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The Legend of the Star Bride

by

Howdy!  And a Happy Tuesday to you!

Well, as if I didn’t have enough to do, I’ve taken some time to re-edit the story of The Legend of the Star Bride.  It is the legend that inspired the book, SOARING EAGLE’S EMBRACE.  There were several versions of this legend that I read and, though many were very similar from tribe to tribe, I picked the legend that I thought suited a more romantic heart and added a bit of my own story to the legend.  So the book is freshly edited and it has a new cover and…Dah…ta…Dah…(that’s supposed to be trumpets playing) soon it will be out in paperback and it will be the first time it will be released in paperback since it was first published, years and years ago, I think it was around 2003 or 2004, over twenty years now.

I’ll share the cover for you and I’ll share that legend I used as a backdrop/inspiration to the story.

Now, just so you know, I’ve always called this book “my musical.”  As a child, I watched the movie, Naughty Marietta, and I was particularly taken by Jeaanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy.  So the two of them inspired the two main characters in my story, SOARING EAGLE’S EMBRACE.

I love this cover.  And here’s a link to the book:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074LWHB7W?tag=pettpist-20

So let’s start off with the new blurb for the book:

 

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

The Legendary Warriors, Book 3

Written in the stars…

Kally Wallace has no room in her busy life for marriage. Instead, she is following her father into a photography career, striving to capture the beauty of the Wild West and its vanishing Indian cultures before they both disappear forever. Montana’s Blackfeet country is everything she could have dreamed—and more. At night a handsome man gently invades her sleep. Their nightly encounters become more and more real until one bright morning, she is startled to find everything has changed.

Lawyer by profession, Blackfeet by blood, Clay Soaring Eagle is determined to do everything in his power—legally and spiritually—to save his people’s way of life. He trusts no one of the white race, and hopes that once Kally’s task is done, she will leave and take temptation with her.

The spirits have their own plan. As their passion burns with a brightness that rivals the stars, Clay and Kally are aware that it can never last…unless they find a way to make their two worlds come together as one.

Perfect for those who love::
** Sensuous Romance
** Soul-stirring dreams and passionate unions
** A mountain-top quest
** Happy ever after.

And now for an excerpt:

Soaring Eagle’s Embrace

By

Karen Kay

 

“This is the legend of…Star Bride. It is said that it happened in dog days, those days before horse was known to my people,” narrated Gilda. “Ah, but it was a glorious time. It was a peaceful time, too; a time when my people lived close to the land, when stars were gods and goddesses who listened to the pleas of my people.

“Now, it happened that at this time there was a young Blackfeet man…him handsome and pure in spirit. His name was Strong Arrow, and he was looking for a wife. But his would not be easy task.

“It true that there were many young women who would have gladly taken Strong Arrow as husband, for it was well known that him wise, generous and skilled in hunt. But Strong Arrow have big flaw: him believe himself to be perfect, no faults. Worse, him convinced him could give heart to no one except she who also be perfect…”

“My son,” said Strong Arrow’s mother. “I fear that you will be disappointed as you go through life, if you cannot find it in your heart to understand the imperfection of those around you.”

“I understand them well enough, my mother,” said Strong Arrow.

But Strong Arrow’s mother was wise and she said, “Heed my words, my son, for in order to be happy, you must learn that in all the world, there is not one single, faultless human being.”

“Ah, my mother,” responded Strong Arrow. “I know you speak with concern in your heart. But surely you can see that your words are not true. Look at me. Do I not obey the commands of my tribe? Do I not bring home much food? Do I not give freely to others all I have? Do I not live an exemplary life? My mother, can you honestly tell me that I am not and have not been a perfect son?”

Strong Arrow’s mother, Shining Woman, did not know what to say to this, knowing that to dispute with her son would only make his resolve all the stronger. Yet she feared that if Strong Arrow could not allow for weaknesses in others, he would never come to appreciate the intrinsic beauty which was held in another’s soul.

And so it was that Strong Arrow became more and more steadfast in his belief of his own perfection, and he resolved he would only marry one as unblemished as he.

Now, it is said that he was true to his cause. He searched for such a being. He attended every dance, every social gathering given by his tribe.

However, as might be expected, he failed in his quest time and again. In truth, as time passed, he became quite despondent.

Now, Shining Woman, seeing her son’s unhappiness, at last begged Strong Arrow to beseech the Evening Star. After all, said she, was it not the Evening Star who was honored for her compassion, her understanding, her love? Perhaps the star might share some of her wisdom with Strong Arrow.

And so it was that upon one lazy summer evening, Strong Arrow climbed to the top of Nina Istukwi, Chief Mountain, and, sitting down, took out his sacred pipe. He smoked, letting the fragrance carry up into the sky so that she who was the Evening Star could sniff it and know he meant to speak with her. He looked up at her, she who shone so brightly in the silvery glow of a half-dark, half-bright sky.

It was then when it happened. Suddenly Strong Arrow’s heart began to beat so fast and so furiously, he felt as though he might have been chasing a foe. Yet he had not moved.

As he gazed up at the beautiful star, he realized he had, at last, found perfection. Truly, he had fallen in love. But alas, what a love. For he had picked as a soul mate no less than she who was the Evening Star.

Now as time marched on, many in the tribe, hearing of Strong Arrow’s unusual adoration, laughed at him. But Strong Arrow remained true to himself. And each night thereafter, he would return to sit alone upon the plain, there to give his devotion to his star.

Many times he would return to Chief Mountain, and when he did, feeling closer to her, he would talk to her, saying, “Oh, Evening Star, how I wish you were made of flesh and blood that I might take you in my arms and show you all the love I have for you here in my heart. I implore you, Evening Star, do you return my devotion?”

Often one could hear him singing:

“Ooooo, ooooo, how my heart beats for you.

Ooooo, ooooo.

Ooooo, ooooo, how my lips hunger for your touch.

Ooooo, ooooo.

For I love you. You, the Evening Star.”

But he waited in vain for an answer.

Now, it so happened that one day Strong Arrow came again to Chief Mountain. As he climbed up a slope, he heard a strange sound, an unusual music. Where was it coming from?

Gaining the crest of the mountain, he scoured the countryside around and below him, his sharp eyes assessing all he could see. But try as he might, he could not locate the source of it. Still, his spirits took flight. Had it been a song? And if it were a song, could it be she who was the Evening Star?

But as quickly as the music had begun, it stopped and he heard it no more. He waited all day, and the next and the next, climbing up to the mountain’s summit each evening, hoping to hear again the strange melody. But alas, it came no more.

Now, Strong Arrow was not a stupid man, and it took little effort on his part to devise a plan. The next day came and Strong Arrow hid himself behind some boulders. And there he waited, and he waited. In truth, so long did he pause there that he began to wonder if his tribesmen were right about him. Was he chasing a mere phantom?

However, this day his patience was rewarded, for soon—before the sun had reached its zenith—it happened again. On the wind came an alien yet beautiful refrain.

Where was the voice coming from? All across the wide mountain range, there was nothing but the winds which whispered across barren rock. Nothing to his right, to his left, behind him, in front of him.

Still, the music was becoming louder. Puzzled, he looked up, and there he espied the most uncommon sight he had ever seen. A bird, looking much like a large eagle, coasted down from the heavens. And upon its back was a very beautiful woman.

At the sight, Strong Arrow’s heart began to pound, faster and faster. It was then when he knew that it was she, the one who was his true love.

Soon, the maiden began to sing the unusual, eerie song, at first in words he didn’t understand, and then in the language of his people.

“Come out, come out, oh warrior mine.

For I know that you wait for me.

Come out, come out, take me for wife.

For I have heard your plea.

Come out, come out, my truest love,

come out and play with me.

Show yourself, my warrior true.

For I am the Evening Star.”

With these words, Strong Arrow stood up from his hiding place. The maiden turned to look at him, and they gazed upon one another. And so long did they stare that Strong Arrow feared she might run away.

At last, however, she smiled at him, saying, “Because you are a great hunter, my father, the Sun, has taken pity on you. He has heard your appeal. I, too, desire to marry you, for I have seen you here, night after night, alone upon the face of the earth. And as you fell in love with me, so too did I fall in love with you. Consequently, my father gives me to you in marriage freely, asking only that you take no other for a wife for the rest of your life.”

Strong Arrow said nothing to this, though he yearned to speak of much.

She continued, “My father, the Sun, knows this thing he asks of you transgresses upon the custom of your people, for within your tribe a man of standing might take more than one wife. But you must refrain from doing this. Do you promise?”

Still, so great was Evening Star’s beauty that Strong Arrow could not speak. In faith, it was all he could do to simply nod.

“You must understand further,” Evening Star said, “that my father does not give me to you easily. Know that if you ever betray this trust he places in you—if you should ever take another to your sleeping robes, my father would ensure a penalty.”

“I understand,” voiced Strong Arrow at last. “And what would this punishment be?”

“You would cease to exist upon this, the face of the earth. So it is said by my father, the Sun,” she said. “Know, too, that my father, the Sun, is a jealous man, and he might test the strength of your resolve. Do you still agree?”

Strong Arrow took a step toward her, his heart in his throat as he said, “Long have I admired and loved you, Evening Star. I will take you as my own. I will honor you. Aa, yes, I agree to your father’s demand.”

Evening Star smiled and extended her arms toward him. “Then come, my love,” she said. “Take my hand and lead me to your people.”

He did as she bid him, and they were married that night. Indeed, in the years that followed, it is said that they embodied the best which is known of love and marriage.

Many years passed. Because Evening Star was a goddess, the regular chores of a wife did not fall to her. Skins were dressed, food was made, wood was gathered without her expending any labor, so great was her magic. Evening Star was also a generous woman and gave freely to the people all they desired, and she became the most well-respected woman of the tribe.

However, all was well for so long that the people began to forget they, too, needed to work, hunt and repair clothing in order to survive. Alas, so easy was it to obtain the goods they needed from Evening Star, the men in the village lost interest in hunting, while the women depended upon the crafts of Evening Star to repair their moccasins and homes. Even the little boys in the village no longer played hunting games, while young girls mimicked the charms of Evening Star.

Truth be told, the people became lazy.

Now, perhaps all this might have had little consequence were it not for the fact that Old Man, the Sun, had yet to play out his full hand. Here is what happened.

Strong Arrow was out on the hunt. But on this day, Strong Arrow saw a most unusual sight. Into his path walked a beautiful maiden, one who openly flirted with him; one who begged him to take her home. But she pleaded in vain. After all, Strong Arrow believed himself to be perfect; he had given his word to his wife and to her father that he would take no other into their home. He would stand by his word.

And so he passed by the maiden. Looking back, Strong Arrow saw the girl vanished, and it was then when he knew the time had come for Old Man to test him.

The next day, again while Strong Arrow was out on the hunt, Old Man sent an even more beautiful woman into his path, this maiden also begging Strong Arrow to take her home. But Strong Arrow was as wise as he was virtuous. He passed this one by, too.

Then Old Man smiled. Indeed, his son-in-law was a faithful husband. Still, there would be one more trial.

The next day, Old Man sent again a beautiful maiden into Strong Arrow’s path. But this time there was a difference. This woman looked so much like Evening Star that Strong Arrow hesitated, confused.

Seeing this, the woman spoke, saying, “Take pity on me. For you are my own brother-in-law. My name is Bright Shadow. I, too, am a star, and like my sister, I desire a good husband.”

“I cannot take you as a wife,” Strong Arrow responded.

“And yet it is your right to have me.”

“No,” said Strong Arrow. “It is not. I gave up that right when I married your sister.”

“Yet,” said Bright Shadow, “I need your help. Do not ask how, but my own future depends on you. If you take me with you, I could aid you in becoming glorious in war.”

Strong Arrow sneered. “You waste your breath, woman,” he said. “For if it is my home which you seek, I cannot help you.”

“Could you not?” she asked. “Think well, my brother-in-law. If you do me this small favor, I could give you much. I could assist you to become the best hunter in your village.”

“I already am the best.” And so saying, Strong Arrow began to walk away from the woman.

“Please,” came again the maiden’s plea.

Strong Arrow glanced over his shoulder. “I do not need or desire glory, or another wife,” he called to her. “I love the one I have.”

Bright Shadow stared at Strong Arrow, and her eyes narrowed before she commented, “Then you make a mistake, my brother-in-law, for you will surely bring pain to my sister if you do not take me with you.”

This statement gave Strong Arrow reason to pause. Coming to a halt, he looked back at the maiden. “What falsehoods are these you now tell me?”

Bright Shadow took a step toward him. “I do not utter untruths. I am in trouble,” she said, her gaze at Strong Arrow full of appeal. “I am with child, and my father, the Sun, says that there is no room in the sky for another star, my baby. Alas, my father has sent me here upon this earth to bear this child alone. But I am frightened. All I wish to do is to see my sister, that she might care for me.”

Strong Arrow hesitated, and turning so he now faced the maiden, he looked deeply into Bright Shadow’s eyes. “If this is all you desire, why did you try to seduce me?”

Bright Shadow cast her eyes down. “Because I am afraid to be alone, and I thought this might be the only way to beseech you.”

Strong Arrow frowned, and it is said that he puzzled over what to do. Duty to a woman in Bright Shadow’s condition would not allow him to walk away from her; however, he also could not bow down to her pleas, for he knew well the consequences of his actions. What was he to do?

He hesitated but a moment before making his decision, and then, lifting his face up to the skies, he shouted, “Do you understand this, Old Man? Do you see that I am taking pity on your other daughter, who is with child? Know this: I do not take her to my home as a wife. I take her only to be with her sister.” And with this said, Strong Arrow grabbed hold of Bright Shadow.

Yes, his intentions were honorable, yet in doing what he did, Strong Arrow sealed his fate. For though he could not have made any other choice—not and remain perfect—with this decision came disaster. He never arrived home.

A thunderstorm came suddenly upon Strong Arrow and Bright Shadow, causing Strong Arrow to seek shelter. And though his intentions were decent toward his wife’s sister, a man is, after all, but a man…

Meanwhile, it took little enough time for Evening Star to discover her husband’s betrayal.

A tribe of visiting Crees, seeing the wealth and laziness of Strong Arrow’s people, defeated them in battle, taking Evening Star as their own. And doing so, the Crees fled.

Perhaps it was not Old Man’s doing what happened next. Some kind folks say that it was not. Others, however, tell a different story.

By some trick of fate, the victorious Crees, en route to their own home and bringing Evening Star with them, came upon Strong Arrow and his ward where the two of them had sought shelter. Strong Arrow had no choice but to fight the enemy, and fight he did, well and hard, for unlike the others in his village, Strong Arrow had never failed to take to the hunt each day, and his body was lean and fit. But the outcome was inevitable. There was only one of him against ten Cree warriors.

Seeing this, Evening Star was overcome with grief, as well as with conflict. On one hand, she cried out. For she realized, as she watched the combat, that her husband would die this night.

However, even as her heart broke, Evening Star knew jealousy. For there by Strong Arrow’s side lay her sister, plus the evidence of his treachery…

Still, as Evening Star beheld the enemy’s knife come down to stab into Strong Arrow’s heart, she knew she could not watch. She waved her hand, causing the mortals to freeze.

“What am I to do?” she pleaded toward the midnight sky, opening her arms wide. “Oh, Father, my husband and I were so happy. Why did you do this to us? For I know this is your work.”

But it was night.

“Your father is not here to hear your pleas, my daughter. He is on the other side of the world.” It was Old Woman who spoke, she who is Night Light, the Moon.

“Yes, Mother,” answered Evening Star. “In my grief, I forgot that he is gone. But please, what am I to do?”

Old Woman paused. “It is, indeed, bad that this has come to pass,” she said. “I fear your father forgets that men are but mortals. My daughter, what is it you would like me to do?”

“I…I am uncertain.”

“Do you love your husband?”

“I…yes, I did…once…”

“Perhaps you should understand how your father tested Strong Arrow to the utmost, for he tempted him greatly. Your sister looked exactly as you do, and your husband was bringing her back to camp, not to take her in marriage, but to bear her to you for help. She told him she is with child.”

“With child? Oh, Mother, if she is with child, she should have come to me directly instead of—”

“As I said, this was your father’s work. It was also your husband’s plan to bring her to you, not to bed her.”

Evening Star sighed. “That may be so. However, it is now clear he failed in this, too.”

“Yes, he did,” said Old Woman. “Perhaps your husband is not as perfect as he would like us to believe.”

“You are right, my mother. I was wrong to think he could be as pure as a star. Only we who are gods and goddesses are without flaw.”

“Are we?”

“Yes, of course we are. But Mother, this talk gets us nowhere. Though I might abhor what my husband has done, I do not wish to see this, the end of his existence. Alas, perhaps I have loved him too well. Is there nothing I can do? You can do?”

“There is nothing,” said Old Woman. “Only your father can change what is to take place.”

Evening Star sighed. “Then I will lose Strong Arrow forever.”

“Yes, although…”

“Although?”

“There is one enchantment which is within my power. It would save his life, but it is not without risk.”

“Risk means nothing to me.”

“Very well, my daughter, but first let me explain. While the charm would save him, it might doom you.”

“Me? I think not, Mother. Nothing can harm me. I am a star, and unlike these mortals, I am proof against anything.”

“As you say, my daughter. Still, the spell might yet come to be a test.”

“A test?” asked Evening Star. Now as we all know, a god or goddess can little resist a challenge, and so she uttered, “Tell me more, my mother.”

“The only way I can keep your father’s curse from taking its natural course is to have your husband trade places with you.”

“With me? I would become mortal?”

“I am afraid so, my daughter.”

But Evening Star was barely listening. She had paced toward Strong Arrow, reaching out a hand to touch the powerful line of his jaw. Bending, she whispered to him, “Why—why did you do it? How could you betray me when I have loved you so greatly?”

“My daughter, our time grows short.”

Evening Star stepped around the inert and silent figure of her husband and, casting him one last look, lifted her sight to the midnight sky. She asked, “Is it because of my belief in my own perfection that you are able to do this?”

“Yes, my child.”

“Then say no more, my mother. I will become mortal, if for no other reason than to prove I can do it. But how long must I remain this way?”

Old Woman cried, “There is but one place in the sky for the evening star, my daughter, and if I am to save him, your husband must take your place until…”

A long pause followed. “Yes?”

“…until a future time when you will both return to this same spot on Chief Mountain—the place where you first met.”

“This seems simple enough.”

“Have a care, my daughter, for it is required that you remain chaste in order to return. However, if you can do it, if you can remain innocent, you and your husband will be given another chance: you to understand him, he to beg forgiveness. If you both can do this, all will be well. If you cannot…” There came a drop of rain upon the earth. “Oh, that I could do more than this for you, my daughter.”

But Evening Star was unafraid. “Do not fret,” she said to her mother. “I will prove how easy this is. Go on, my mother. Go on and do it.”

Tears began to fall in earnest from the sky. And in Old Woman’s voice was nothing but grief as she said, “Understand, my child, that you will have no memory of this, nor will he.”

Evening Star thought for some moments, her mind turning over images of the warmth of her beautiful home; remembering again the love of her mother, her father, her sisters. To never see them again…

But upon this thought came another. Did she have so little faith in herself that she could not submit to a dare?

At last she said, “Do it, my mother. Bring him into the sky, but do it quickly.”

“Let me give you this last advice, my daughter, before I do as you request. Look to the land and to the mountains, for your heart’s desire. For it is in the mountains where the spirits reside. They will help you.”

“I will,” said Evening Star.

“Remember, too, your lover’s song; for you will know him by it, and he you.”

“I understand.”

And so it came to pass that Strong Arrow was taken into the evening sky, there to shine brightly upon the earth, while his own true love became doomed to an earthly life.

There are some who say that on a night such as this, when the moon shines so brightly in the sky, one can see Old Woman searching the mountains, looking for she who is her true daughter, listening for her song. But alas, it is also said that the true Evening Star must have failed the test of chastity, for in all this time, she has not returned.

Still, there are those who hope…

 

 

Soaring Eagle’s Embrace on sale now:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074LWHB7W?tag=pettpist-20

On sale now for $.99, but only for today and tomorrow.  Then it goes back to its regular price of $5.99.

I’ll be giving away a free e-book of this book today to one of our wonderful bloggers.  So come on in and leave a post.

 

Exaggeration Postcards by Pam Crooks

by

Long before Photoshop or fancy phone cameras that can digitally alter a photograph with filters, cropping, color and lighting adjustments — all in seconds — there were exaggeration postcards.

 

Exaggeration postcards were a fun genre that depicted enormous vegetables, giant fish, oversized rabbits, gigantic livestock, and crops so huge they required ladders, saws, wagons, or railroad cars to harvest and move. The joke was obvious, of course, but there was also a bit of advertising tucked inside the humor.

 

Archer King was key to developing the genre. As a professional photographer with studios in southeast Nebraska, he took plenty of serious photographs of farms, prize livestock, rural scenes, and everyday life. But around 1908–1909, he also created a wonderful series of novelty postcards showing a Nebraska where everything seemed to grow — well, a little too much.

 

At least, that was the message — to sell Nebraska to the rest of the country and present the state as fertile, productive, prosperous, and full of opportunity.

 

King was an energetic man, always looking toward his next project. In addition to photography, he built three automobiles, operated movie theaters, and built his own home.

 

Clearly, he was not a man short on imagination. To manipulate photographs of a scale that grand required patience and skill. Early photographers used techniques such as combining portions of several photographs or negatives, hand-coloring, retouching, and carefully adjusting scale and perspective.

 

So imagine receiving a postcard from Nebraska in 1909. Instead of a courthouse or Main Street scene, you open your mail and see a farmer standing beside a stalk of corn so enormous he needs a ladder and handsaw to harvest it.

 

Would you believe it?

 

Of course not.

 

But you’d remember it, and that was part of the genius of exaggeration postcards.

 

The years from about 1905 to 1915 are often called the golden age of postcards in America. Postcards cost only a penny to mail and were wildly popular as souvenirs, greetings, and little snapshots of life in towns across the country.

 

Maybe that is why Archer King’s postcards still feel fun more than a century later.

 

Today, Nebraska tourism might use social media, video, or a catchy advertising campaign. Archer King only had a camera, scissors, photographic know-how, and a very large ear of imaginary corn.

 

More than one hundred years later, we are still looking at his pictures. That may be the best advertisement of all.

 

Here are a few of Archer King’s exaggeration postcards.

 

If you were going to send someone a postcard, which of these would you choose?

Have you seen an exaggeration postcard before?

New Young Adult Novella, OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE and Giveaway

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Howdy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Enemy Brings Change

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

What Will Happen When We Give Our Enemy His Life?

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

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

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

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

Perfect for Readers who love

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

** Sweet Native American Historical Romance

** Adventure and sweet love in the Old West

** Friends who believe love might destroy their honor

And now for an excerpt of the book:

OUR ENEMY BRINGS CHANGE

By

Karen Kay writing as Genny Cothern

CHAPTER ONE

Indian Territory

The Moon of Flowers, Summer

1849

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

I didn’t answer her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Everyone gets a free book today!

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Welcome to Deepwater. The town where hearts come to hide, heal, and hope. 

If you’d told me years ago, when I first wrote Trapped in Deepwater, that the little town in Missouri would grow to six standalone books, and eventually a series, I’d have laughed. I never thought it would happen. But each time I wrote a new book, Maggie at her cafe, Reverend Sullivan, Peter at the post office, and all of the others became real. But I noticed something too. Every single story in Deepwater, someone is in need of hope and healing. And, don’t we all need a little of that?

And then, after I wrote Away in Deepwater last year, for our Christmas Stocking Sweethearts series here at Petticoats and Pistols,  I realized that Deepwater was more than a little stopover. It was it’s own town and filled with its own stories and I needed to tell them. 

So, this series is different from Red Ridge. It’s a little gentler. There are still surprises and twists, and things that will make you smile, but it’s also the kind where I really hope Reverend Sullivan or Maggie or anyone else who pops up on the page says just the thing that you need to hear. 

The first book releases next week, and there will be ten total, though right now I just have three on preorder. The third book is being written right now, and I’m loving how it’s turning out!

To get you started on your visit to Deepwater, if you’ve never been there before, I’d love to give you a free book. It’s the prequel to the series, and the story that readers had been asking me to tell since they first met Maggie. I hope that you’ll enjoy it, and find yourself wanting to spend more time in this little town, like I do!

 

 

To get your book, just click right here! There’s no strings attached. Not a one. 

And, if you find you’d love to spend more time in that little town and meet the cornerstones of the community, tomorrow, visit the group or click right here, and get all six Deepwater standalone stories for just $4.99. 

Now, I’d love to hear from you! We all read so much! What are some of your favorite fictional towns to spend time in? I’m always loving recommendations to add to my own TBR!

 

 

I Thought I Was Writing for Men. My Readers Had Other Ideas–by R.J. Sloane

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I Thought I Was Writing for Men. My Readers Had Other Ideas.

By R.J. Sloane

I’ll be honest with you. When I sat down to write The Rustler Hunter, I figured I knew exactly who would pick it up.

Men. Specifically, men who grew up on Louis L’Amour and still reread Hondo every few years. Guys who like their westerns lean and mean with action-packed gunfights, manhunts, wide-open Arizona Territory, and not a lot of fussing about feelings.

So, imagine my surprise when the emails started coming in, and most of them were from women.

Not just a few. Most of my reader mail comes from women. Women who write things like, “I don’t usually read westerns, but I couldn’t put this down.” Women who tell me the Harper brothers remind them of the honorable men in their own families. Quiet protectors who show up when it’s important. Men who don’t make a speech about it. Women who say the family oath in the series—Proverbs 21:15 CSB, when justice is executed, it is a joy to the righteous but a terror to evildoers—impacted them profoundly.

I had to think hard about why my writing resonates so strongly with women.

This is what I think: women have always understood what justice costs. They’ve watched the men they love carry the weight of protecting others. They’ve been the ones keeping families intact while that work got done. They know, maybe better than anyone, what it means to hold a code when the world makes it inconvenient. I finally realized that’s not a masculine theme. That’s a human one.

The Harper siblings, children of a violent outlaw, aren’t compelling because they’re tough. They’re compelling because they chose to be something better than the man who raised them. And that kind of story resonates with anyone who’s ever had to rebuild their life or overcome a tough past.

Hayley Harper, the Pinkerton agent at the center of The Rustler Hunter, is probably part of the answer too. I write women who are competent, stubborn, and fiercely loyal. Women who carry the same moral code as the men beside them but fight their battles with their strengths. Women who don’t need rescuing but aren’t too proud to accept backup. I believe readers appreciate that kind of woman.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she spends most of the book striking sparks off a certain legendary manhunter who didn’t see her coming either. J.J. Westin met his match in Hayley Harper, and I think readers enjoy watching two people who are equally stubborn and equally principled figure that out—one dusty Arizona canyon at a time.

What is it about action-driven western fiction that keeps you coming back or brought you to it in the first place?

I have a feeling you’ll teach me something, partner.

Giveaway

I’m delighted to offer a signed copy of The Rustler Hunter to one lucky winner. Just tell me in the comments below, what is it about action-driven western fiction that keeps you coming back or brought you to it in the first place?

The Rustler Hunter: Harper’s Justice Book 1

When forty-one successful manhunts make you a legend, there’s only one way left to go—down.

J.J. Westin, the infamous Rustler Hunter, goes undercover at Arizona Territory’s largest cattle ranch to expose the rustlers bleeding it dry. The thieves aren’t just stealing cattle. They’re trusted cowboys operating from inside the bunkhouse.

What he doesn’t expect is Hayley Harper, the tough-as-nails cook with secrets of her own. She’s a Pinkerton agent working the same case and the daughter of notorious outlaw Galen Harper.

When their covers are blown, they uncover something far deadlier than rustling. A corruption network spanning three territories. With enemies closing in and bullets flying, the legendary manhunter and the outlaw’s daughter must survive the badlands of 1898 Arizona, where trust is deadly and justice comes at gunpoint.

R.J. Sloane writes gritty Western adventures where justice rides hard across the untamed Southwest. Inspired by Longmire, Yellowstone, and a childhood of classic westerns watched with his dad, R.J. brings authentic frontier spirit to every page. His Harper’s Justice series follows territorial lawmen where doing right often means defying the law.

When he’s not writing fiction, R.J. releases original dark country music—outlaw Americana cut from the same cloth as his stories.

Find R.J. on his site: https://rjsloanewesterns.com and at all major retailers

 

A Day in Holiday

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

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

Oh, how I wish we could make that happen!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you could pack your bags tomorrow

and spend one day in Holiday, Oregon,

where would you go first?

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

my huge Declaration of Love prize pack.

But hurry! Time is almost up to enter!

RED HAWK’S WOMAN Releases Today

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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.

Words, Words, Words

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I love words. I’m sure every writer does. I am a word freak, a  language maven, a…a vocabularist, if you will. Okay, so maybe vocabularist isn’t actually a real word, but it should be because it describes me to a T. I am fascinated with language and how we use it, especially regional or quirky terms.

As a writer and an editor, I have a passion for learning new words and using them. I got it from my mom, who also loved language and insisted we choose our words well. She spent serious time increasing our vocabularies with word games like Scrabble, Boggle, and Probe and crossword puzzles. To this day, family gatherings always include word games. I adore discovering new words and finding ways to use them in my writing.

One of the things I am learning as I make the switch from small-town romance that happens in the Midwest to Montana cowboy romance is how language is different from one area of our country to another.

I’ve lived in the Midwest my whole life and there are things that we say that have unquestionably shown up in my River’s Edge books. “You betcha,” comes to mind. So does, “For cryin’ out loud” and “Slow as molasses in January” and talking about corn being “knee high by the Fourth of July.” (It’s always way higher by then, btw.) I remember my grandpa saying something moved “like a bat out of hell,” which always conjured the picture of a flock of bats darkening the sky and sometimes gave me nightmares. When Mom tucked us in at night, we were “snug as a bug in a rug,” and I recall my grandmother saying, “If I had my druthers” when she wanted us to know what she wanted to happen in any given circumstance.

But, the lingo out West comes from a different history and has lingered in the vernacular in Montana, Texas, Wyoming, and other ranch and cowboy states just like words have stayed in the Midwest. “Skedaddle” and “Ornery” and “Hold your horses” are all words/phrases that come from life on the cattle trail or ranch life. “Howdy” instead of “Hello” and someone who looks like a cowboy, but has no experience is “all hat and no cattle” are terms you don’t hear much in the Midwest.

Some of the terms around horses I already knew because we had horses for sixteen years, and I think barn slang is pretty universal in the US. “Barn sour” is when a horse is too eager to return home and a term I learned when I was first riding. But calling horses “critters” isn’t part of the cowboy vernacular according to my editor, when she queried the use in my first book, Forever Cowboy. (See what I did there? A link to the book is what I call ninja promo—my own term.) “Hightailin’ it” and “Tinhorn” are terms that might show up in Western romance. My hero in Forever Cowboy was originally from Boston, so he got a little pass when it came to cowboy speak.

Another difference between my Montana cowboys and my Indiana winemakers, government analysts, firefighters, and attorneys is how much they talk. One of my critique partners has always told me that my heroes talk too much. Maybe they do, but I live with and raised men who ruminate and discuss and share their feelings, so my heroes probably do talk too much–just like the men in my real life. Not so much my cowboys, though. They keep it short and simple with Yup and Nope and dropping the g from the end of their verbs. They’re goin’ and ridin’ and fixin’ and of course always lovin’.

You can show exactly who a character is simply with the words they use… so authors choose their characters’ words carefully as they build their arcs and tell their stories. Remaining as true as possible to where your character hails from helps readers stay in the story.

Where do you come from? Are there words or phrases that are especially peculiar to your neck of the woods. Share with me, won’t you? There are a couple of e-book copies of my newest cowboy romance, Help Wanted, Cowboy (ninja!) up for grabs for two lucky commenters.

Stay well and Keep Readin’!

VERONICA’S SECRET RESCUE (AND A GIVEAWAY!) by Paulette D. Marshall

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Veronica’s Secret Rescue: Building Homes and Hope in Mariposa

While writing Veronica’s Secret Rescue, I enjoyed learning more about the role lumber mills played in California’s growing communities during the late 1800s.

Before modern building supplies were readily available, local lumber mills were essential. They provided the wood needed to build homes, barns, churches, schools, stores, and nearly every other structure a growing town required. In many areas of California, especially near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, abundant pine forests made the lumber industry an important part of daily life.

Many mills were family-owned businesses passed down through generations. Families often worked together, with fathers teaching sons the trade and everyone contributing to the success of the operation. These businesses weren’t simply a source of income; they helped build the surrounding community. The lumber produced at local mills helped new settlers establish homes and create lasting roots.

The town of Mariposa, California, has a rich history dating back to the Gold Rush era. Founded in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, Mariposa became an important center for miners, ranchers, merchants, and travelers. Its location near Yosemite made it a gateway for those heading into the mountains. By the late nineteenth century, the town had grown into a close-knit community where neighbors often depended on one another through both hardships and celebrations.

In Veronica’s Secret Rescue, Tucker Harper owns a family lumber mill and ranch near Mariposa. His mill reflects the hardworking spirit that helped shape many California communities during that time. The steady rhythm of the sawmill, the scent of fresh-cut pine, and the importance of honest labor all became part of Tucker’s character and the life he built.

For Veronica, however, the story is about much more than a lumber mill or a ranch. After a difficult journey filled with uncertainty, she discovers something she never expected. She isn’t simply finding a husband. She is finding a home, a family, a community, and a future. Most importantly, she learns that God often provides exactly what we need, even when His plans unfold in ways we never imagined.

 

Blessings,

Paulette D. Marshall

Today, I’m giving away a digital copy of my book MAIL-ORDER FREIGHTER. Be sure and leave a comment to be entered in the drawing for this story! Here are a couple of questions I’m interested in hearing your answers to:

What makes a place feel like home to you? Is it the people, the location, the memories, or something else?

Or

If you could choose, would you rather live on a ranch, in a small mountain town, or near a bustling city? Why?

Thanks so much for being here today!

 

Help Wanted, Cowboy

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I am generally loath to crow about my own books, which is sorta silly when you think about it. I mean, who else is going to crow about my books if not me? I’m not good at look at me, though, and if it were possible in this day and age to simply write a book, hand it to my publisher, and then crawl back into my writing cave and start a new one, without ever having to think about said book again, I would do it that way. But publishing doesn’t work like that these days. Maybe it never did.

Although I’ve been writing since I was a child and starting working as a book editor in 1996, I came into publishing as an author in 2012—on the cusp of digital first and e-books. I joined Facebook about that time and Instagram shortly after, but it took me awhile to figure out how to make those platforms work for me as an author. I’m not sure I’ve mastered it yet, you know, because it means being present when what I really want to do is stay tucked in my little writing space. My fictional worlds are so much safer than the real world of social media and promotion.

All that said, I’m here today to be Nan Reinhardt author (<– over there) promoting a brand-new release — out today, as a matter of fact. If you love romance and Montana and spunky heroines and handsome cowboys with big hearts, Help Wanted, Cowboy might just be the book for you. Rory and Millie’s story is book 3 in my Juniper Falls Ranch series, so if you’ve read books 1 and 2, you’ll recognize Beth and Del Foster, who own Juniper Falls Ranch, Gus, their grizzled ranch hand, Bo Kennedy, the former rodeo cowboy turned ranch foreman, and others, as well as the little Montana town of Marietta. Sage’s Chocolate Shop, the Graff Hotel, Copper Mountain—all the places in Marietta that you already know and love are part of the story, too, as Rory and Millie feel their way to their own happily-ever-after. Because of course, there’s always an HEA in a Nan Reinhardt novel.

I confess, the theme—Millie wants a little favor from Rory—was a tricky one to do in a sweet romance, but we pulled it off, and there is even a treasure hunt up in an old mine in the foothills to add to the fun. I hope you enjoy reading Help Wanted, Cowboy as much as I enjoyed creating it.

GIVEAWAY: To celebrate this book release—#17 with the fabulous Tule Publishing—I’m giving away three e-book copies of Help Wanted, Cowboy to three lucky commenters. Just tell me what attracts you to a cowboy romance—the cover? The blurb? The author? Inquiring minds want to know…

Help Wanted, Cowboy

A Montana bull rider temporarily working as a ranch hand. An OB nurse who wants “a favor.” Two opposites thrown together. A treasure hunt adds to autumn magic. 

When a family emergency brings cowboy Rory Pearson home to Marietta, he hires on to Juniper Falls Ranch for seasonal work. He’s hoping to explore an intriguing family legend. Armed with research and his grandfather’s stories, Rory thinks he’s ready, but nothing goes as planned. Then a sweetly sexy nurse propositions him.

Nurse Millie Sparks is tired of playing it safe. She’s been too focused on her education and career and romance and adventure have passed her by. Staying on the ranch to care for a patient with a tricky pregnancy, Millie’s interest in Rory is immediate. He offers to teach her to ride, and she wonders if the lessons could extend to something else she’s been hiding.

It’s a game of flirtation and fun. Feelings can’t be serious. But as the clock ticks down, hearts interfere, and saying goodbye just got way more complicated.

Amazon | B&N Nook | Apple Books | Kobo | Google Play

Oh, oh, P.S.: If you haven’t been to Juniper Falls Ranch yet, here’s a great opportunity for a first visit–Forever Cowboy, book 1 in the JFR series is just 99 cents right now! So race over to your favorite book retailer and nab it at that discount before it goes back to regular price.

Petticoats & Pistols