History – General

New Young Adult Story — Free E-book Giveaway

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Howdy!  Hope y’all are doin’ well on this beautiful Thursday!  Well I hope you’ll forgive me, but I just noticed (believe it or not) that this is more or less a repeat of my last post two weeks ago.  I must admit to being thoroughly swamped at the moment and so I hope you will excuse me.

I am filling in for the beautiful and amazingly talented Cathy.  I know.  Touch shoes to try to walk in, but I’ll try.

I have a new release out and it’s the third book in the Young Adult Series I’m doing entitled OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE.  This is a sweet teen romance, set in around the 1840’s between a Blackfeet Young Man and  a young teenager, Miss Starling) who came to live with her Uncle Jed when her parents died in a boating accident.  Jed just happened to be a trader in the far reaches of Blackfeet country.  The first story started when Starling (the heroine) was only 16 and on a steamboat set to take her into the dreaded Blackfeet Country.  Because her Uncle Jed was unable to meet her at the boat’s landing at Fort Union, he sent his almost-nephew — Good Eagle — to  meet Miss Starling and protect her on the steamboat as it was to go even further west…straight into Blackfeet Country.  Well needless to say, the two of them DID NOT hit it off.  However, he was told to guard Starling on the boat and he did.

Well, it’s now two years later and Starling is 18 and Good Eagle is 20.  But Starling is now considered an adult and, oh my, she’s now found herself in love with Good Eagle.  But, unfortunately for Starling, Good Eagle does not return her love (he is still in love with another)…though he and Starling have become the best of friends.

And so begins book #3, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE.  I write this romance under the pen name of Genny Cothern.

So let me tell you a bit more about this 3rd book with a blurb and an excerpt:

Our Enemy Brings Change

A spellbinding and sweet Native American historical romance for Young Adults featuring two people who are friends, but who must not fall in love with each other.

What Will Happen When We Give Our Enemy His Life?

When Starling Nelson begs Good Eagle—her best friend and partner— to spare the life of an enemy, little does she know how this one single action might affect her life. For a year now, Starling has realized her friendship with Good Eagle has blossomed into love. But, because Good Eagle’s heart belongs to another, she has learned to ignore the rapid beating of her own heart whenever Good Eagle is near.

Good Eagle finishes the fight the young Nez Perce warrior started and grants the warrior his life, but only because his partner, Starling, insists upon it. But when the Nez Perce warrior offers a piece of advice to Good Eagle, it has the effect of changing not only Good Eagle’s mind-set about love, it might very well change his life forever.

But, there are doubts about a happy ever after for Good Eagle and Starling, because, though Good Eagle’s past love is no longer alive, in spirit she still haunts him.

Can Good Eagle and Starling win against the supernatural? Or will this one chance at love fail, separating them forever?

Perfect for Readers who love

** A haunted hero and a beautiful “off limits” friend

** Sweet Native American Historical Romance

** Adventure and sweet love in the Old West

** Friends who believe love might destroy their honor

I hope you like this cover as much as I do.  It’s a bit of a change from my usual covers.  But I love the detail in this cover as well as the bright colors.  If you’ve ever been to Montana, then you probably know that the environment is not brown and drab, but it vibrant with color.

And so, here is an excerpt — a different one from my last blog two weeks ago.  In this scene Starling and Good Eagle are on the trail to discover a war lodge built somewhere in the Two Medicine area.  They have gone there to scout out the war lodge and to discover what (if anything) the enemy left behind.

EXCERPT

Our Enemy Brings Change

At last, by mid-day, we beheld the butte Deer Leggings had pointed out to us several days ago; it was known to the Pikuni as Móskizipahpi-istaki or Heart Butte. Rugged Mountains in the shape of a heart at its peaks jutted up toward the sky, while at its base, a large pine and hardwood forest butted up to it. We were only a few steps away from the pine forest now, and, entering into the cooler temperature of it, we traveled within its dense and dark depths, both of us keeping a look out for the war lodge or any other surprise.

The scent of pine was strong here and pleasant, despite the gloomy-like interior of the forest, where light so rarely found its way to the ground.

Good Eagle led the way, and, turning slightly in his seat, he motioned me forward. As I guided my pony up to Good Eagle on his right, he looked over his shoulder at me and said, “I believe I know where this lodge is. And, if I am correct, we will find it farther back from here and closer to the mountains. It is there where the pines are the most dense. I have been here before and I believe we will discover the lodge to be well hidden amongst the trees in this forest. Now, take heart and find your courage. Though I know the feel in these woods is gloomy, making it seem as if an enemy watches your every step, it is usually not so. I do not sense the presence of an enemy here. Still, keep your pony close to mine as we go through the pines.”

“Yes,” I said. “I will follow you. Indeed, with you here with me, I feel secure.”

Glancing at me quickly, Good Eagle smiled. “Okí, come on, let’s go!”

We then found the lodge with ease. I had never seen an actual war lodge and I was stunned to witness its cleverness in design.

Said Good Eagle, “I remember this war lodge from when I had once come here with my father. It is rather ancient and is not much used by my people anymore. It was many years ago when he brought me here. You see, it is the duty of my father, who is often the leader of war parties, to know where these war lodges are located all over Pikuni territory. They are usually found to be close to a trail, and they are used over and over by many a Pikuni war party.

“But, my father has told me the enemy, too, knows of their locations, and so it is not unusual for the Nez Perce to have used this lodge. But, even knowing the enemy might also be aware of the location of these lodges, many of my people still use them. However, although these kinds of war lodges can be convenient when one has a need of them, my father feels it best to construct a new war lodge when he is at the head of a war party; he would make his own, one as yet unknown to the enemy.”

I nodded, but I did not speak.

We both dismounted, leaving our animals hobbled in a large area of grass so they might feast upon it and recover their strength. Good Eagle and I came up close to the structure and I asked, “How are these built? I can see they are constructed to remain here for use, but how is it done?”

Quite good-naturedly, Good Eagle took my arm and stepped toward the war lodge while he explained, “The leader of the war party selects a spot to build the structure, usually close to a war path and within reach of water for bathing and for drinking. All the men begin to build the shelter as a place where they can rest and smoke meat and prepare for the dangers of war. Windfalls, as you can see, are plentiful in these wooded areas and the cottonwood and willow tree branches are used mostly because they are in abundance here along the river bottom.

“Now, three, maybe four or five, large and sturdy cottonwood limbs are found and put together like a tepee. These form the structure of the lodge. And then, other, smaller limbs are placed here alongside the main structure, while smaller limbs, bushes and small branches are put here and there over the entire structure. Large stones are found and are used to hold the lodge in place. Then, slabs of tree bark are put onto and around the lodge in order to keep the weather out of the structure. Bushes, leaves and more pine boughs are placed around it, also, to keep everything in place and any holes are quickly found from within the lodge and are closed up so that no rain or snow will fall inside, nor will smoke escape through the holes to announce to the enemy where the lodge is built.

“Now,” said Good Eagle, pointing, “as you can see, there is a long tunnel leading into the structure so that it can only be accessed by bending low and crawling through the tunnel into the lodge inside.”

“Yes,” I replied. “I think I would say it looks like an inverted V shape.”

“Quickly,” said Good Eagle, “let us gather up some dry wood so we can build a fire within the lodge.”

We did so easily enough, there being many dry branches and logs on the ground. Within moments it was done, and, carrying the wood to the war lodge, Good Eagle bent and crawled into the opening, pushing the stack of wood before him. I followed.

It was dark in this tunnel-like structure and I was glad when we, at last, reached the interior of the lodge. But, because all the cracks in its walls were covered over with bush or tree bark from the outside, there was no light in the structure’s interior except for what came through the lodge poles from above. Also, because of the darkness of the forest, I could see almost nothing within, even once I came to stand up to my feet and my eyes had adjusted to the dark.

Said Good Eagle, “Let me start a fire in the center of the lodge so we might more easily locate the headdress we have come here to find.”

I didn’t help Good Eagle to build the fire because, using little more than flint and punk, it generally took me much longer than he to stoke up a fire. However, Good Eagle was a master at it, having learned how to do it long, long ago. And so, very quickly the interior of the lodge was thrown into a flickering, yellow light which seemed to me to be about as bright as moonlight, and perhaps, just as flattering.

At last, I could see what was inside the lodge, and, without looking at Good Eagle, I murmured, “Well, I can now understand why there is such a strong odor of pine here in this lodge. The men who had used this war lodge, slept on many pine boughs and have left them here. I had thought, when we first entered, that the odor inside here would be rotten, perhaps from the remains of animals. But, this is not so. It is the sweet smell of balsam, as well as prairie sage, which permeates the inside of this structure.”

Good Eagle didn’t reply to me. Instead, when I looked up toward him as he stood on the other side of the glowing firelight, I saw he was gazing at me in an uncommonly strange manner. He said nothing; he did nothing. He simply stood there looking at me as though he were seeing me for the first time.

Although I took note of how handsome he appeared in the flickering firelight, I thought little of it, for I had often admired his looks beneath the beams of a moonlit evening. And so, shrugging off my attraction to him, I said again, “I have noticed how sweet-smelling the inside of this lodge is.” I grinned at him.

Yet, he murmured not a single word in reply to me. He simply stared at me. A long minute ticked by in my mind, and, as I looked at him, I wondered what was wrong with him. Why didn’t he say something to me? Yet, he uttered not a single word.

“Well,” I said at length, “it might be wise for us to look for the headdress and return at once to the fort where we can present it to Deer Leggings.”

“Tsa, what?” At last Good Eagle seemed to come more fully into the moment. “I did not hear what it was you said.”

“Oh?” I asked, wondering what was affecting him in such a strange way. “Well, I will say it again, then. Perhaps we should look for the headdress and then make our way back to the fort.”

“Áa, áa,” was all Good Eagle replied. And then, as though he had been momentarily held in a trance, he shook his head slightly and shut his eyes. Opening his eyes and again looking at me, he said, “Of course. Let us do as you say.”

And, so began our hunt for the Nez Perce headdress. We each one inspected several different sleeping areas. But, it was Good Eagle, who, at last, found the tube which held the regalia. Not only was there a headdress neatly packed within it, there was another cylinder located close to it, and inside this other was an entire outfit of men’s dress regalia, complete with a tanned buckskin shirt, leggings, breechcloth and moccasins.

As Good Eagle was rolling the clothing up and stuffing it all back inside the tube, I said, “We should bring these back to Deer Leggings. I know he will be happy to see them.”

As I reached out to take one of the cylinders from Good Eagle, I accidentally touched the palm of his hand, and I almost jumped back because of the sensation of energy which fled over me. What had happened to me?

I looked up at Good Eagle’s face and saw a look of surprise upon his countenance, also; one probably mirroring my own reaction. I hardly knew what to do. Perhaps I should have taken a step back away from him. But, I didn’t. It was as though I had become glued to the floor.

Again, it was a long minute within my mind before Good Eagle at last said to me, “I think we should return to the fort, yet my people are not camped far from here, the Two Medicine area being a common camping spot for us during the Yiipo, the moon when the leaves grow. Would you like to come to my people’s encampment with me before we return to the fort? Perhaps it is well for you to meet the rest of your family, my father, my mother, my sister and brother.”

Taken a little by surprise, I replied, “I would be honored to go there with you.”

When he grinned at me, I thought my heart might likely have jumped up from my chest and into my throat, so quickly did it beat. I didn’t know quite what had happened to me…or to Good Eagle.

But, whatever it was, it left me with a warm sensation which was spreading all over me. Something, though I knew not what, was different between Good Eagle and me. And, whatever this was, it was so pleasant, I longed for more of the same.

But, of course, I didn’t say any of this to Good Eagle. He is, after all, my best friend, my almost-brother and my partner.

When Good Eagle seemed to become more of his usual good-humored, though teasing self, we left the lodge, as well as the pine forest and headed toward the camp of his people.

To say I was honored by his suggestion to take me to meet his family would have been an understatement, and I found I was so nervous at the prospect of meeting his parents, as well as his sister and brother, I barely spoke at all to Good Eagle along the trail.

But, in truth, this was as it usually was; one didn’t overly converse when on the trail.

Inwardly, I started rehearsing what I might say to his father and his mother, but alas, I could think of nothing which seemed to me to be quite worthy of the honor I felt. However, sighing deeply, I kept trying to practice what I might say….

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HG88KVRV?tag=pettpist-20

And now for some more news:  She Steals My Breath , book #1 in The Medicine Man Series is on sale for $,99 and If She Were Mine is on sale also for $.99.  But If She Were Mine is going to be on sale only until the end of this month.  So do hurry and get your copy today!

If She Were Mine:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20

She Steals My Breath:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09TNDS67H?tag=pettpist-20

Well, that’s all for today!  Hope your Thursday is both beautiful and romantic!  Don’t forget to post a comment.  I’ll be giving away a free e-book of this story to one of today’s bloggers.

Lewis and Clark’s Dugout Canoes

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I live in one of the areas of Montana that the Lewis and Clark Expedition, also known as the Corps of Discovery, traversed during the early 1800s (1803-1806). Beaverhead Rock, the formation that Sacagawea recognized as being close to the summer grounds of her nation, is one of the local landmarks.

Eighty percent of the Lewis and Clark expedition was accomplished by water. The explorers used various types of boats, barges, canoes and pirogues to accomplish the round trip journey, and I think the most fascinating of these are the dugout canoes that they carved during their travels.

The canoes were carved out of a single tree, using green cottonwood or Ponderosa pine because those woods are easy to shape when wet. The outside of the tree was kept wet, while small coal fires were set on the log to burn the wood away. As the wood burned, metal implements, such as axes and adzes were used to carve away the burned portions of the log, until it was hollowed out.

The completed dugout canoes averaged 30 feet long and 3 feet wide and weighed about a ton. They could carry a minimum of 800 pounds of cargo along with 7 men. The explorers also built larger canoes, 50-55 feet long, for travel on the Columbia river. These canoes could carry 2-3 tons of cargo along with 4-6 men. The larger canoes took 12 days to complete; some of the smaller canoes were built in 5 days.

Painting created by Split Rock Studios, Sioux City, Iowa. Original in the collection of the Lewis and Clark Trail Heritage Foundation.
A partially finished dugout canoe displayed in a local park, created to demonstrate the construction technique.

The explorers carved 6 canoes from cottonwood trees at Fort Mandan in what is now North Dakota before heading west. One of the canoes was abandoned near the Big Hole River in Montana and the rest put into storage when the expedition shifted from waterways to horseback in order to travel over the Rocky Mountains into Idaho.

Once they crossed the Rockies, the men made five new dugout canoes from Ponderosa pine.  All of these canoes were wrecked or sold  before they made it past Columbia Falls. On the return journey, the explorers retrieved the canoes they had stored in Montana and used them to travel to the Great Falls of the Missouri. During the journey they carved a total of 15 canoes. William Clark carved two canoes near Billings Montana that were so unstable that they had to be lashed together. I bet that after days of burning and scraping, they were pretty determined to use them in anyway possible.

NEW RELEASE–THE HEARTS MOST WANTED–AND A GIVEAWAY

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This has been an exciting and hectic year for me writing-wise.

Re-releasing older books and now a new one. I’m at 8 books releasing this year. Crazy and fun.

The new one is book #2 in the Rocky Mountain Marshals Series.

I do NOT have my author’s copies yet but soon. So maybe I’ll get them in time so you get YOUR copy (if you win) before the book releases.

The Hearts Most Wanted

When a mysterious threat follows their every step, can two wounded hearts find refuge and love?

US Marshal Morgan Sawyer rides into the treacherous Rocky Mountains on a mission to find fellow Marshal Tex, who vanished while they were escorting a dangerous prisoner. But ranchwoman Roz Beck insists on riding beside him, despite Morgan’s protests. Joined by newlyweds Owen and Delaney, and Roz’s young son, they push deep into the wilderness.

Widowed Roz was wounded in love when her now-deceased husband abandoned her, leaving her alone to raise a child. While her heart longs for love, for her son’s sake, she’ll settle for a man she trusts like Morgan, her childhood friend. When a shadowy figure begins prowling the search party’s camp at night, the group realizes that something more than the wilderness poses a threat to their quest of bringing Tex to safety. Will the looming danger strengthen Morgan and Roz’s growing feelings and faith in each other, or will it be their breaking point?

With outlaws, a rugged hero, and a spirited heroine, Mary Connealy presents another action-packed Old West historical romance. For fans of second chance romance, frontier journeys, and hi-jinks in the Colorado wilderness.

It’s coming October 6…so very soon. 

I LOVE that cover with the cowboy on the horse. I don’t think I’ve had many horses on my covers. It seems so obvious, and yet…not many. Look at the trees in the back ground. it’s autumn in the Rockies and it’s autumn (all most) here. I’ve seen the first signs of trees changing color and the first semi-cool nights after a long, hot summer.

So does anyone have a comment about all the re-releases? Have you forgotten there is still new work? I love having these books gain new life, but I don’t like doing anything that detracts from the new books. What do you think? Are you overloaded with Mary Connealy books? Or do you read a new book a month by authors you love no problem?

Let me know.

Leave a comment about books that come fast, to get your name in the drawing for a signed copy of The Hearts Most Wanted.

https://www.maryconnealy.com/

New Young Adult Novella, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE and Giveaway

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Howdy!

Welcome to a new and beautiful Tuesday!  I hope you and yours are doing wonderfully on this bright day in September (it’s supposed to be sunny here where I live).

My goodness, but there is lots going on these last few months with three new books (two of them novellas) and four of my backlist books being reissued by my new Publisher, OHB.

This newly released book is book #3 in The Untamed Frontier Series and is entitled, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE.  It is a Young Adult Book.  Also, on the 15th of September, the last book in The Lost Clan Series, book #4 in the series, THE LAST WARRIOR releases.

And so, let me begin with the newest release, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE and tell you a little about the book.  Now, I write these Young Adult books under the pen name of Genny Cothern.  Below and off to the left is the new cover for the book.

There’s a lot I like about this new cover for the book.  First, I think it is one of the most beautiful covers I’ve ever had.  Second, I love that the Montana landscape, as well as the Blackfeet encampment are so beautifully depicted.  The cliffs, the mountains in the background are what you might see if you were to go to Montana today.  And then there’s the way he’s dressed…his clothing looks quite authentic.

So let me post a blurb of the book and then an excerpt:

Our Enemy Brings Change

A spellbinding and sweet Native American historical romance for Young Adults featuring two people who are friends, but who must not fall in love with each other.

What Will Happen When We Give Our Enemy His Life?

When Starling Nelson begs Good Eagle—her best friend and partner— to spare the life of an enemy, little does she know how this one single action might affect her life. For a year now, Starling has realized her friendship with Good Eagle has blossomed into love. But, because Good Eagle’s heart belongs to another, she has learned to ignore the rapid beating of her own heart whenever Good Eagle is near.

Good Eagle finishes the fight the young Nez Perce warrior started and grants the warrior his life, but only because his partner, Starling, insists upon it. But when the Nez Perce warrior offers a piece of advice to Good Eagle, it has the effect of changing not only Good Eagle’s mind-set about love, it might very well change his life forever.

But, there are doubts about a happy ever after for Good Eagle and Starling, because, though Good Eagle’s past love is no longer alive, in spirit she still haunts him.

Can Good Eagle and Starling win against the supernatural? Or will this one chance at love fail, separating them forever?

Perfect for Readers who love

** A haunted hero and a beautiful “off limits” friend

** Sweet Native American Historical Romance

** Adventure and sweet love in the Old West

** Friends who believe love might destroy their honor

And now for an excerpt of the book:

OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE

By

Karen Kay writing as Genny Cothern

CHAPTER ONE

Indian Territory

The Moon of Flowers, Summer

1849

“Saa, no, please do not kill him!” cried out my partner, Kills-the-bear-woman, I’nit kiááyo aakíí, or for short, Kiayo’aki, Bear Woman. She reached out toward me where I was sitting on my horse and placed her hand upon my shooting arm, but I didn’t look at her or at her hand. I dared not take my attention off of my enemy.

At a distance only a horse trot away, the man had, just a moment before, stepped out from a forest of pines. He hadn’t yet seen us. But, I knew at once he was an enemy warrior, but from what tribe was he? I did not recognize the manner in which he wore his hair, nor the pattern of the bead work upon his clothing and leggings.

I prepared myself for battle, and, as I did so, I felt the blood rush through my body, giving me strength.

“Do you know what tribe he is?” Kiayo’aki asked me.

“No.” Quickly I made the sign for the word, but I did not look at her. I had eyes only for my enemy.

In less time than it takes to observe it, I saw the sun was still rising up toward its zenith, and thoughts flashed through my mind in rapid succession. Kiayo’aki and I had left Fort Benton in the darkness of the early hours, I being her partner, but I was also responsible for her safety, she being my almost-sister and younger than I. On the previous evening, we had decided to journey to the Upper Two Medicine Lake this day in search of a better hunting ground.

Niitá’p, the game close to the fort was gone for now, hunted out. And, this being so, we had decided to travel farther away, toward one of my tribe’s favorite camping spots, the Two Medicine. We had last night decided we would even journey into the Backbone-of-the-world Mountains (the Rockies). But, only if we had to.

Luckily, it was unnecessary. Our decision to come closer to the Two Medicine area had been a good one, and we had been in the act following the trail of several buffalo when out from the forest, stepped this man, who was only now discovering the two of us. I watched as he quickly drew his bow and an arrow from his quiver and placed the arrow in a position to shoot. I raised my gun and sighted him.

“Almost-brother, I beg you, do not kill him.”

“Are you mad?” I practically shouted the words at her in reaction. “If I do not kill him, he will surely murder us both. While I do not care if he kills me, I care about what he might do to you!”

“Please! Do not kill him!” she begged me again. “Have mercy! Why, he looks to be the same age as we are. Truly, he is too young to die.”

She was right of course. But, her words faded into nothing when the chance to give the youth quarter faded. The young man was afoot, while both Kiayo’aki and I were mounted upon our ponies. Because the youth was clearly at a disadvantage—and perhaps it was because of this—the young man shot off a deadly arrow directly at me.

The shot missed me, and, seeing this, my enemy began to sing the strange melody of a song, perhaps his death song, as he quickly drew out another arrow in preparation.

However, my response to the coming fight was not my concern over the fight ahead of me, but rather, it was one of worry for my partner, and I shouted at Kiayo’aki, “You are to go back to camp at once and tell your uncle what has happened here.”

She didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she answered back, her voice loud to my ears. “But I will not go there. It would take me too long to get there even at a run. And, by the time I would be able to return here, either you or the young enemy would be dead. No, I think I will stay here with you.”

I didn’t respond to her nor to the enemy…at least not right away. I pushed my rifle into position to get the best shot at the young man, and slowly I walked my pony forward. The youth, however, didn’t wait. Quickly, he set another arrow into position and was about to shoot when I pulled the trigger of my musket, my aim being to wound the young warrior in his shooting arm. In this way, I would not kill the youth, but he would also not be able to take another shot at me or my partner.

(Original Caption) Glacier National Park, MO: “On the Shore of Two Medicine Lake.” Blackfoot Indians

Looking forward, I could see the ball sail straight into my enemy’s right arm, and, at the same time, I beheld the enemy youth fall down to his knees.

While observing all this, I listened as my partner muttered, “Thank you, Good Eagle, for not killing him.”

I didn’t answer her.

I watched as the enemy’s arm fell useless at his side and his bow, along with its arrow, dropped to the ground. But, this youth was not a coward, and, with his other arm, he pulled his knife out from the belt around his waist. Then, though he was still on bended knees, he waited for what he probably thought would be the death blow from me.

Immediately, because a musket can only fire one shot, I grabbed hold of my own bow from its case upon my back and, just as swiftly, fitted an arrowto it. I didn’t let the arrow fly. It was there, instead, as a threat as I continued to slowly walk my pony toward this foe.

“Please, do not kill him!” Kiayo’aki cried out again.

“He started it!” I shouted back at her. Still, I knew I would not kill this warrior if I could avoid it. And, this was because I respected my partner’s wishes probably more than my own life. “Besides,” I added, “he has drawn his knife and intends to kill me.”

“But we are two and he is only one. Perhaps we have only frightened him, and this has caused him to draw his knife.”

I didn’t answer. My attention was on the coming fight.

Still, by my actions, I hoped to give the youth the impression that I would show him mercy. Niitá’p, though my actions were not swift as I jumped down from my seat upon my pony, the youth suddenly fell forward and lay there upon the ground as though he were dead.

Meanwhile, I stepped toward the young man, pointing my arrow straight at this enemy while I paced toward him. Coming down onto my knees beside the man, I turned him over and examined first the enemy’s chest to ensure he was still alive and breathing, and then I looked at his wound.

Kiayo’aki had followed me and was the first to speak, and she said, “He is still alive. But, he is hurt. I believe he has only fainted. And, I think his arm is broken. Come, help me to wash his wound and dress it and then assist me to take him back to camp. Please have pity upon him and let him live, I beg you.”

“As you ask, so will I do and he shall live,” said I.

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Well I hope you enjoyed the excerpt.

Here is the link to the book on Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HG88KVRV?tag=pettpist-20

And now for even more news:

The last book in The Lost Clan Series will be releasing soon, next Tuesday.  Below is the cover of this fourth and last book in this series, THE LAST WARRIOR.  This book is on a Presale and you can pick up your copy of it here:  https://www.amazon.com/Last-Warrior-Lost-Clan-Book-ebook/dp/B0H7TD5VR7/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&sr=1-1&tag=pettpist-20

Also, I am looking for reviewers.  if you would like to review either of these books, please let me know in the comments.

Well that’s all for today.  Hope you have a beautiful and wonderful day today and for the rest of the week, also.  Don’t forget to leave a comment.  I’ll be giving away a free e-book of OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE to one of the bloggers here today.

New Book and Historic Blizzards

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Sometimes the brightest Christmas miracle begins with a single lantern in the window.

My Christmas book, Bright is the Light, releases today!! I’m really excited. It’s available in ebook, KU, and paperback. AMAZON

Ex-soldier Calder Jackson arrives in Jubilee, Texas half-frozen in a blizzard with a weariness that no rest can heal. The story takes place in 1868, just three years following the Civil War’s end. He suffers from shell shock, the old term for PTSD. He’s seen too much heartache and death to last a lifetime so he drifts from town to town, hoping to find some peace for his soul.

If he doesn’t find warmth soon, he’ll perish. When he spies a sign for a room for rent in the Walsh house, he quickly takes it, not knowing how much it’ll change him.

Often we just have to have faith that we’re making the right decisions. He quickly befriends a simple minded boy, a 15 year old, who insists a lantern in the window on Christmas Eve will draw blessings to them. Together, he and Calder build a lantern on nothing but the boy’s faith. Micah believes with the simplicity of a child that the lantern will change their lives.

And oh yes, there’s a romance between Calder and Micah’s sister. Kate can’t cook to save her life and burns everything, much to Micah’s dismay.

This story is set about where Dalhart, Texas is at the very top of the Texas Panhandle. They get frequent blizzards in the winter months. Blizzards were unusually harsh in 1885-1887. Of the 2.5 million head of cattle before then, 75 percent died as they huddled in frozen creeks and against fences that kept them from drifting south to warmer areas. A large amount of the cattle ranches were unable to sustain the loss and went under.

Then in February 1956, the Panhandle received 43 inches of snow over a 92 hour period. There were 23 human deaths and a lot more cattle froze.

These are just two devastating blizzards in this area out of hundreds. Calder Jackson is aware of how quickly a man could freeze to death so he’s thankful to reach the town of Jubilee, Texas and find warmth.

Have you ever been in a blinding blizzard or a bad snow storm? I was in a lot of those in my hometown and remember how difficult it was to get around. One year when I was small, I worried if Santa was going to make it. That was big worry for my little heart.  Leave a comment to enter the drawing for two ebook copies of Bright is the Light.

May you find joy and love now and always

Linda

The World’s Oldest Continuous Rodeo

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My husband and I recently returned from our annual get-out-of-the-heat summer trip to Payson, Arizona. While we didn’t attend this year, I have gone to the Payson Rodeo more times than I can count—which usually takes place the same week as our traditional trek to the area. The Payson Rodeo claims to be the oldest continuous rodeo in the world. Interestingly, the not very far away Prescott Frontier Days Rodeo has a similar claim: the World’s oldest rodeo. Records are a little sketchy as both rodeos were taking place unofficially before 1888 when the US Patent Office granted Prescott Frontier Days, Inc. a registered trademark as the World’s Oldest Rodeo.

But as it turns out, both claims are likely true (which is quite a feat for a state that is the youngest of the “lower 48”). By all accounts, the Prescott Frontier Days Rodeo started earlier than the Payson rodeo (both around the mid 1880s) but the difference is in the word continuous. Payson wins out over Prescott on that one point as it hasn’t missed a single year. That’s quite an accomplishment when you think about it. First called the August Races because horse racing was a big part of rodeos back then, it was later renamed the August Celebration or the August Doings, and finally just the plain old Payson Rodeo. Dances were a big part of those first rodeos, too. Cowboys do like to twirl the ladies around the dance floor to the music of a toe-tapping band. These days, however, rather than a neighbor picking the guitar or playing a fiddle, big name acts are brought in to delight the crowds. Payson’s rodeo committee spends an entire year planning and organizing the event, and their hard work shows in a first-rate event.

Most of us know that rodeos started as a way for cowboys to entertain themselves, blow off steam, and hone their skills. And, yes, a little wagering was going on, too, in addition to the prize money to be won. In the sweltering heat of Arizona summers, what better place for cowboys to come together that than the cool pine country of Payson? In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the locals were so enthusiastic about the Payson Rodeo, it was said to have rivaled Christmas in celebration. It wasn’t until 1958 when the Beeline Highway was paved that people from all over started pouring into Payson for the rodeo, and that included tourists as well as competitors. Today, the residents of Payson take great pride in their rodeo, and the entire town pretty much comes to a standstill for the entire week.

If you happen to be traveling through Arizona during the third week of August, I highly recommend checking out the Payson Rodeo. Who knows, hubby and I might just run into you. And wouldn’t that be great!

 

A Day in Holiday

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One of the greatest compliments a reader can give me isn’t just that they loved the characters or enjoyed the story. It’s when they tell me they wish they could visit the place I created.

I happened upon a review of Declaration of Love recently that made me smile when the reviewer wrote, “If Holiday is ever commissioned as a city, I would move there.”

Oh, how I wish we could make that happen!

Since I can’t put Holiday, Oregon, on a real map, I thought it might be fun to take you on an imaginary visit to the little mountain town that has been the setting of several of my stories.

It all started with the Holiday Brides series, then the Holiday Express series, and Holiday Dreams. There were also single title books like Henley, Love on Target, Lucky Shot, and now Declaration of Love.

Today, we’ll pop by a few popular places in the mountain town.

You’ll want to arrive early because mornings in Holiday are too pretty to miss. Imagine sunlight spilling over the mountains, touching the peaks with gold before filtering through towering evergreens. The air is cool and fresh, flowers spill from hanging baskets along Main Street, and American flags flutter from lampposts and storefronts.

Our first stop is Sunni Buns Bakery. The scent alone will draw you through the door. Fresh coffee, cinnamon, warm bread, and something sweet baking in the oven make it nearly impossible to leave empty-handed. Would you choose a cinnamon bun or a raspberry roll, one of her savory sandwiches, or go straight for dessert first?

There are a few fun shops in town, but most of the locals know they can visit Milton’s Feed & Seed to find everything from home décor and a new shirt to garden tools, gloves, boots, flowers and plants, plus so much more.

Holiday is the kind of place where people notice when someone new comes to town—and before long, they’ll probably know your name, where you’re from, and whether you’re single.

Which brings us to… a visit with Matilda and Ruth.

If you happen to see two older ladies sitting together outside Golden Skies, by all means stop and say hello. Just understand what you’re getting yourself into. Matilda, with her flamboyant sense of style, and sweet Ruth may look perfectly harmless sitting there enjoying the sunshine. Do not be fooled. They are wily matchmakers who keep their fingers on the pulse of what is happening in town.

By this time, you might have found a postcard to mail and stop by the Holiday Post Office. Kate Barton came to town as the temporary postmaster in June, only planning to stay for the summer. If you haven’t read Declaration of Love yet, I won’t give you any spoilers, but Grady Guthry might give her a reason or two to consider staying. While you’re at the post office, make sure your postcard gets a Holiday postmark. After all, how often do you get to send mail from a town where love seems to find people whether they’re looking for it or not?

Roll down the windows and take a drive on one of the country roads. You’ll pass green pastures, weathered fences, grazing cattle and horses, wildflowers dancing in the breeze, and mountains rising in the distance. You might see a gorgeous lake in the distance, or hear the whistle from the old steam engine Hope if it is taking tourists for a ride today.

After dinner at the café or, if you’re feeling fancy, the Italian restaurant, wander over to the gazebo in the park. Strings of lights begin to glow as dusk settles over Holiday. Neighbors gather. Children run across the grass. Someone laughs nearby. The mountains turn dusky blue against a sky streaked with the last traces of sunset.

Holiday may exist only in the pages of my books, but in my imagination, it feels wonderfully real and I hope this little tour made it feel like a place you’d love to visit.

Even though you can get in a car or take a plane there, you can travel to Holiday through the stories. If you haven’t yet, I hope you’ll begin with Declaration of Love, Book 8 in the Petticoats & Patriots series. Come visit Holiday and discover a wholesome romance filled with patriotism, community, family, freedom, and abiding love.

If you could pack your bags tomorrow

and spend one day in Holiday, Oregon,

where would you go first?

Also, if you haven’t yet, be sure to enter for a chance to win

my huge Declaration of Love prize pack.

But hurry! Time is almost up to enter!

RED HAWK’S WOMAN Releases Today

by

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

https://www.amazon.com/Hawks-Woman-Lost-Clan-Book-ebook/dp/B0H5G5GQ3L/ref=sr_1_1?sr=8-1&tag=pettpist-20

 

I’ll be giving away this book to one of the bloggers today, so please come on in and leave a post.

No Walls Between: Open Classrooms and One-Room Schoolhouses

by

Hello, everyone. Winnie Griggs here. It’s back-to-school season, and that always takes me back to the years when my four children were in school.

The elementary school they attended was a little unusual. It served children from kindergarten through fifth grade, but there were no walls separating the classrooms. Each class had its own teacher and designated space, but all those spaces occupied one large, open floor plan. Some were separated by low bookcases, some by large plants, and others had no physical boundary at all.

Imagine several teachers conducting lessons at the same time, with neighboring classes in full view—and definitely within hearing. But the teachers found ways to hold their students’ attention, and the children learned to concentrate on what was happening in their own area despite all the activity around them.

My kids are adults now, so I recently asked what they remembered about the experience. All four said that, looking back, the arrangement sounded as though it should have been distracting, but it really wasn’t. In fact, the hallways and closed-off classrooms of middle school felt a bit confining by comparison, at least at first.

When I began researching nineteenth-century schools for some of my books, I realized that my children’s open-concept school shared a few characteristics with the old one-room schoolhouse.

Of course, there was one very important difference. Each of my children’s classes had its own teacher. In a one-room schoolhouse, a single teacher might be responsible for everyone from young beginners to teenagers.

That teacher certainly had her hands full.

Rather than dividing students into grades according to age, teachers often grouped them by knowledge and ability. One group might be called forward to recite a reading lesson while the other children worked independently at their desks. Then another group would take its turn with arithmetic, spelling, geography, or grammar.

With so many lessons being conducted in the same room, students couldn’t help overhearing material meant for other groups. Younger children might pick up bits of what the older pupils were studying, while older students heard familiar lessons again and reinforced what they had already learned. More advanced pupils sometimes helped the younger ones as well.

The schoolroom itself was usually simple. It might contain rows of desks or benches, a teacher’s desk, a blackboard, pegs for coats and hats, and a stove to provide heat in cold weather. A water bucket and shared dipper were common fixtures. Compared to today’s brightly decorated classrooms, there were few visual aids or other teaching materials.

Students didn’t arrive carrying backpacks stuffed with spiral notebooks, colored markers, glue sticks, and folders. A child might bring a slate and slate pencil, along with a speller or another textbook—if the family owned one. Books were sometimes handed down through the family or shared among students.

Lunch could be carried in a tin pail, basket, or cloth bundle. Depending on what was available at home, it might include bread, biscuits, cheese, fruit, a hard-boiled egg, or a slice of cold meat.

In some communities, a child might also arrive carrying a piece of firewood or some kindling to help keep the schoolhouse warm.

Recitation and memorization were important parts of the learning process. Children were often expected to stand and repeat a lesson, spell words aloud, work a problem, or recite a memorized passage.

The school calendar could be quite different from the one we know today. Classes were sometimes arranged around the needs of the community. Planting and harvest seasons could affect both the school term and daily attendance because children were needed at home. Distance, bad weather, illness, and family responsibilities also played a part in whether a student made it to school on a given day.

Keeping so many ages occupied—and reasonably quiet—required organization, patience, and a firm set of rules. The teacher prepared lessons for every age and ability level, maintained order and discipline, settled disputes, tended the stove, and sometimes cleaned the schoolroom. She might also board with local families, moving from one household to another during the school term.

Her behavior could be closely watched both inside and outside the classroom. A teacher—particularly an unmarried woman—was often expected to serve as a model of proper conduct for the entire community.

The one-room schoolhouse wasn’t used only for lessons. In many small towns, it was one of the few public buildings large enough to hold a gathering. It might host church services, elections, community meetings, lectures, spelling bees, holiday programs, debates, and celebrations.

That aspect of the schoolhouse found its way into my newest release, The Heart of Honor.

My heroine, Mercy Owens, teaches the children of Hawthorn, Texas, in 1876. But her schoolhouse is more than her workplace. It also becomes the gathering place for the committee planning Hawthorn’s celebration of the nation’s Centennial—and the town’s own fiftieth anniversary.

Mercy is determined to make certain the sacrifices of Hawthorn’s citizens are properly remembered.

In many ways, the schoolhouse is at the heart of both Mercy’s life and her community, just as those simple buildings stood at the heart of so many nineteenth-century towns.

Available for purchase HERE

 

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Heart of Honor by Winnie Griggs

The Heart of Honor

by Winnie Griggs

Giveaway ends August 17, 2026.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

The elementary school my children attended was considered modern and innovative, yet its open design echoed a much older style of education. In both settings, children learned to concentrate amid the murmur of other lessons. Learning didn’t always stay neatly confined to one class or one age group.

Still, I can only imagine the skill—and stamina—it took for one teacher to manage an entire schoolroom by herself.

What about you? How do you think you would have fared in a one-room schoolhouse with several ages and lessons going on around you? Leave a comment to be entered in a giveaway for a signed copy of one of my books.

 

Quanah Wins a Bride (And a Giveaway!) –by Sherry Shindelar

by

 

Quanah Wins a Bride

Cynthia Ann Parker

Quanah Parker, the son of a Comanche war chief and Cynthia Ann Parker (the most famous captive of the 19th century) fell in love with a young Comanche maiden named Weckeah, but his prospects were dim. Weckeah returned his affection, but her father, Old Bear, didn’t favor Quanah. Quanah only owned one horse, and he was an orphan (His mother had been recaptured by the whites and died of a broken heart. His war chief father had died, as well—when and how he died is disputed. But by the time Quanah reached adulthood, he had no family connections), and he was half-white. Horses were the currency of choice amongst the Comanche, and Quanah’s rival for the young lady’s hand was the son of a prominent chief, Eckitoacup. The chief’s son, Tannap, offered ten horses.

But Quanah had a gift for leadership and persuasion. He convinced his friends to give him some of their horses. However, when he led the ten horses to Weckeah’s teepee with expectations of triumph, he discovered that his rival had upped his offer to twenty horses.

Not one to accept defeat, Quanah asked Weckeah if she would elope with him. In Comanche culture, this was a last resort when a parent would not approve a marriage, but it was risky. It brought dishonor to the bride’s family, and a young man could only hope to make amends through many horses, something Quanah didn’t have. With his rival being the son of a powerful chief, it was more likely that Weckeah’s father would send a war party after Quanah.

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.

For over a year, they lived along the river and prospered. Some of the braves traveled back to the tribe’s main encampment to retrieve their wives and sweethearts, convincing other warriors to join in the adventures of riding with Quanah.

At last, Eckitoacup determined to make the upstart, rebel pay for his audacious disregard for tribal hierarchy and customs. He gathered a war party and headed south to attack Quanah’s camp. But he was taken aback by the hundreds of Quanah’s warriors who rode out to confront him in battle. The old chief decided it’d be better to negotiate instead of fight. For the price of nineteen ponies, Quanah was allowed to return to the main tribe with his men and his bride in peace and was awarded the honor of becoming the new war chief.


The heroine in Wichita Path Sacrifice, one of the novellas in Freed by the Frontier, is inspired by the real life experiences of Quanah’s mother, Cynthia Ann Parker, and to a lesser extent, Cynthia’s cousin Rachel Plummer, who were both Comanche captives.

GIVEAWAY!

I love to hear from my readers. For a chance at a signed print copy of Freed by the Frontier, tell me, what is a situation in your life that was a very difficult time, but the Lord worked it out for the good?

Originally from Tennessee, Sherry loves to take her readers into the past. A romantic at heart, she is an avid student of the Civil War and the Old West. When she isn’t busy writing, she is an English professor, working to pass on her love of writing to her students. Sherry is a multi-award-winning writer. She currently resides in Minnesota with her husband of forty-one years. She has three grown children and three grandchildren.

Visit Sherry’s website here: http://www.sherryshindelar.com

Petticoats & Pistols