Native American

New Young Adult Novella, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE and Giveaway

by

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.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

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.

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.

250th Year Anniversary of our Country Book, FREEING MISS ABAGAIL — And a Surprise

by
  • Howdy!  Welcome, Welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

As many of you already know, the Pettocoats & Patriots books have now launched!  Yay!  My book, #2 in the series, Freeing Miss Abagail, launched on the 23rd of June.  Yay!  So, I thought I’d post links to both of the terrific newsletters — given to us by wonderful Shanna Hatfield — which will give you not only excerpts of each book, but is filled with games and bits of information you might not be able to find elsewhere.

Here is a link to the Petticoats & Pistols Magazine #2:  https://sfo2.digitaloceanspaces.com/assets-shanna/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/Patriot-Magazine-2-digital.pdf

And here is the link to magtzine #1:  https://petticoatsandpistols.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/Petticoats-Patriots-Magazine-Volume-1-2026.pdf

Don’t miss the fun!  There are interviews, excerpts, games (many games), recipes and more!

And for those of you who would like a hard copy of the first magazine, it is for sale at Lulu:  https://www.lulu.com/shop/shanna-hatfield-and-karen-kay-and-kit-morgan-and-sarah-lamb/petticoats-patriots-volume-1/paperback/product-65k4g8k.html?page=1&pageSize=4

So, here are the eight books in this series:

Book 1

She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.

Philadelphia, 1776

As whispers of revolution turn swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.

Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.

Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.

But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.

In a war where even allies can become enemies, Lucy and Branch must navigate a world of hidden truths and guarded hearts. With the fate of the colonies—and their hearts—hanging in the balance as Lucy delivers a message in enemy territory, will they find the courage to trust each other and choose love?

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 2

Two hearts. Two worlds. Can love be the key to free the woman he loves?

Saratoga, 1777

Nineteen year old Indentured Servant, Abagail Densbury, is running for her life. Accused of stealing a necklace she didn’t take, and facing a beating that could claim her life, she has no choice but to take this one chance to run away, especially when Mr. Wilson, the proprietor of the Saratoga Inn, has told her “to get.” But Abagail has spent her life on the city streets of London, and she is a stranger to the forests of New York. Still, she might have survived on her own, if only Miss Stockenridge hadn’t sent the hounds after her.

Twenty-four year old Skenandoah is an Oneida Indian and a scout for the Patriots. When Mr. Wilson asks Skenan to help a girl to survive through the forests and to reach Fort Stanwix, Skenan doesn’t hesitate to act. What he didn’t count on is that the girl, though dressed in rags, is as beautiful as she is sweet and brave.

Closeness on the trail unites their hearts. But, when a coded message is found in a locket in Abagail’s apron, both Skenan and Abagail know they must reach Fort Stanwix as quickly as possible, even though it means they will be forced to part—she back to her world and he to his.

But, since the Patriots are fighting to throw off the chains of the English Father, is there a way Shenan can make them see that the woman he loves should be free, too?

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 3

In a house filled with British officers, colonial spies, and dangerous secrets, falling in love may be the most reckless act of all.

Long Island, 1778

Anna Turner serves quietly at Pembrooke House, hiding her patriot loyalties beneath the careful routine of a household maid. But when cheerful messenger Nathaniel Reed begins delivering private correspondence to the British captain residing there, Anna becomes convinced he’s the enemy.

Nate, however, is hiding secrets of his own.

As two rival spy rings unknowingly move information through the same household, suspicion turns to uneasy partnership—and then something far more dangerous. Because in a city where spies are hanged in the streets, one wrong move could condemn them both.

And surrendering her heart to Nate Reed may prove deadlier than war itself.

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 4

A traitor in the Continental Army. A raid that could end Virginia’s government. And one woman willing to risk everything for love.

Charlottesville, 1780

Anna Randolph has always believed women are capable of more than society allows. The daughter of a prominent military supplier in Revolutionary Virginia, she manages her father’s correspondence and longs to contribute meaningfully to the cause of independence. When she meets Major James Coleman at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, she’s drawn to the self-made officer who sees her as an equal—but in the uncertain spring of 1781, with war raging through Virginia, falling in love feels like both a gift and a gamble.

Major James Coleman earned his rank through merit, not birth. A Scots-Irish officer from the Shenandoah Valley, he’s gathering intelligence for the Marquis de Lafayette while avoiding romantic entanglements—his dangerous work is no life for a family man. But Anna Randolph is unlike any woman he’s ever known: intelligent, passionate, and brave. For the first time, James allows himself to imagine a future beyond the war. Until a routine visit to the Albemarle Barracks uncovers a deadly conspiracy threatening both Jefferson and the cause itself.

When whispered treason reveals plans for a devastating raid on Charlottesville and James is left for dead by a jealous rival, Anna must become the courier he never meant to send into danger. Racing thirty miles through enemy territory to reach Lafayette’s camp, she carries intelligence that could save Jefferson and alter the course of the war. In a world where women are meant to wait and worry, Anna Randolph will ride into the heart of danger to prove that sometimes the most perilous mission requires not just courage, but love.

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 5

North and South. Yankee and Rebel. Union and Confederate.
In the midst of the Civil War, can two hearts come together?

Roswell, 1863

When the tide of war sweeps south and the Union Army invades and destroys the Georgia cotton mill where Kate Brodie is a nurse, not only is her livelihood destroyed but she’s branded a traitor and shipped northward with the other workers. Only the unlikely attention of a Yankee major makes the trip tolerable.

Union major, Griffin Fletcher loathes the part of his job that requires him to destroy homes, towns, and livelihoods of innocent civilians. But he’s sworn to uphold the Union at all costs. Yet, he vows to protect these women he’s been ordered to transport to Marietta. Especially the one whose fiery determination, proud stance, and soft heart draws him closer.

Determined to remain in the South, Kate makes a daring leap of faith to nurse wounded Yankee soldiers, never expecting Major Fletcher to be one of her patients. Along with his healing, they each faced the fears and prejudices that had brought them together.

With survival so tenuous, can faith help them find love in the midst of so much tragedy?

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 6

She’s fighting to honor the past. He’s haunted by it.

Hawthorn, 1876

As Hawthorn, Texas, prepares for a grand celebration honoring America’s centennial and the town’s own fifty-year history, schoolteacher and archivist Mercy Owens is determined to see that every act of sacrifice and service is properly remembered. So when one local veteran refuses to take part in the festivities, she cannot simply let the matter rest.

Livery stable owner Wilson Porter has spent years quietly rebuilding his life after the Civil War left him carrying wounds no one can see. Respected by the town but haunted by the past, he wants no public recognition—especially not from a committee determined to call him a hero.

But as Mercy’s research draws her deeper into Wilson’s history, and a series of shared journeys begins to chip away at the walls between them, both must confront long-held beliefs about honor, sacrifice, and worth. Because sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is allow themselves to be truly seen.

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 7

She’s lived with his name for three years. He’s never known hers. Until they meet.

Halsey, 1955

Jackie Sinclair is good at what she does–flying airplanes during the Korean War. But when she makes a mistake that will haunt her forever, she’s determined to build a new life of peace and freedom in Nebraska. Except she comes face-to-face with Beckett J. Archer, the soldier she had failed so terribly, and her hopes for a new future threaten to fall apart.

Beck has returned to heal at the one place that means more to him than anything else–his father’s ranch. The memories of war have left their mark, but the brave and beautiful woman who lands in his life–literally–stirs up feelings he never expects, especially when an old family legacy threatens to drive them apart.

As trouble closes in from every side, Beck and Jackie are drawn together by danger, duty, and a growing love neither of them can deny.

BUY ON AMAZON

Book 8

In a season of fireworks and freedom, can two independent hearts make a declaration of love?

Holiday, OR, Modern Day

Grady Guthry understands the weight of a promise. Years after returning from the Army to help his widowed sister and young nephew rebuild their lives, he’s created a solid life in Holiday, Oregon. With a thriving construction business and deep roots in his small town, Grady’s world is steady, dependable, and safe—just the way he needs it. The last thing he’s looking for is change, especially not in the form of the town’s new, temporary postmaster.

Kate Barton has always followed the horizon. An Air Force veteran who thrives on freedom and fresh starts, she moves from one assignment to the next, never staying long enough to put down roots. But when she arrives in Holiday, she carries more than just her bags. A cherished locket left behind by her father draws her into a legacy she never knew existed—and begins to stir a longing she can’t quite ignore.

As Holiday prepares for the celebration of America’s 250th anniversary, an unexpected friendship between Grady and Kate deepens into an undeniable slow-burn romance. Grady offers Kate a sense of home she’s never known, while she reminds him there’s more to life than duty.

But with Kate’s departure date looming, the independence they’ve both fought to claim may become the very thing that keeps them apart.

In a season of healing, hope, and second chances, will they find the courage to let go of their plans—and choose a future together?

BUY ON AMAZON

You’re gonna love these books from Petticoats & Patriots.

But wait I have some more news:  Because I recently signed on with OHB Publishing (a small press publisher), I have four titles of my backlist newly edited and reissued, and there are some truly beautiful covers and so, if you’ll bear with me, I’ll show those covers below.  A word about this series: it is a solid Historical Romance but with a paranormal element.  Each hero in these four books is charged with a task of ending a centuries old curse.  Each hero in the books must free his band of the tribe from the curse.  Many before him have failed to free his people.  Will he, too, fail?

Okay, so here’s the covers:

Book #1:

The Angel and the Warrior

 

Book #2

The Spirit of the Wolf

Book #3: 

Red Hawk’s Woman

 

Book #4

The Last Warrior

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Book #4

The Last Warrior

And now for the surprise: I will be doing a drawing on the day after this blog (tomorrow/Wednesday) of all those who left a post on this blog– day after this blog — and the winner of the drawing will get her choice of one of the e-books shown here on this page.  Just please be aware that not all of the e-books are yet out.  However, if the e-book you’d like is not yet out, on the day of its release (or perhaps if I can preorder the book before it is released), I will gift you the e-book you have chosen.

I look forward to all your posts.

Do Well!

 

Fun Historical Facts and Giveaway

by

Howdy!  And welcome to another awesome Tuesday!

Recently, I decided to redo the cover for Book #1 in the Medicine Man Series.  I’d asked my cover artist if she might consider doing a cover with the image of the hairstyles of the American Iindians on the Plains in the 1830’s.  Book #1 is set in the 1830’s (SHE STEALS MY BREATH) and so I thought I’d ask because my cover artist is really an artist and she often draws things on my covers by hand (with online tools).

So let me first take you back to the 1830’s in an area of the country known as INDIAN TERRITORY.  George Catlin, as well as Karl Bodmer (accompanying  Prince Maxmilian onto the Plains) made trips into the interior of the north country, and they left a record of their travels.  What I had always noticed about these paintings was that the men often changed their hair styles, while the women generally wore their hair in braids.  This doesn’t necessarily hold true for the more southern tribes, but when I look at the northern tribes, these men pretty much wore their hair in a similar manner

Here are two men from the Nez Perce tribe who lived on the western side of the Blackbone-of-the-world Mountains (the Rockies).  Catlin met these two men when he was on a steamboat.  Interestingly, both men were on a mission for their tribe to see out the “Black Robe” and ask him about his religion and invite him to come to their tribe.

To the right here is an Assiniboine Indian (the Assiniboine were located farther east and a little more north of Crow Indians in what we now know as Montana.

In the center here is a Lakota man and below that is a Cheyenne chief.  The same hairstyle held true for most of the Northern tribes during this period: The Blackfeet, the Crow and the Cree.

And so, because my cover artist is a real artist and sometimes paints different images into a particular image she is working with, I asked her if she might be able to do a cover showing this particular men’s hairstyle.

Cat022

Below is the result:

This is the cover that my cover artist created for me and I absolutely love it.

Many things I love about this cover, but outside of the image of the hero and the heroine, I love the sky and the mountains.  Montana is often called The Big Sky Country and so I love that this image also highlights the sky.

This first book is currently on sale for $.99 and my newest book (Just released) in the Medicine Man series is sale for $3.59 at Amazon.

Note the difference in hair style between the 1830’s and the 1879’s.  My newest book is set in the 1870’s and at this time we have a completely different hairstyle that the men are wearing…again, almost tribe to tribe a very similar hair style.  Some differences, but many things that are similar about them.   This fellow in the middle here is Blackfeet.  Note the braids and the hair is now almost straight up and parted on the side.

The Picture below is of a Crow man:  Note how similar the style is at this time period.

The same styles were seen in the Flathead and the Nez Perce tribes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so I now would like  you to see how my cover artist showed this particular hair style on my newest cover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think both of these covers (that are new to me) are so very well done and show the different hair styles at this time in history.

What do you think?  Hope found this little bit of history interesting.

Both of these books are on sale:

SHE STEALS MY BREATH:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09TNDS67H?tag=pettpist-20 — This book is on sale for $.99.

IF SHE WERE MINE:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20 — This book is on sale at a 40% discount at $3.59.

Please come on in and leave a post.  I’ll be giving away a free copy of the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

 

 

 

New Story, IF SHE WERE MINE, is on Pre-Order

by

Howdy!  And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Well, while we are getting the e-book ready to publish (all the editing and proofing is now done) we’ve put the new book up for a Pre-Order.  Here is the link:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20

It’s on sale at 40% off what the price will be once all the promotion is done for its release — that is to say, it’s regular price is $5.99.

And I’ve tweaked the blurb a little for Amazon.  Here is the new blurb:

 

AI-FREE! 100% organic author-created content. No artificial intelligence was used in the writing of this book.

If you enjoy stories about how love can win, despite terrible wrongs and extreme prejudice, this story is for you.

A star-crossed love, treachery, and a desire that will not be denied.

Briella Feher is in love, but not with her fiancé. Her father has exiled her from the sweeping plains of Montana to New York City “for her own safety,” commanding her to marry within her heritage and class. Raised in Indian Territory, Briella was shaped as much by the Pikuni—Blackfeet—people as by her aristocratic Hungarian family. Viewed as a cowgirl, Briella doesn’t fit in with society. Perhaps it’s the guns she wears strapped to her evening gowns. Her heart has always belonged to Red Fox, the Pikuni medicine man who taught her to survive on the prairie, the man who was her teacher, her first love. When James Maximillian III proposes—with the condition that he keep his mistress—Briella accepts, seeing his proposal as her only path back to Montana and to Red Fox.

Two years apart have not cooled the fire between Briella and Red Fox, yet his honor won’t allow him to claim this woman who is promised to another. With the escalation of the Indian/Cavalry wars, Red Fox believes distance is the only way to protect the woman he loves. Then a vision reveals a devastating truth: Briella’s fiancé is hiding a lie that could shatter every vow. It’s now up to Red Fox to find the truth.

But, time is running out and forces are aligned against them. Can Red Fox find the proof and expose the treachery in time to alter the ending of their Romeo and Juliet romance, or will he lose Briella forever in a romance destined for tragedy?

Warning: This is a forbidden love story—forbidden by both sets of parents–which begs the question: will the hero and heroine get a second chance at love? Set in the 1870’s, this sensual love story is sprinkled with paranormal, Native American style. But, if you love the old west as it was lived and loved by the First Americans, you’re going to love this story.

And I should tell you I will be giving away a free e-book from this series — winner’s choice.

So let me share another except from the new book.  In this story both the heroine’s and the hero’s parents are against these two marrying.  Both have “good” reasons, so they think.  But, when all is said and done, love will win out.

IF SHE WERE MINE

By

Karen Kay

Excerpt #2

Grasping hold of the parfleche tube he had tied onto his pony, Red Fox took out his white buckskin clothing and shook out the garments. These were his best, his fanciest, buckskin clothing. They had been given to him by his grandfather upon the first event of Red Fox having publicly healed a rich man’s pony, it having become lame because of a disease upon its leg.

His grandfather had been a bigger man than he, and several snows ago, Red Fox had cut, sewn and tailored the clothing to fit his own frame. Red Fox shook out the stunningly white buckskin clothing and inspected the regalia to ensure every feather in the headdress was neatly in place. He then looked over the beadwork to ensure each bead was still firmly sewn into the leather and was not likely to fall off.

Standing upon a shady patch of ground within an outgrowth of pines growing atop one of the numerous buttes overlooking the Féher ranch, Red Fox inspected the white buckskin leather shirt with blue-and-white-beaded “V” shapes falling down over the shoulder straps. All were intact.

He then put his attention on the cloth breechcloth, the white leggings and moccasins, all beaded in the same design as the shoulder straps. Leather fringe about eight inches in length, as well as long locks of black hair scattered in amongst the buckskin fringe, fell from each sleeve. The same fringe lined each seam of the leggings of the regalia.

A looping white-beaded necklace which would fall from his neck was unbroken, while the headdress of eagle tail feathers stood straight up, then fell all the way to the ground. Two long ermine furs were attached to the bonnet in front; these would fall over the shoulders. The strip of beadwork in front of the headdress was in the same style as the shoulder straps.

Niitá’p, this regalia was the best clothing he possessed, and what an honor it had been when his grandfather had passed these clothes down to him.

As Red Fox donned the clothing, he listened to the strains of what he knew to be the white man’s music. It was quite pretty. The sound was floating up to where he was standing, up high upon a ledge of a cliff overlooking the Fehér ranch.

Picking up his rifle, which he kept in a beautifully beaded parfleche case—a present from his sister—he turned around and climbed to the top of the cliff. The prairie stretched out from behind him, requiring him to step up a little before he could stride out upon the flat plains toward the spot where he had left his pony. Ensuring his pony was not hungry and had plenty of grass to eat here within a growth of pines, he satisfied himself that his pony would be well hidden, this especially so because Hunts-with-the-wind would keep watch over the animal. Breathing in deeply, Red Fox then retraced his steps and set off on foot down toward the party.

****

Watching the dancers from the patio outside the ballroom, Red Fox felt definitely the outsider. He, alone, was outfitted in Pikuni garb. And, the others? They were beautifully dressed, yes, exactly as Eagle Heart’s woman had said they would be. But, all here wore white man’s clothing, since his relatives, all but George and his wife, had left earlier in the day to rejoin the Pikuni encampment. Even the “hang around the fort” Indians were clothed in white-man’s garb.

Where is she?

Although Red Fox had a long acquaintance with the white man’s fashion sense, as well as his dances, he had never seen this kind of smooth gliding where it looked as if the men and women were floating in each other’s arms around and around in a circle upon the dance floor. Silently, he thanked the wife of Eagle Heart for instructing him in the steps of the waltz.

He had witnessed, of course, the jig, the polka and even several Indian dances from other tribes that included both men and women dancing, but never had he borne witness to such graceful movements nor had he observed the intimate way in which the men and women held one another.

Watching the couples’ movements as they whirled around the dance floor, he was captivated for several moments until he realized he still could not find Poka’aki.

Where is she?

Catching a glimpse of George waltzing with his wife, Red Fox felt himself relax. Here was something familiar; people he knew and loved.

Stepping proudly inside this place of music and dancing, he became unusually aware that he at once garnered a great deal of attention. People even gasped. Then he saw these same people turn inward to make groups where they talked amongst themselves and pointed toward him.

Perhaps this was done to cause him to feel uncomfortable, but it had the opposite effect over him. It empowered him, knowing how rude and crude were these people who could not even hide their curiosity, if this were what it was.

It wasn’t as if the Indian people weren’t also curious about these newcomers into their country, but they did not stare, nor so openly would they point at a person and then turn to gossip amongst themselves.

Was this aloofness and rumor mongering the sort of thing Poka’aki had been forced to endure in her exile from her home? If so, was there any wonder why she had agreed to a proposition that would enable her to leave there?

Ah, there she is.

So beautiful was she, he caught his breath as he recalled his youthful fear of her because of her beauty. She was wearing a dress in a light shade of pink that accented her figure in front, but was puffed out in back with what must have been yards and yards of material. It was trimmed in a deep color of red, and it seemed to shimmer in a cascade of waves as it fell to the floor. The shoulders of her dress fell down her arms, leaving the top of her breasts, her neck and her upper arms bare. A ribbon in the same color of deep red was tied around her neck, and the length of it fell down the dress in back. And, as she swirled around the floor in the arms of a man, the dark-red ribbon which fell down in back of her, swayed to and fro.

Her hair was caught up on top of her head, while curls of her dark, auburn hair fell over her shoulders. A tiny pink hat covered the top of her tresses.

He couldn’t remember seeing her so beautifully dressed. And, for a moment, an odd feeling come over him: would he ever be able to give her such riches? Worse, having now tasted this kind of life, would she require them?

He shrugged off the thought and studied the man who held her in his arms, and, as Red Fox witnessed the man’s possessive grip on her, Red Fox realized this had to be the man she was being required to marry. The gentleman was not an unhandsome fellow, though he possessed facial hair above his lips, a feature both Indian men and women abhorred.

He stepped farther into the room and took in the measure of this fellow holding Poka’aki. Although Red Fox longed to fade into the scenery in this place, he could not. Realizing his countenance and dress were too different and too exotic for those around him to act politely, he ignored their whispering and pointed glances.

Indeed, he concentrated on studying this man, Maximillian. If he were to envision a way to release his woman from this person‘s grip, Red Fox needed to understand Maximillian as well as he knew himself. The man was slender, tall, although perhaps a little shorter than he, Red Fox. The fellow, however, kept glancing to the east side of the dance floor instead of giving his beautiful partner all of the attention she deserved.

Looking to the eastern side of the dance floor, Red Fox saw the reason for it: a pretty young woman with the pale color of hair that was so rare upon these plains stood there, the object of this man’s attention. Remembering what Poka’aki had said about the man possessing a mistress, Red Fox surmised this woman had to be Maximillian’s undeclared sits-beside-him-woman.

And, though she was stunningly pretty with her blonde curls and blue eyes, there was a catch in her eye and a quality about her countenance that was not pretty. And, worse, she stared at Poka’aki with a look that was hardly likeable. Watching the interplay between this woman and the man who was dancing with Poka’aki, Red Fox knew it was only a matter of a few moments before he, Red Fox, would intercede.

As soon as the music of the dance ended, Red Fox paced forward and into the crowd of dancers, his steps taking him directly to Poka’aki and the gentleman, who, at this very moment, had laid his hand upon the small of Poka’aki’s back.

Inserting himself directly into the path of Maximillian and Poka’aki, Red Fox waited as the people around him cleared away until, at last, the gentleman beheld an Indian warrior, complete with rifle—although it was encased within its beaded case and was strapped around Red Fox’s shoulder—was standing directly in his path.

Red Fox watched the man physically jump, and had it been gentleman-like to scream, the fellow might have done so. As it was, he gasped and stopped walking completely.

“Red Fox! I was wondering when I might see you here! Welcome!” Dragging her escort with her, Poka’aki stepped up before Red Fox and proceeded with the introductions, saying, “Red Fox, this gentleman here is Maximillian the Third. Max, this is Red Fox, my friend, as well as my tutor into the ways of the Plains and how one can easily survive on them.”

Maximillian bent over at the waist and inclined his head, but he said nothing.

Red Fox simply nodded. Then, looking directly at Poka’aki, he said, “I would like to dance with you, Poka’aki.”

“Of course. They are playing another waltz, this one a little slower than the last. Do you know the dance?”

“I do, although I have only learned these steps this very day,” Red Fox answered. He then watched as Maximillian bent slightly forward again, clicked his heels together, and turning, he walked away, although Red Fox saw the man’s knees were shaky and bowed slightly outward as he walked.

Returning his attention to Poka’aki, Red Fox asked, “Will you show me how I should hold you like these other men are doing?”

“Of course I will. Now, you put your right arm around my waist, like so.” She placed his arm in the correct place on the small of her back. “Then you hold my right hand with your left, and listen to the music and the beat. One, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three. Do you hear the beat?”

“I do.” He placed his rifle, complete with its carrying case, a little more fully onto his back and out of the way, noticing at the same time that, true to her Pikuni teaching, a gun in a holster was wound around her waist.

“Good,” she said. “Now, starting with your left foot, we step up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three. Now, with your right and left foot, on steps two and three, you twirl around slightly, taking me with you as you twirl. Are you ready?”

“I am,” he answered. And, then he began to dance up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three; back, two, three; as he had earlier learned. Then, he commenced to twirl around. Gazing down at her, he witnessed her beautiful smile.

“You are a quick learner.”

“It is because I dance and sing every day to my ponies, and sometimes I dance while we are in camp. And, I often drum and sing as I dance.

“I know,” she said. “I have seen you do this, although only on occasion, and I have always thought you are most graceful.”

He smiled down at her. “Also, the wife of Eagle Heart showed me these steps today, though I did not hold her as I do you. She waltzed instead with her man, Eagle Heart.” When Poka’aki remained silent, he commented, “This dance is as it looks. It feels as if one is floating.”

She grinned up at him. “It feels, indeed, exactly as you say. How lovely it is to be in your arms. I have never seen this regalia before. Is it new to you?”

“Saa, it is not new. Never have I had the occasion to wear it before this night. It belonged to my grandfather.”

“And, was it passed down to you?”

He nodded.

She commented, “Perhaps our son shall inherit it.”

Red Fox missed a step while at the same time someone behind him tapped him on the shoulder. He came to a halt and gazed over his shoulder, there to see Frederic Fehér behind him, Frederic’s lips were set into a frown and his eyes filled with censure.

“I am cutting in to this dance,” Frederic said.

Red Fox glanced at the brother of Poka’aki questioningly.

“It means,” said Frederic in a voice dripping with sarcasm and disapproval, “that I am now going to dance with my sister while you step aside.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Now.” And, with no more instruction nor so much as a kind word, Frederic placed his arms around Poka’aki and danced away with her, although Red Fox observed she was frowning as she spoke to her brother.

Puzzled, Red Fox looked toward Poka’aki, who took her arm from around Frederic to say to Red Fox in sign, “Do not be upset. This is sometimes done.”

What was he supposed to do? Stand here while the dancers twirled around him or bumped into him?

At last, Red Fox began to understand. And, waiting for Frederic and Poka’aki to twirl in close to him, he stepped up to Frederic and tapped him on the shoulder, only to experience the shame of Frederic ignoring him completely as he stepped quickly away and whirled around the dance floor, Frederic presenting a façade as if nothing had even happened.

Knowing Frederic had intended to create the sensation of wrongdoing within him, Red Fox determinedly refused to give the matter any of his energy. Instead, with a steady gait, Red Fox turned around and walked off the dance floor and out of the ballroom completely, leaving the lovely sounding music behind him.

And, lovely it was, indeed. He couldn’t remember hearing anything quite like it in his past.

For a moment, he paused on the wooden flooring outside the actual dance hall, doing little more than listening to the enchanting music. He would remember it. It was so very beautiful.

And, when the music for a jig began, Red Fox set off on foot over the plains, making his way back up to the ledge of the butte, where his wolf would be awaiting him.

****\

Well, that’s all for today.  Remember I’ll be giving away a free e-book from this series to one of you bloggers today, your choice.  So come on in and share your thoughts with me.

 

 

IF SHE WERE MINE — New Historical Coming Soon

by

Howdy!

Happy Tuesday!  And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Yes, I have a new historical romance coming soon.  This is book #6 in the Medicine Man Series.  It’s still in editing at the moment, but I heard from my editor today and she says she is almost done with the edits.  When this happens, it means about 2-3 weeks for me to do the edits and to get them thoroughly proofed and then getting it published, which can take a few days as well.  And, so I thought I’d put out a call for anyone who would like an ARC (Advance Reading Copy) of the book,  These ARC’s are sent out most usually to readers would like to do reviews.  It’s not necessary to do a review, of course, but this is most usually the reason an ARC is sent.

If you would like to have an Advanced Copy of the new Historical when it is released (or perhaps a little before), please let me know in the comments.

So, that said, I thought I’d give you an except of the new book.  We’ll start with the blurb and then an excerpt from the very beginning of the story (the Prologue).

If She Were Mine

by

Karen Kay

 

A star-crossed love, treachery, and desire that will not be denied.

Briella Feher is in love, but not with her fiancé. Her father has exiled her from the sweeping plains of Montana to New York City “for her own safety,” commanding her to marry within her heritage and class. Raised in Indian Territory, Briella was shaped as much by the Pikuni—Blackfeet—people as by her aristocratic Hungarian family. Viewed as a cowgirl, Briella doesn’t fit in with society. Perhaps it’s the guns she wears strapped to her evening gowns. Her heart has always belonged to Red Fox, the Pikuni medicine man who taught her to survive on the prairie, the man who was her teacher, her first love. When James Maximillian III proposes—with the condition that he keep his mistress—Briella accepts, seeing his proposal as her only path back to Montana and to Red Fox.

Two years apart have not cooled the fire between Briella and Red Fox, yet his honor won’t allow him to claim this woman who is promised to another. With the escalation of the Indian/Cavalry wars, Red Fox believes distance is the only way to protect the woman he loves. Then a vision reveals a devastating truth: Briella’s fiancé is hiding a lie that could shatter every vow. It’s now up to Red Fox to find the truth.

Time is running out, however, and forces are aligned against them. Can Red Fox find the proof and expose the treachery in time to alter the ending of their Romeo and Juliet romance, or will he lose Briella forever in a romance destined for tragedy?

PROLOGUE

Northwest Indian Country

Territory of the Blackfeet

The Month When Geese Come (May) 1871

Máóhkataatoyi, Red Fox watched as Pokaa’aakíí (Poka’aki), Child Woman, or as the white’s called her, Briella Fehér, raised her hand and shouted, “Watch me take down this buffalo calf with one shot!”

“Saa! Wait! Do not shoot! There are—”

BLAST!

It was too late! The damage was done. Hadn’t Poka’aki seen the buffalo herd hidden in the shallow, plain-like valley below?

And now the buffalo, having heard the shot, would assume hunters were close-by; it would cause them to stampede. But, perhaps their direction might be to run along the valley rather than to climb the hill and…

As Red Fox heard the unmistakable thunder of hundreds or perhaps thousands of the buffalo’s hooves coming closer and closer to him, he knew the stark reality of what this was: a stampede on its way—toward him and Poka’aki.

There is, perhaps, nothing more terrifying to the heart of a man than the sound of snapping wood, the whooshing of shrubs and bushes, as well as the quaking and ratting of the ground beneath one as the tremendous force and speed of a stampeding herd of buffalo was on the run.

Even now the air carried the dirt and rocks kicked high into the air by those buffalos’ hooves. With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew the herd would be here before Poka’aki had time to get out of the way, and, if she didn’t move fast enough, they would trample her to death.

“Get out of here!” he shouted and waved at her. “Quick! Leave here! Go! Fast!”

But he knew his words were useless. All sound was blocked except the thunder of the stampede.

In a time quicker than it takes to think it, Red Fox knew that George, who was Poka’aki’s brother as well as his own almost-brother, was too far away to come to Briella’s rescue. George had left their hunting party early in the morning, his intention being to return to the tribe and report this enormous herd of buffalo to the chiefs, letting them decide if they would call a tribal hunt of the buffalo or secure a buffalo caller to send the herd, one and all, over the cliff of the pisskan, the buffalo jump.

Inwardly, he cringed. Because of his and Poki’aki’s actions here today, the stampede would interfere with the tribe’s ability to obtain enough food for winter storage, if only because a stampeding herd of buffalo could run through the day and into the night, taking the vast supply of food completely out of Blackfoot territory.

This was why, when a large mass of buffalo had been spotted, the chiefs banned all hunting until the tribe’s men could, as a single body, hunt the game.

On this very day, the chiefs had sent both himself and George—two scouts—out from the camp to look for buffalo. No one in the tribe yet knew this large herd was even here. And yet, it would soon be gone.

The thunderous, ground shaking roar of the stampede caused all further thought to cease. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Red Fox caught sight of the black, horned creatures coming into sight and directly at him. Just then, his horse reared as a wave of the black, hairy beasts encompassed him and his mount, and pushed him and his pony in alongside of them.

With a quick action, Red Fox brought his pony under control. There was no running from them now, and, within the batting of an eye, Red Fox and his mount were caught up in the stampede…but he was on the other side of the herd from Poka’aki.

Because the sharp-horned cows enveloped him and crowded in on every side him, his pony was forced to keep time with the stampede; Red Fox spared a glance behind him to see blackened masses of the animals to the rear of him, seeming as though they were without end. There was to be no retreat from them.

Once more, he looked toward Poka’aki, seeing she was caught up within the herd, as was he. He had to save her—but how?

He was on the complete opposite side of the solid mass of charging buffalo. He knew well that even the best of horses could not last for long within a fleeing herd of these animals; the buffalo’s lungs were large and strong and the muscles in their legs were sturdy, allowing them to run both day and night without ever stopping.

But, not so a horse. Even the best buffalo horse could not long keep up with a running buffalo herd; instead, a good pony was trained to take his master toward a buffalo, allowing the man to grab quick shot and then to retreat, carrying himself and his rider to the side of the terrorized animals.

Glancing at Poka’aki on his left and across a field of the terror-stricken and plunging buffalo, he took stock of her horse…a three-year-old mare not trained to a buffalo run. Her horse wouldn’t last longer than a breath. Worse, Red Fox could see she had lost control of the reins, causing her to cling to the pony’s mane, the reins being dragged behind, which could be stepped on by a buffalo…

All Indian hunters know that the only way to remain alive in a buffalo stampede is to gradually guide one’s horse to the edge of the stampede and then leave the massive push of the herd. But without reins? How was she to guide her horse?

With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew Poka’aki ‘s chances of surviving the stampede were all but impossible.

But, she must survive! She must! She, the girl he had loved for so many years!

He had to get to her! Her horse would soon become tired and would be overrun by the sharp hooves of the buffalo pushing in on her from behind, trampling them both into the ground.

His one chance to save her was to guide his horse toward hers and then lead them both to the side. And, this he would do; this he must do.

In a moment out of time, he devised a plan. He knew that the buffalo do not see well; they follow the leading cow in front of them, creating little paths within the stampede.

Poka’aki was slightly ahead of him, and he counted three rows of the buffalo between himself and Poka’aki. All he had to do was to kill the buffalo on his left and take its place in the path behind the cow ahead. Over and over he would do this until her pony was on his left. Reaching down to pull his rifle from its case, he found the container empty.

Empty? Without a gun to clear each pathway to his left, how was he to get to her? Quickly, he reached behind him, his hand lingering for a moment over his bow and arrows. With the gun having taken the place of the bow and arrow for most Pikuni men, the quiver with bow and arrows was seldom worn anymore. However, today he had placed both upon his back, thinking to kill an animal quietly with the bow and arrow rather than announce where he was by the boom of a gun.

Pulling the bow from its quiver, as well as many arrows, he placed all but one arrow into his mouth, and, holding them with his teeth, he fitted the first arrow to his bow. He took aim.

Whish! The arrow went down well below the ribs, straight to the heart of the buffalo. The animal made only one more jump before it went down. With his knees, Rex Fox guided his pony into the downed buffalo’s place. He did the same with the next buffalo, taking its place.

Only one more row of the bulls and cows and he would be next to her. But, her horse was now plunging about madly, making it difficult for Poka’aki to stay her seat.

But, what was this? What was wrong with her saddle?

How could it have come loose? And yet, with another plunge, her saddle flew back onto the rear of her pony. Worse, she had lost her grip on the animal’s mane and was desperately holding onto the horses neck. All it would take was one more jump, and Poka’aki would fall from her horse and be trampled.

His heart stopped for a moment. But, he was only one pathway and a jump away from her horse. Quickly taking aim with another arrow, he shot at the buffalo closest to him right behind the ribs to the heart of the beast, and, as the buffalo went down, Red Fox and his pony took its place. Then, by whacking his bow on his horse’s flanks, he came to be even with Poka’aki. She was falling off her horse!

Reaching out to his left, he caught her by the waist and pulled her up onto his own mount, laying her crosswise in front of him.

Because the sharp horns of the buffalo were closing in around him again, he didn’t have a moment to set her up straight. Indeed, he knew his horse, with its double load could not long keep pace with the frightened buffalo, especially since Red Fox sensed his pony was winded. However, using his bow, he kept the animal in step with the buffalo, despite his pony fighting for breath. Then, taking up his bow again, he positioned another arrow to his bow, took aim and felled the buffalo to his left.

He did the same with his remaining arrow, and then all his arrows were gone. All he could do now was to force his horse into the remaining two rows of buffalo to his left, one at a time. Saying a prayer beneath his breath, he forced his pony into the next pathway of buffalo.

Only one more row of the stampeding herd remained, but his pony was clever and worked his way to the side again and into the pathway to the left. And then Red Fox steered his pony to the left again.

Free! At last, we are free!

Red Fox turned his mount again to the left, putting some distance between Poka’aki, himself and his pony from the stampeding buffalo. He reined his horse to a stop beneath a quivering pine. Jumping to the ground, Red Fox pulled Poka’aki off the pony, and when she would have collapsed in his arms, he held onto her tightly, pulling her closely against him.

He could feel her sobs at his shoulder, and he tightened his grip on her, saying in a low voice, “It is over. We are alive. We survive.”

She was crying and in between gasps, she whispered, “I would be dead now if not for you.”

He didn’t know what to answer in response, and so he said only, “Come, you can sit beneath this tree and recover your breath while I go to find your bother. We must report what we have found to our chiefs.”

“No! Do not let me go! I beg you, do not let me go!”

With her face against his shoulder and she standing so closely in his arms, all of his energy suddenly focused on her instead of their narrow escape from death. Indeed, all of his bent-up emotions and the joy of his success was centered upon her and only upon her. And for a moment, he thought he had not only escaped death this day, but he might have found the white man’s heaven, as well.

How long was it now that he had loved Poka’aki? All those years ago, when her brother, George, had asked him to tutor her in the ways of the plains, who could have predicted he would fall in love with the girl? Certainly, he hadn’t foreseen it.

But, he had, indeed, surrendered his heart to her. However, she was younger than he by seven winters. And so, he had waited for her to grow up before turning his mind toward the idea of approaching her father with many horses and asking for her hand in marriage.

And so, in all these years, he had held himself back from declaring himself to her. He knew she liked him well enough, but so beautiful was she, he was a little afraid of her: fearful, he was, of her possible rejection of him. Or worse, she might agree to marry him simply because they were friends.

Even now, breathing in the sweet, yet fragrant scent of her, he remained silent, doing little more than savoring the moment.

Leaning her head back a little, she looked up into his eyes and, in a whisper, declared, “I am to blame for this. I almost killed you and me, too. And I…and I… I love you, Red Fox. I do not wish to leave this world without you knowing how I feel about you. Indeed, I think I have loved you since the day you first came here to tutor me, although I didn’t know it then. Since I have known you, I have been of the opinion of you being the handsomest of men; you, with your black hair, always so neatly braided and your dark, mysterious eyes. Always, you have appeared before me dressed in your best buckskin clothing and, when there have been times you have had to take off your shirt, I…I…have wondered what it might feel like if you were to hold me, to press your lips against mine.

“But, you are older than I and much taller, too, and I have had to wait to grow up a little. But, I have always looked upon you with the idea in mind that one day you will come to love me. And, if I were to have been the cause of your death here today, I do not believe I would ever be able to forgive myself, not even in the hereafter.”

She loves me? All this time she has loved me? She has even desired my embrace?

This couldn’t be real. He swallowed hard, gulping.

“Do you not feel it, too?” Poka’aki asked, her voice breathless. “I have seen the looks you have given me sometimes in the evenings when we sit around the fire. Please tell me. I am not making this up, am I? It is not all one-sided, is it? Do you love me, too?”

Red Fox shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, slowly he bent his head to hers and touched his lips to hers. At their touch, every sense within him awoke to the splendor of her and his heart began beating as fast as it had been only moments ago when they had been swallowed up within the buffalo stampede.

Raising his head only slightly and inhaling deeply, he looked up into the heavens before bringing his lips down to hers yet again, and he kissed her once more, but deeply this time. His tongue opened her mouth to his persuasion, and thereupon, he proceeded to love her with his kisses, one after another, as though he were a hungry man and she were the only sweet thing that could satisfy him.

She kissed him back and as she did so, the world around him seemed to come alive. Indeed, the sun, shining down upon his shoulders, felt warmer. The wind seemed to join in with the sun in a kindlier fashion as it whirled around them, sharing its cooler temperature with them. Truly, it felt to him as though the life force of the earth and all of His creatures were as happy as he.

Bringing his head down toward hers, he touched his lips to hers yet again.

Áa! Magic! It was as though they had been waiting longer than mere years for this one, precious moment to declare themselves to one another.

How splendid it would be to make her his wife this day.  If he were to do so, it would put to rest the very real possibility of her father denying her to him.

After all, it was her brother, George, who had included him as a tutor for her all those years ago…not her parents. In truth, it was with a critical eye her parents, József and Mária Fehér, had watched him teach her to shoot, to ride, to track and hunt game as well as any man. Added to this, for the past month, Poka’aki’s elder brother, Frederic,—who lived in a faraway, eastern part of the Americas—was now temporarily in residence here in Pikuni country. And, though Frederic had brought with him his wife and their child for the visit, Frederic held himself and his immediate family aloof from all things Pikuni.

Niitá’p, indeed, since Frederic’s arrival, Red Fox had noted a change within her father’s behavior toward all things Pikuni, too.

Needing to breathe, Red Fox broke off the kiss, listening to his…and her strained breath. Then, a little huskily, and with a silent air of doubt in her voice, she asked, “You do love me, don’t you?”

So enamored was he with her, his voice was shaking when he answered, “Of course I do. For many years I have loved you. And, if I loved you a little less than I do, I would make you my wife now under the eye of the Creator, thus letting the world around us be joyful along with us or condemn us.”

“Oh, yes. Please.  I am ready to become your woman, your wife,” she whispered.

Once again, he shut his eyes as the throes of passion came over him. He was more than ready to cause them to marry. Did he dare?

Saa, no, he silently answered his own question; a good man would approach her father and ask for her hand in marriage. Besides, he did not wish to disrupt her family and his. After all, her other brother, George, was married to Red Fox’s sister.

Inwardly sighing, he realized it was true.

He swallowed, hard, bringing control over his impulses. No, this had to be done in the right way; it was his place to approach her father, bringing with him as many horses as he could gather together from his herd, since this was the traditional Pikuni way of asking for a woman to be his.

Moving his forehead down to hers, he said, “We will go to your father’s house tonight with many horses and I will ask your father to give you to me as my woman for all my life.”

She swooned in toward him, and said, “I will help you herd your horses my darling, handsome tutor. I am certain my father will say yes. After all, he speaks very highly of you and how you have patiently taught me how to survive on these plains.”

Red Fox, however, had his doubts about this. All he said, though, was, “Come with me as I go to the chiefs and report what has happened here. Then, together we will take all I can quickly find of my pony herd, excepting this animal who carried me to you this day. We will then ride to your father’s home and I will ask him to accept the horses I give him as he, likewise, gives you to me.”

“Yes,” she said, placing her arms around his neck and bringing his head down to hers once more. “Imagine. Soon I will be your wife.”

Laughing, she brought her lips up to his in a sweet, yet stirring kiss.

Ending the caress, Red Fox said, “Come, let us find your brother quickly and tell him our happy news. Then, we can all go to the chiefs and report what we have found concerning the buffalo herd. And, after we have made our report to our chiefs, we will seek out your father.”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Let us hurry!”

IF SHE WERE MINE, coming soon!

 

 

Welcome to a New Year!

by

Howdy!  Welcome to a New Year!  Hope your holidays were full of fun, family and lots of treats!

Have you made any New Year’s Resolutions?  I won’t necessarily ask you what they are because I realize how personal these resolutions can be.  But, perhaps we could share what we hope to accomplish this next year, since these aren’t quite so personal.  So I’ll begin:

The first thing I’d like to accomplish is to finish the next Historical Romance I’ve been writing.  I’m almost done with it and hope to have it done in the next week or so and get it into editing.  It’s new title is IF SHE WERE MINE.

And then, the good Lord willing, I have three other books I’m hoping to write this year:  one is a book in a series with other authors; another is a new Young Adult, and lastly another Historical Romance in this same series featuring the medicine men, and, the good Lord willing, I’d also like to publish another 25th year Anniversary Book.  It would be a lot of writing I’ll have to do, a lot of editing and a lot of “keeping my nose to the grind-stone” so to speak.  But again, the Good Lord willing, it might be something I could do.

So what about you?  What are you hoping to accomplish in this next year?  I’d love to hear your plans and your hopes for the New Year.

I’m hoping also that you might like a sneak peek at the new cover for this new book, IF SHE WERE MINE.  And, if you will bear with me, I thought I’d do a little side-show of the other books in this series:

She Steals My Breath, Book #1 in the series.

The first time Eagle Heart sees the white woman, Laylah, her beauty steals his breath.

When a blizzard forces them together, a forbidden love blossoms between them.

 

She Captures My Heart,  Book #2 in the series. 

United only in love, Is their love strong enough to beat back a world threatening to force them apart? Or will love triumph, after all?

 

She Paints My Soul, Book # 3 in the series

Caught together in a blizzard, can these two heal one another’s hearts?

 

 

She Brings Beauty To Me, Book #4 in the series

Are their star-guided paths meant only to briefly cross?

 

 

She Belongs In My World

Is this their second chance at love? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here is the new cover for a book I hope will be coming your way in February or March of this year.

And a brief description of the plot:

Briella Feher and Red Fox are in love, and have been in love for most of their lives.  But both sides of their families forbid the marriage.  

Will their love conquer their forced separation and their parents’ prejudice? Or is their love doomed from the very start?

 

I’d love to hear about what you hope to accomplish in the coming new year.  So come on in and let’s chat!

 

 

 

Old Bull’s Heavenly Visitor & Give-away

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Howdy!

Welcome to another tantalizing Tuesday!  Hope y’all are doing well today.  And I have a special story for you today.  A true story — one I ran across in doing research for the story I’m currently working on.  This is from the book, BEAR CHIEF’S WAR SHIRT by James Willard Schultz, who is writing about his own true experience.

In June of 1877, Schultz’s mother had given him permission to go out west into what was then called Indian Territory on a buffalo hunt — he was to return that same year where he would attend a military academy, but he didn’t return until 1880 and even then, he was there for only 3 months before returning to Indian Country.  Indeed, James Schultz stayed with the Blackfeet and married into the tribe and became a white Blackfeet Indian.  There is a book he has written entitled MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN, and oh my, what a wonderful book it is — filled with thrilling stories.

This story is about one of Schultz’s adventures as a warrior going with a war party to retrieve Bear Chief’s War Shirt.  On the way to determining what tribe might have stolen the shirt and a way to retrieve it, he had many adventures.  The story I’m about to tell you he declares in his book is true. and is one he saw with his own eyes.

First let me tell you a little about a Blackfeet war party.  There was a man who led the party and it was his responsibility to sleep and live (to some degree) apart from the others so he could pray for a vision that would tell him what lay ahead of the war party.  Old Bull was part of this war party –he was a “Bringer of Plenty” — a man who called the buffalo to a cliff and over it so the tribe would have enough food to get through the cold winters of Montana.  He had what the Indians called much medicine.

Schultz describes Old Bull as a man about forty winters (years) in age.  Here is what Schultz writes about Old Bull:

“…I liked Old Bull best [of the war party}; in fact, I revered him.  He was a man of about forty winters — tall and well muscled, with long hair, keen eyes, and a pleasant face; calm, dignified, and honest; moreover, he was a sacred pipe man, a medicine man, as the whites say.  Old Bull was possessor of the powerful Eagle Head pipe, master of its long ritual of sacred prayers and songs.”

Old Bull was a man whom the war party needed to have a vision so as to alert the war party as to what they might face and it if would be successful.  But, so far, he had not been able to have a vision.

Old Bull stated that oftentimes he had to go someplace alone so that his spiritual helper would come.  He had told Schultz that often his spiritual helper would come to others as Old Bull prayed to their God, the Creator.  His spiritual helper would then tell the others gathered there the answers to what Old Bull was asking.  And so, not having a vision to help the war party, Old Bull went into a hollow tree and there began to pray.

And, I will quote from the book:

Bear chief was praying — “He had no more than spoken these words when his body stiffened, his face becoming tense and his eye balls rolling upwards in his head.  He leaned back against the inside of the tree.  Bear Chief and I were standing close to the tree when this happened….  Before us a white shadow was forming starting up from the ground and spinning up like a whirlwind, building higher and higher until it reached the height of Bear Chief.  Then the fluorescent white cloud began taking a man’s shape, the ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and the rest of the face forming first, then the body, arms, and legs. The figure took on such details as moccasins, a full head dress to the ground, necklaces, and some face coloring.  As I stood there, it seemed as though I could look through the Heavenly Visitor as one would look through a light colored window pane.

“The Visitor spoke in Blackfeet.  ‘Bear Chief, I am your helper.  I have been helping you all your life.  I have helped you in battles, I guide you and give you good thought.  My name is Gray Eagle.

“‘There is trouble for you ahead.  How much trouble will depend on how careful you are in your movements.  Do not travel this night.  You all will go to the Sand Hills someday, but those who are needed here now will stay for a while; those who are needed over there to help do the work of the Above Ones will go earlier.  Bear Chief, you will be rewarded.’  and with that the almost transparent visitor vanished into the sky in a streak of light.

“As Old Bull awakened from his trance, I asked him if he remembered anything that had gone on.  Said he, ‘I remember only that I slept.  What happened?’ I told him about the ghostly visitor and of his message.

“Old Bull continued, “Ever since I was a young man, there have been times over which I have had little control, when I have been seized by the Above Ones and when, as afterward related to me by my friends, Spirit people have built up and have been seen and heard by all present.  I would much rather have a vision, where I get the message direct, but when day after day has passed and I have received no message, often if I pray in an enclosure, as I did here, I am seized, and Spirit people come forth.”

The war party went on to be successful in regaining the war shirt.  Interestingly, Schultz writes, “After passing through several hands [the war shirt], the shirt came to the collection of Indian Americana at the Denver Art Museum.  No myth, this famed Indian relic is now on display for visitors to marvel at for its color, design, and decoration.”

Well, I hope you enjoyed this story.

Now onto other news:  My latest release, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD, is on sale starting today for $.99.  Don’t miss this chance.  Pick up your copy today.

Also, I will be giving away a mass market paperback of the book, Soaring Eagle’s Embrace, to one lucky blogger.  So come on in and leave your thoughts on this blog.  I love hearing from you.

SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBPKBXBZ?tag=pettpist-20

 

American Indian Jewelry & Other Fashions Plus Giveaway

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Howdy!

Hope you are having a terrific summer!  Did any of you go on vacation this last August?  If so, where did you go?  And most of all, did you have fun?

Well, to start off September, I thought I’d tell you a bit about the American Indian style of jewelry, Plains style specifically.  All tribes were different, and this included hair styles, jewelry, moccasins, clothing and many other things that, if one knew how, could identify the tribe.

But let’s go a little deeper into Jewelry, what was used and how it was worn.  To the left here is a young man who can be identified by his style of hair, as well as his clothing and jewelry.  He is Blackfeet, I believe, and probably the picture was taken in the 1850’s or 1860’s.  His hair with his bangs cut and pulled straight up could be either Blackfeet or Crow.  But the style of his rifle case and the capote (his “blanket coat”) he is wearing looks very Blackfeet.  He wouldn’t be part of a southern tribe because there would be no need for the capote in the south.

It looks to me as if he is wearing ermine fur as earrings — the fur of the ermine was white in the winter and the fur could be used for jewelry or could ornament anything, including headdresses.  He is also wearing the bow clips with large beads attached and they are hung from each side of his face.  His necklace is beaded with the beads (most likely the color blue) used as a choker and a looping necklace of white and various colored beads.  It also looks to me as if the necklace has another loop to it, barely seen because of the capote he is wearing.

His moccasins look to be made from a substantial material, probably buckskin, which might identify him again, as Blackfeet.  His friend is dressed in the classic kind of outfit worn by traders during this time period.

The gentleman to the right is definitely Blackfeet, and is Chief Old Person, circa the late 1890’s or early 1900’s.  He is an ancestor of Chief Earl Old Person, who was chief of the tribe for very many years…and also who was very beloved by his tribe.  In this picture, his headdress identifies him at once as Blackfeet because the top part of the headdress stands almost straight up, which was the style of the Blackfeet headdress.  He wears many ermine furs, which hang down from his headdress.  He is also wearing what looks like a brass armband and has a tomahawk in his hand.  Note, also his white clothing, which is usually made from a buffalo hide and tanned until it is soft and white.

Glass beads were a trade item and were used to make earrings, necklaces and decorations on clothing, including dresses, leggings, moccasins, robes, bags, cradle boards and adorned many other things.  Bead work could be identified by tribe and by color schemes.  Before there were glass beads (imported from Europe), porcupine quills were used (soaked in the mouth until they were soft) and then used to ornament much of their clothing.and other items.  Men and women might wear shells as necklaces and earrings.  Men might wear horns, antlers, claws…a grizzly’s claws worn around the neck denoted a man of distinction.  Chokers could be made from otter skin and beads and another items highly valued.

 

Here to the left are a couple of Blackfeet girls.  Interestingly, these girls are not wearing as much jewelry as the men.  Could it be that the Blackfeet men wore more jewelry in attempt to attract a woman?  In the world of eagles, hawks and many other birds, the male of the species is often more colorful than the female, partly as a way of protecting the female as Nature has planned, but also, most likely to attract a lovely female’s attention.

Did you know that female prairie chickens sat in a circle around males in the middle who were dancing and strutting, showing off their stuff?

But, in this picture to the right, what we see is the traditional American Indian style braids, with a part in the middle.  The shells that are ornamenting the dress on the girl on our right appears to be elk teeth.  Notice they are both wearing a belt and at this time period (perhaps the late 1890’s), they are both wearing trade-cloth dresses and what looks to be wide leather belts.  In the background is a beautifully painted tepee.  Men painted these tepees, by the way.

Well, I hope you have enjoyed this quick look into traditional style of jewelry and clothes and the beautiful bead work and ornamentation.

And now for the give-away: I will be giving away a pair of American Indian hoop earrings to one of the bloggers today.  They are beautifully beaded with orange, yellow, green, blue, red and white seed beads.  There are three hoops that make up the earrings and the size of each earring is about 2 inches wide and long.  They are for pierced ears only.

Please see our Guidelines for giveaways.  All you have to do to enter into the drawing is leave a post here on the blog.

Am hoping you enjoyed this quick look at the beauty of the American Indian jewelry and clothing.

On sale right now are two of my stories:

She Steals My Breath

Currently on sale for $.99.

And


The Adventures Of Good Eagle and Miss Starling

by Genny Cothern — my pen name for this new Young Adult Series.

Currently on sale for $.99

 

 

 

Have a super day and Do Well!

 

 

 

Beaver Dick Leigh, two giveaways, and our guest blogger Charlene Raddon!

by

 

The pack train moved slowly through the remaining snowdrifts of late spring in the Tetons, heading for the mountain valley ahead. The buckskin horses were led by a tall-for-his-time trapper with thick red hair and beard, whom the Shoshone called Ingapumba (redhead), but more often he was known to his neighbors as “Beaver Dick” or “Uncle Dick.”

Trapper, hunting guide, ferryman, Mexican War veteran, and all-around mountain man, Richard ‘Beaver Dick’ Leigh, lived a long life in and around the Teton Mountains. Following behind were his Shoshone wife, Jenny, and his children riding burros. They were leading pack horses loaded with supplies for a long season of camping, hunting, and trapping in the high valley known even then as Jackson’s Hole.

In his 68 years, Beaver Dick Leigh fought in the Mexican War, guided government expeditions through the Yellowstone region, led hunting parties from the East—and enjoyed life among the Shoshone and Bannock tribes. With his red hair, blue eyes, and freckles, he stood out from most of those around him, but despite his rough life, he was an inveterate reader of books, magazines, and newspapers. He kept a diary during his time in the mountains.

Richard Leigh was born in Manchester, Lancashire, England, in 1831, emigrating to America at age 7 with his sister, Martha. Eventually they moved on to Mount Hope, Pa. From there, he left his sister and joined the Hudson Bay Company, which sent him to the Northwest, where his education as a trapper began. He never looked back, nor saw his sister again, but stayed in touch, however, as he later referred to his brother-in-law, Henry Wall.

Beaver Dick joined the U.S. Army toward the end of the Mexican-American War (1846-48), in which he served under Lt. Col. Henry Wilson.

Following his discharge, he travelled to the Salt Lake Valley, where he resumed his trade as an independent trapper. Moving north into what would become Idaho Territory, he chose the Snake River Valley for his homesite. This initially meant long pack trips south for several years to sell his furs in Utah Territory.

On one of these trips to Corrine, in 1862, near the northeast shore of the Great Salt Lake, he camped near a Bannock couple—a man known as Bannock John to the whites, and his wife, Tadpole, a sister of the local Shoshone chief, Taghee. Tadpole was amid a difficult labor and Dick assisted the father in delivering the baby.

The new arrival was named Susan Tadpole. Her parents promised her to Dick to be his wife when she reached maturity, no doubt a kind gesture of gratitude that had little expectation of coming to fruition, since he was 31 at the time.

Before he returned to his base camp at the confluence of the Snake and Teton rivers on the west side of the Tetons, Dick Leigh married a 16-year-old Eastern Shoshone girl from Chief Washakie’s band in 1863. Dick called her Jenny. He often told his friends and wrote in his diary about her many good traits. Five children arrived in the following years. Dick, Jr., 1864, Anne Jane, 1866, John, 1868, William, 1870, and Elizabeth in 1873.

 

Dick’s homestead on the west side of the Tetons continued to expand with additions of milk cows and the buckskin horses he was fond of. When it was time to go on the annual hunting trips over the mountains, Dick took the entire family along. Leigh’s diaries give an in-depth picture of the challenges they faced on the frontier. Whether setting his trap lines, hunting with his son Dick, Jr., leading hunting parties or assisting any of the increasing number of new settlers arriving in the Snake River valley, Beaver Dick Leigh was a busy and well-respected member of the community.

He built a ferry at the Eagle Nest Ford on the Henry’s Fork of the Snake, free for anyone to use. He acted as liaison between the tribes and authorities at the new Fort Hall Reservation, advising them about Indian movements on and off the reservation.

In the winter of 1876, an Indian woman seeking food visited the Leighs. They did not know she had smallpox. All of the Leigh family and another hunter caught the disease. Between Christmas Eve and Dec. 28, all of Beaver Dick’s family died; he and the hunter barely survived.

In 1879, Dick Leigh, age 48, married 16-year-old Susan Tadpole, who had been promised to him at birth. The couple had three children: Emma, 1881; William, 1886; and Rose, 1891.

While camped near Two Ocean Creek on the Continental Divide in the fall of 1891, they were visited by Theodore Roosevelt and his hunting party. Beaver Dick and Teddy conversed for a spell, sharing stories and hunting tales.

Dick continued to guide hunting parties as long as his health permitted. Eventually, he had to turn over this business to his son William. He also kept in touch with the many friends he had made over the years, writing letters to a lengthy list of correspondents.

Beaver Dick Leigh died March 29, 1899, age 68, in the company of family and friends. He is buried beside his family on a high terrace overlooking his ranch near Rexburg, Idaho. His memory and legacy are well preserved in his letters and diaries, as well as the namesake features in the Jackson Hole valley he loved.

Two winners will be chosen for a prize: one for a $5 Amazon gift card and one an ebook from my collection. To enter, all you have to do is tell me something you found interesting about Beaver Dick Leigh’s story. 

Petticoats & Pistols