me begin with the news.  First, I have three (3) books on sale right now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHE STEALS MY BREATH is the first book in the Medicine Man series and is on sale for $.99.

WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH is the second book in the Blackfoot Warrior series and is on sale for $2.99.

BRAUT DES EISERNEN WOLF’S — but wait isn’t this last book in German?  Yes, indeed, it is.  In English it is IRON WOLF’S BRIDE and it is on sale for $.99.

So this deserves a little bit of a story.

Slowly, I’m getting the Wild West series translated into German for the German market.  The Eagle and the Flame was the first book I put up on the German market.  But Iron Wolf’s Bride required a little more effort.  The original cover did not have the layered file included and so my cover artist and I decided to do a new cover similar to the old one.  And, this was the result.  I liked it a lot and so we now have this cover for Iron Wolf’s Bride in e-book format (paperbacks take several extra steps).

And so, in celebration, I’m putting this e-book on sale at $.99.

Then, in other news about chances to win give-aways, Authors XP is putting on a sale of Romantic suspense books.  And, I am participating in this event.  This book, IRON WOLF’S BRIDE is not only a Historical Romance/Native American, set in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, but it is also filled with suspense.  The event starts today, Tuesday and goes on until next Monday.  And here is the link to the event:  https://AuthorsXP.com/giveaway

And, just another bit of news, while my latest effort, SHE BRING BEAUTY TO ME, is in editing, I’m writing another Young Adult Story under the pen name of Genny Cothern.  This will be a little longer than my first Young Adult Story and its working title (what I call the book when I’m writing it), is:  THE ADVENTURE OF GOOD EAGLE AND MISS STARLING.  It is written a little differently than my Romantic Historical Books in that it is written in the first person (I saw the bird) as opposed to the 3rd person (She saw the bird.)  I think this is, perhaps, natural since these stories of true adventures I’m reading for research are all written in the 1st person.

And so, I thought I’d give you a little taste of this new Young Adult Story.  Remember, it is as yet unedited.

 

CHAPTER ONE

The Village of Saint Louis

1844

 

 

As I waited to start my passage aboard the steamboat, NIMROD, tears streamed down my face, but I did nothing to curtail them.  I knew no one here in this far west fur-trading town of St. Louis, so what did it matter if I cried?

In my gloved hand was my paid ticket from Uncle Jed, who had also financed the various and different carriages that had brought me here.  Indeed, due to bad weather, I had only arrived here on the previous evening, leaving little time for me to enjoy the town—if there were any joy to be found in this village…or anywhere.

It has been said this town is where the West begins.  But, I little cared.  Having spent little more than a few unrestful hours in a boarding house last night, I cared not for this village nor for the Western Indian Country.  After all, I was journeying into the West not by choice, but rather by need.

My name is Starling Nelson.  I was so named after the bird of English fame, the European Starling.  When I was younger, my mother had told me the story of my grandfather gifting her a pair of the birds after he had returned from one of his visits to England.  My mother, who had been quite young at the time, had fallen in love with the Starlings’ songs consisting of whistles and she had especially loved the warbling of the male bird.  And so, when I had come around— I being my parent’s only child—I had inherited the name.

However, this was all in my past.  Only the present seemed to matter now, and, unfortunately, my present no longer included my mother and father.  Sadly, my parents had perished months ago on what should have been a short day cruise on the Hudson River.  I was supposed to have gone with them, but due to a bad head cold, I had stayed behind, bed ridden.

An unexpected storm had gathered suddenly, and a bolt of lightning had struck the boat, sinking it and leaving no survivors.  I had then been left alone in a world I was ill-equipped to survive in.

Because my mother possessed no living relatives—at least none we had ever spoken about—my father’s only brother had come to my rescue, offering his home to me, he who made his living in the dreaded Indian Country.  Not that I required his guardianship.  I was a girl of sixteen, after all.  I could take care of myself, or so I had told myself, until the bills had come due, and then, having no means to pay them, I had realized how vulnerable I really was.

Imagine my surprise when I had learned my parent’s legacy to me was not to receive any of their riches, but rather, it was to instead pay my parent’s debts; added to this was the legal threat of sending me to an orphanage.  This discovery, as well as the intimidation, had plummeted me into the depths of despair and, for a time, had caused me such misery, I thought I might never recover.  Luckily, Uncle Jed —a man I had never met—had somehow discovered my plight and had paid my parent’s debts.

I had rejoiced for a time, but then had come the reality of my situation, as hunger had caused me to seek employment in an environment unfriendly to a working youngster.  Imagine my surprise when I had received a letter from Uncle Jed, inviting me to come west to live with his family.  It had said:

 

“My dearest niece,

 

“Please allow me to tell you how deeply saddened I am at the loss or your mother and my dearly beloved brother.  I have now paid your parent’s creditors and hope I have taken this burden from your shoulders.

“It has come to my notice that the League of Presbyterian Ministers recommends sending you to an orphanage where you should stay until you reach your majority.  This has been done without consulting me.  I, therefore, would like to offer you an alternate plan by opening my home to you, humble though my abode might be.

“While it is true that the West might be considered to be a rugged country, it has many advantages, which I think you would soon realize if you decide to become a part of my family here.

“My wife, who is of the Blackfeet, Pikuni, tribe, bids me to encourage you to make the journey here.  She wishes me to tell you she will be the best mother she can be to you, and she adds that all she has will be yours.

“It is my hope you will look with a kind eye upon the arrangements I have made for your journey into what is known as “Indian Country.”  The tickets I am sending you in this letter do not expire.  Should you decide to come here, you have only to book the journey, which, as you can see, awaits you.

“Know that, upon receipt of your return letter and your wish to join me here, I will make arrangements for you to be met in St. Louis by the Captain of the steamboat, NIMROD, who will be tasked with the duty to bring you safely to the post that I command  via Fort Union, a few thousand miles from Fort Benton, where I reside.  Or, if my duties do not demand my attention, I should like to meet you at Fort Union, myself.

“You may, however, wish to remain where you are, and, if this is what you think would be best, I will honor your decision.

“I look forward to your letter informing me of your wishes.”

 

Yours truly,

Your father’s brother, Uncle Jed

 

Though the mere thought of traveling into Indian Country had frightened me, to be sure, I had yet answered my uncle’s letter at once, deciding a trip into the west was preferable to remaining where I was, where the threat of being constrained into an orphanage until I reached the age of twenty and one, loomed darkly upon my future.  Besides, the environment I now found myself to be in reminded me constantly of my parents and my losing them and their love.  At present, grief ruled my life.

And so, I had accepted my uncle’s offer to relocate myself and all my worldly possessions to his home…a home he had described to me in another letter as a fur-trading post, located deeply in the heart of Indian country.

“Are ye ready to board the steamship, Lassie?  Ye be Miss Starling Nelson, are ye not?”

I gazed up at the tall, heavy-set man, who, dressed in a sailor’s coarse, dark- blue coat and a Captain’s hat, startled me.  Yet, I found myself saying, as if by rote, “I suppose I am.”

“Good, Lassie.  Good.  As soon as I seen ye, I know’d ye to be Jed Nelson’s niece.  Who else but his niece would have the golden color of hair, so like yer Uncle Jed’s?”

I simply stared at the clean-shaven man, not knowing how to respond.  But, I was saved the effort because the man was continuing to talk.

“Well, now I be knowin’ yer uncle.  A fine man.  Aye, a fine man he be.  But, let me introduce me self to ye, Lassie.  Here be a letter from yer Uncle Jed.  It be a letter of introduction, I bein’ the capt’n of this steamboat.  Name’s Edward…Edward MacKenzie, though I be no relation to Kenneth McKensie, the Bourgeois of Fort Union.  But, because I be the best steamboat capt’n on the Missouri, yer uncle trusted no one but me to get ye safely to him.  So now, if’n ye be ready to board, I’ll be seein’ ye to yer quarters.  Yer uncle’s to meet ye at Fort Union, but ye probably know this already and I be a tellin’ ye nothin’ new.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, trying my best to smile at the man.  “I did know it.  Uncle Jed sent me a letter and in it he told me a great deal about you, Mr. MacKenzie.  I am glad to meet you.  I am glad, indeed.”  

“Pleasure be all mine.  Now, this way, Lassie.  Mind where ye step now.  Would na want ye to be thrown into the Great Mississippi down thar.”  He pointed to the river with a motion of his head.

“Thank you.  I will, indeed, step carefully,” I replied.

****

Coming Soon, SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME. Here is the cover of the new story, book number four (4) in the Medicine Man series.

I’ll be giving away an e-book of  the English version of IRON WOLF’S BRIDE.

Sure hope you enjoyed the blog today.  Be sure to leave a post.  I very much look forward to reading your comments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If the Boot Fits

by

It’s official! If the Boot Fits has released. YeeHaw! I’m so excited to share book two in my Texas Ever After series with you. I thought you might enjoy a sneak peek into the story itself, so without further ado, may I present Asher and Samantha . . .

I’m sorry, Pop. I’ve tried everything I can think of to fix this, even a few things I’m ashamed of, but there’s no putting it right. The house is gone.

Nothing to do now but make the new place as habitable as possible before he left. Which was why he reined Bruno to a halt in front of Patterson’s Hardware. If he was going to weatherproof Mama Bess’s roof, he was going to need some supplies.

A bell rang as he entered the shop. The clerk behind the counter glanced up from the customer he was assisting and smiled.

“Afternoon, sir.”

Asher fingered the recently reshaped brim of his hat. “Afternoon.”

“Farm implements are along the back wall. Ironware to your right. Carpentry tools in the center.  Cutlery and kitchenware to the left.”

“Much obliged.” Asher strode toward the center aisle in search of nails. He’d probably have to special order the shingles he’d need, but—

A pile of wiggling pink froth stole every thought from his head as he rounded the corner and stepped into the aisle.

It was a woman—obviously—but what she was doing, he had no earthly idea. Hunkered down in front of a display of chisels, she seemed to be trying to peer beneath the shelving to view something in the adjacent aisle. Asher eased backward, took a couple steps to his left, and peered down the next walkway. A pair of men stood about even with her position, discussing the merits of whitewash versus paint.

Not exactly the type of conversation to entice an eavesdropper.

Inching back to his right, he found the female where he’d left her, only this time she held two gloved hands along the bottom of the shelf, as if measuring the length of something, though the spread of her hands failed to match any of the items housed on the nearby shelf.

Deciding it might be best simply to pretend he didn’t see her, Asher turned his gaze away and stepped into the aisle. Unfortunately, his elbow clipped a dangling hand saw and sent it flying off its nail and onto the floor. The woman gasped and lurched to her feet, spinning toward Asher as he gave chase to the runaway saw.

Her cheeks flushed pinker than her dress and her eyes darted to him then past him as if checking to see if anyone else had witnessed her odd behavior.

Instinct prompted Asher to look over his shoulder. See if anyone was there. But he didn’t. He couldn’t seem to look away from her.

Blue. Her eyes. Summer sky blue. Rimmed with thick lashes. And returning their attention to him.

Feeling his own cheeks heat, Asher held up his hands in apology. “Sorry to startle you. I . . . ah . . . accidentally knocked it with my arm.” He took a few steps forward and bent to retrieve the errant saw.

“That’s all right.” She offered a shaky smile and ran a hand down the front of her dress.

Asher straightened, the saw clutched awkwardly in front of him. Say something, you dolt!

“I’ll just . . . ah . . . put this back.”

Ugh. Something intelligent, Ash.

He sidled down to the front of the aisle where the other saws hung, keeping her in his peripheral vision. His mind spun but failed to grip anything worth saying out loud.

“Are you . . . interested in carpentry?”

Her downturned gaze jerked up to meet his, a hint of guilt playing about her face. Had she been staring at his feet? Why would a woman wearing a dress that probably cost more than his saddle be interested in a worn-out pair of boots? Wait . . . had that been what she was looking at while she’d been hunched over? The boots worn by the men on the next aisle over?

“Carpentry?” Tiny lines etched her forehead. “Not particularly. Why?”

He grinned, feeling more himself now that he had the upper hand in the conversation. He tipped his head toward the shelf beside her. “You seemed quite enthralled by those chisels. I thought you might be a hobbyist.”

“Ah, yes. Well. My father has a birthday coming up.” She fiddled with a bit of lace at her cuff.

“And he’s a carpenter?” He really shouldn’t derive so much pleasure from teasing her, but it felt good to let go of his worries for a few minutes and flirt with a pretty girl.

“A rancher, actually, but tools are always handy to have around, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.” He grinned. “A ranch can never have too many chisels.”

Her lips twitched and amusement gleamed in her vibrant eyes, but she managed to keep it contained. Unfortunate, since he found himself intensely curious about what her laugh would sound like once unleashed.

“Everything all right back here?” The clerk who had greeted Asher from behind the front counter hurried into the aisle, his smile strained. “I heard a crash.” He scanned the shelves, no doubt looking for evidence of an avalanche.

“Sorry,” Asher said. “That was my fault. I clipped a saw with my elbow. The stray’s been wrangled and is back with the herd now, though, so no harm done.” He nodded to where the saw hung, nice and tidy.

The clerk, however, didn’t bother looking at the cutting-edge display. His attention remained riveted elsewhere. Not that Asher blamed him. What fella wanted to look at saws when there was a blonde beauty a few feet away?

“Miss Dearing? Are you sure there’s nothing I can assist you with? I’d be happy to lend you my expertise.”

Asher’s ears rang. Miss Dearing? As in Samantha Dearing? The pampered princess he’d flattened when jumping out of her daddy’s study window? The one whose little brother nearly drowned trying to chase him down?

Had she recognized him? Slowly, he turned his face away, thankful for the distraction of the overzealous clerk. He hadn’t recognized her, but then he’d not seen her up close that night. But what if she had seen him? In the study, or after he’d leapt from the window.

Breathe, Ash. It had been dark. A boy had been drowning. She’d had other concerns on her mind. Plus, no recognition had registered in her eyes while they’d been talking. He would’ve seen it with as hard as he’d been staring at those blue beauties.

But what if it wasn’t his face that gave him away. His gut tightened as her interest in men’s boots suddenly made a dreadful sort of sense. If she’d found the boot he’d dropped . . .

Asher yanked his fingers away from the hand saw he’d been pretending to inspect. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Lengthening his stride, he left the carpentry aisle behind and made a beeline for the door. Shingles and nails would have to wait. He couldn’t chance being recognized by the one woman in town who could send him to prison.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt.

You can grab a copy of If the Boot Fits from your favorite retailer.

Amazon | Baker Book House | Christianbook

Tomorrow’s a Big Day!

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I have two big book events happening tomorrow.

1. My Christmas short story My True Love Gave to Me is releasing. Yippee!

I had so much fun giving the classic Twelve Days of Christmas carol a romantic Texas twist. I thought you might enjoy a sneak peek at how our hero gives these gifts his own cowboy spin.

Her mother must have seen them coming, for she threw open the back door and waved them in. “Come in and warm yourself by the stove,” she urged. As Anna slipped past, her mother touched her arm and stalled her progress. “A gift arrived for you.” Her eyes danced, setting off a similar gyration in Anna’s belly. “Your father’s grumbling about it in the front room.”

If he was grumbling, it had to be from Simeon. Without pausing to remove her coat, Anna abandoned the kitchen and hurried to the front room. She found her father bent at the waist, staring at what looked to be a cactus in a pot on the slender table behind the sofa.

“Daddy?”

He straightened and turned abruptly. “I tell you, Anna. That boy has lost his mind. Who in the world sends a cactus as a courting gift? And there’s a bullet hanging from the center of the thing. What is that supposed to signify? Is it some kind of threat?”

“Of course it’s not a threat.” Though it was rather odd. What are you up to, Simeon? Anna approached the table and found an envelope, thankfully still unopened, with her name written across the front in an unrefined scrawl she recognized instantly.

“Tell me, Herald,” her father said, alerting Anna to her growing audience, “is that not the most ridiculous bouquet you’ve ever seen? If you can even call it a bouquet. Next to your roses, it looks like a bulbous weed.”

“It is rather . . . unconventional.”

Herald’s voice faded from Anna’s awareness as she opened Simeon’s note. There were only two lines, but they made her heart pound.

To Anna, on the first day of Christmas.

From Your True Love

On the first day of Christmas. Why did that phrase sound so familiar? Then it came to her. A children’s counting song. On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

She turned back to the gift and looked at it with new eyes. Saw the reddish-purple bulb of prickly fruit. Looked closer at the bullet tied on with a string. It wasn’t ammunition for a pistol. The casing was longer. Like that for a rifle.

“Daddy?” she asked without turning.

He broke off his conversation. “Yes?”

She drew her finger along the line of the metal cylinder. “What do you call a bullet that goes into a rifle?”

He scratched at his jaw. “A cartridge. But what does that have to do with—” He broke off when she started laughing.

She spun around to face him, a smile beaming across her face as she held Simeon’s note to her breast. “Oh, Daddy. Don’t you see? It’s a gift of true love.”

He scowled. “Are you feeling all right, Anna?”

“I feel marvelous!” She waltzed up to him and handed over the note for him to inspect.

He read the note, grumbled, then passed it to Herald. She should be angry that he would share her personal correspondence without her permission, but she was too delighted with Simeon’s cleverness to take him to task.

“Why are you so happy?” her father demanded. “This has to be the least romantic gift of all time. It’s a half-dead cactus covered with barbs and a random bullet.”

“No, Daddy,” she said, her heart awash with love. “It’s a cartridge in a prickly pear tree.”

Today is the last day to pre-order. If you do, the story will show up on your Kindle bright and early tomorrow morning. Just like Christmas!

The story is only 99¢ to purchase, though it will be available in KU as well.

Pre-Order Here

Anna King has pledged her heart to Simeon Shepherd, but her father refuses to grant her hand to the young farmer. Simeon determines to be patient and earn David King’s respect over time with hard work and evidence of his ability to provide. However, when a wealthy new suitor arrives in Bethlehem, Texas to woo Anna with her father’s support, patience is no longer an option. Simeon has twelve days before Christmas to best his rival and prove once and for all that he is Anna’s true love.

2. In Her Sights has been selected for a Kindle Daily Deal – also tomorrow.

For one day only, you can purchase Tessa and Jackson’s story for only $1.49. WooHoo!

If you haven’t read the Pink Pistol Sisterhood Series yet, now’s the time to start with Book 1 going on sale tomorrow. Find it here on Amazon.

What is something fun or special coming up on the calendar in your life this week?

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL — New Release

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Howdy!

And a happy, terrific Tuesday it is.

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL, book #3 in the Medicine Man series is now released and on sale at 20% off its regular price.  Its usual price will be $4.99, but at present it is on sale for $3.99.  The paperback is on sale, also, and is priced at $9.99.

Today, I’m going to leave an excerpt from the very start of the book, and I’ll also be giving away the e-book of the first book in the medicine man series, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL

by

Karen Kay

Back cover Blurb:

CAN HER LOVE HEAL THE MEDICINE MAN’S HEART?

In spite of her fear of Indians, Sharon Wells travels from her home in St. Louis to Indian Territory in the northwest, along with her fiancé, and her friend Amelia, who is determined to return to Blackfoot Country. An orphan, Sharon yearns to be married and have a family of her own. She’s loyal to her fiancé, even when he carelessly puts her life in danger.

Strikes Fast, of the Crow People, was once on the path to becoming a medicine man, but he has lost his way. When nearly all his family were killed in a Blackfoot raid, he went on the warpath to avenge the ghosts of his murdered family. But he’s carried revenge too far, and the blood of innocents has left him feeling no longer human, without empathy or sympathy. But the beautiful white woman, Sharon, ignites a spark in him. When she’s captured in an Indian raid and her fiancé does nothing, Strikes Fast hopes his heroic deed of rescuing her might return him to the good graces of the Creator, from whom all medicine men receive their powers.

Strikes Fast’s handsome masculinity calls out to Sharon, as her beauty and her kindness calls to him. Trapped together in a blizzard, surrounded by danger, and despite the many reasons they shouldn’t be together, their growing love is undeniable. Can they find a way to heal one another and create the family each of them is longing for?

Warning:  A sensuous romance that might just melt a gal’s heart.

PROLOGUE

Fort McKenzie, built where the Missouri and the Marias Rivers meet

Northwest Indian Country

The Season of Home Days, August 1840 

 

Crack!  Blast!

Sharon Wells screamed and awakened to the sound of bullets spitting overhead, followed by ear-shattering explosions.  Placing her hands over her ears, she hunkered down in her bedding of soft furs and blankets, reaching toward the place where David, her fiancé, should have been.

But, he wasn’t there.  Bringing up her hands to cover her head, she tried to become invisible while the whiz of bullets crackled overhead.

What is going on?  Why am I under attack?  And, where is David?

Because the night had been warm and pleasant, both she and David had spent the evening in each other’s arms under a canopy of stars.  A painter, David had earlier placed his art equipment of canvas, easel and paints on a wide ledge overhead.  From there, David had said he hoped to capture the early-morning sunrise, immortalizing its image onto the canvas.

Kaboom!  Blast!

Shaking, Sharon assumed a fetal position, and, so great was her fright, she began to convulse as though she were seized by a fit, there under the cover of the soft fur blankets.

Wherever you are, please hurry back to me, David!

Peeking out from the warmth of her covers, Sharon saw it was still dark; it perhaps being the time of day when the world was blanketed in the extreme darkness before dawn.  Had David awakened and left her to climb the bluff, hoping to paint the beauty of the sunrise?

If so, why hadn’t he taken her with him, especially since he often bragged about how she inspired the best artistry in him?

She wasn’t allowed to answer the question, however, because suddenly, and from out of nowhere, the running feet of perhaps hundreds of men rushed by her, seemingly without seeing her.  With a force of will, Sharon controlled her quivering and, unable to stop herself, peeped out again from beneath her blankets.

The sight of Indian warriors made her sob, and she thought she might faint.  Each one was stripped of all clothing except for his breechcloth and moccasins, and each was painted in black, white or red colors which covered his face and body.  Each man she could see was carrying a rifle, as well as the more familiar Indian garb of quiver, arrows and a bow.

As she shivered and tried to make herself invisible, a feeling of utter terror overtook her.  Why, oh why had she ever agreed to come to this far western land?

Luckily for her, during the night she and David had placed their bedding beneath a tall pine tree and the enemy warriors were ignoring the tree, racing by her as though they were each one hurrying to be the first to launch an attack upon some poor victim.  Was their target the Pikuni camp?  Or were they attacking the traders’ fort?

Trying to force her body to be as motionless as possible, she was aware she wasn’t able to do it.  She was shivering, and she cried silently as she waited until there were no more warriors fleeing by her.  Then she stirred uneasily, because her thoughts were of two minds: she desperately wished to arise and climb the bluff in search of David, but fear kept her in place, mute and fearful of making a single move.

Meanwhile, down below in the Indian encampment came echoes of the awful sounds of blasts and screams.  Had the Pikuni people awakened to find themselves facing this horror?

It was then that she excused David for his absence, since it was he who had suggested they spend the evening on this butte.  Had he not done so, she might even now be experiencing the fate of the people below.

But, what about my dearest friend, Amelia, who will still be down there in the Pikuni camp?  Should I leave my hiding place and rush to try to find her?

Instinctively, Sharon knew she didn’t dare go down into the Pikuni camp.  Instead, she would pray that Gray Falcon, Amelia’s beau, would protect her.

Then upon the early morning atmosphere came the sound of many pairs of heavy feet running back up the butte as quickly as possible.  Was the enemy fleeing?  Had the Blackfoot warriors sent them scurrying?

Yes.  It seemed to her as if the enemy were in full retreat.  Too late it occurred to her that she should have left her hiding place and climbed the tree above her for added protection, but there was not the time to scamper up it now.  Instead, she covered her mouth to keep from screaming and tried to control her shivering.  And, crouching down, she waited.

Hours seemed to pass before the sound of the battle was little more than a single shot heard here and there.  Down below in the Pikuni camp came the inevitable wails of the women.  Obviously, people had been either injured or killed.

Still, Sharon waited and waited, so terrified she could barely move.  However, as time went on and she heard no more sounds of the battle, she raised her head and peeped out from the blanket of furs.  No one was about.

Slowly, she sat up onto to her knees and glanced quickly around the environment.  In the east she could see the beginning of a gray haze announcing the coming of the sun.  Would now be the right time to set out to find David?  It was still dark enough to provide cover for her, yet it was light enough so she wouldn’t lose her way.

Picking up the buckskin blanket and throwing it over her head and shoulders both for protection as well as a disguise, she came up to her feet and stepped toward the path leading upward toward the high butte—the one where she and David had set out his equipment.

Hopefully, David, too, had successfully hidden from the enemy warriors.  She forgave him his negligence and perhaps even his cowardice since she couldn’t imagine him fighting these Indians; he was ill-equipped to go into battle, for one reason.  Although he always carried a gun for self-defense, he would have been caught unprepared to fight off this kind of enemy.

Deeply relieved at still being alive, Sharon breathed in a long breath and, letting it out, stepped a foot upon the path leading upward.  That’s when the awful yelp of an Indian war whoop spilt through the air.  It sounded close to her, and, spinning around, she beheld a horse and its rider speeding toward her.

Momentarily, she was struck with the unreality of what was taking place.  The rider on the horse was a huge man, was painted in black stripes covering his face, and, below his shoulders, he looked to be naked.  The sight sickened her.

It was a reality she could not believe was happening to her, and one she had hoped to never experience in this strange and foreign land.  Watching with horror as the man—looking more fiend than warrior—raced toward her, she felt as though this were no more than a nightmare and she merely needed to awaken and the awful sight would be gone.  But, as he came closer and closer, she realized this was no dream.

As quickly as possible, she threw off the blanket and ran up the path, her screams for help loud to her ears.  But, no help was to be seen or experienced this morning.

Again she wondered, Where is David?

As the enemy darted toward her, she suddenly discovered she possessed a spark of courage, and, realizing that fleeing would do her no good—she could not outrun a horse—she stopped her flight.  She would take her stand here.

She turned then to watch the big ugly warrior ride toward her as though he would knock her down and kill her with one simple movement of his lance.  Oddly, she wondered if the man would fetch a good price for her scalp because of the unusual coloring of her hair.  It was strange because she felt suddenly unafraid.  Indeed, if David were dead and if this were to be the place where she would die too, she would face the event with as little flinching as possible.  After all, death came unto all creatures upon this earth.  She wished, however, that the event weren’t happening to her so soon in this life.

Even though the warrior’s actions were quick, it seemed to her as if the events taking place around her were in slow motion, giving her more than enough time to consider her own death.  After all, mightn’t death be preferable to being taken captive by an enemy?  Hopefully, the end of her would be quick and with as little pain as possible.

She watched as though from above herself as the horse continued to speed toward her, and, coming right upon her, the warrior’s big arm came out to grab hold of her.  She was jerked upward and thrown before her captor onto his racing steed; she faced downward as the awful scent of a sweat-drenched man and horseflesh made her gag.  It was a painful position; she had been thrown onto her stomach, and, closing her eyes, she prayed to God for a quick death and an everlasting salvation.

It was her last thought before, thankfully, she lost all consciousness.

And now before I sign off on this blog for today, I’d like to leave you with a review of the novel, SHE PAINTS MY SOUL.:

“I always enjoy this authors Native American books and this one didn’t disappoint. Strikes Fast and Sharon’s story is so good. He was a medicine man who lost his way after his entire family was killed. This book mostly tells of his journey to find himself. A captivating read that I read straight through.”

MJ, Amazon Review

Be sure to leave a comment.  I will be giving away book #1 in the Medicine Man series, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

tinyurl.com/shepaintsmysoul

And now here’s a one minute trailer of the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmJV0tVOYUU

 

Aiming for His Heart Excerpt

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It’s been wonderful and difficult being book ten in the Pink Pistol Sisterhood series. Good because I’ve had wonderful books to read that have come before mine, but hard because I’ve had to wait so long to wait for my story to be released. But Jade and Dalton’s day finally arrived Friday!

As we’re all recovering from the long Fourth of July weekend, I decided to do something simple and share an excerpt of Aiming for His Heart with you today. I’m so excited to hear what you readers think of Jade and Dalton’s journey to happily ever after.

 

When they reached the airport exit, sliding glass doors whooshed open. The surprisingly brisk Texas wind swirled under Jade’s coat and up her skirt, chilling her. As she followed Dalton outside, she tucked her coordinating brown-and-camel plaid scarf around her neck and pulled on her leather gloves.

As they crossed the street between the terminal and the parking garage, she tried to lengthen her stride to keep up, but her skirt refused to allow anything but dainty feminine steps, forcing her to take three to his one. When she stepped onto the sidewalk, her heel caught in a crack. She tried to tug it free, but it wouldn’t budge. “Dalton, hold up.”

He glanced over his shoulder, shook his head, and returned.

She peered up at him. “I can’t free it.”

“I hope you packed decent shoes in your monster suitcase.”

“Of course, I brought casual shoes. I’d have changed into slacks and low heels, but I went straight from work to the airport,” Jade said as he tugged her shoe free—minus the heel.

She stared at her now-destroyed favorite black Jimmy Choo heel that he handed her. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wear it until you can change into one of the store’s worth I’m guessing you’ve got in there from the weight,” he said, nodding to her suitcase.

“If my bag is too heavy, maybe you should add strength training to your workout,” she tossed out in frustration as she slipped on the heelless shoe and penguin-walked behind him.

She almost laughed. No one would believe strength training could improve on the perfection good old hard work had done.

The deep, rich, vibrant sound of Dalton’s laughter teased her ears, sending little tremors radiating through her. “Now, that’s funny. I think you’re lucky they let you on the plane with this anchor.”

“In my defense, it’s winter. Sweaters are bulkier and winter shoes are heavier. Plus, I packed for a month.”

“We have things called washers and dryers here, you know,” Dalton said and then chuckled again.

When they reached his truck, she stared at it for a second. Sure, he’d mentioned his truck, but she hadn’t envisioned one almost big enough to qualify for a monster truck rally.

Dalton opened the passenger door and held it for her. She leaned forward and placed the Ferragamo work bag she’d snagged on sale for almost half price online inside.

How would she get on the seat wearing a Zoey-original sleek pencil skirt made of barely stretching fabric? Noting to discuss the fabric choice with her friend, Jade lifted her leg to step on the silver board thing running along the truck. When her skirt tightened enough she worried it could rip, she returned her foot to the ground.

“Need help?” Dalton asked, amusement in his voice.

What could he do? Lift her into the truck? No way. She shook her head and scrambled to find an excuse. She pulled off her shoes and tossed them into the truck beside her bag. “I got this. I just couldn’t get decent footing.”

“Whatever you say.” Dalton grabbed her suitcase.

When he turned to place her bag in the truck bed, Jade grabbed the armrest with her right hand, her skirt with her left, hiking it up to mid-thigh, and started pulling herself up. The tailgate clanged shut, insisting she’d run out of time. She glanced over her shoulder, finding Dalton—feet apart and braced—staring at her with an intensity that sent happy hormones dancing through her. A slow, sexy smile spilled A slow, sexy smile spilled across his face as his gaze moved downward. “Nice legs.”

I hope you enjoyed this short excerpt Aiming for His Heart.  Click here to buy the book and read the rest of Jade and Dalton’s story.