western romance

Cowboy Time

by

I found an interesting article in this month’s Electric Co-Op magazine and want to share it. Cowboys have more ways to tell time than you can shake a stick at and their time isn’t fast or slow. It’s just right.

Do you know how long it takes to mosey? Or lollygag? Me either, but I’m guessing it’s as long as it takes. Ha!

When cowboys were on cattle drives, they told time by the sun and moon. Then when it was time for dinner or supper, they could tell when they heard the cook striking his large iron triangle or rang a bell. No whistle blew and no horn called them. Trail hands joked that the cook had the only watch that mattered and that might be still the case even on modern ranches.

The only time that mattered was daylight and whether the herd was settled for the night or the work done.

By dawn, they were in the saddle, driving the cattle and at night, time passed in shifts—first which began right after the evening meal, midnight, and morning. The cattle calmed to the music so time passed more often by melody instead of a clock.

Often, the dying embers of campfires helped tell the time in the dark. Cowboys not on shift knew to hit the sack and they didn’t dawdle. Many were probably asleep before the embers half died in the fire if the truth was known.

Even distance was measured, not by a watch, but how often they had to stop the horses to rest. For instance, they’d say, “That’s a two-horse ride.” Normally, they stopped to let the horse rest every fifteen to twenty minutes, but shorter if they carried a heavy load or were galloping instead of walking or trotting. So a two-horse jaunt with a single rider and no heavy load was approximately about an hour.

Texas cowboys, circa 1880

The cowboys with timepieces were usually from Waltham or Elgin. Those were well-known for being tough and dependable. Even so, you wouldn’t find many of these dedicated men who rode the range, content with, not only what they had, but also satisfied with who they saw looking back in the mirror. 🙂

I don’t know about you, but I like the idea of “cowboy time.” Life passed in a slower pace and only as fast as you needed. It was very steady and most often you could set your watch by the cowboys’ daily lives. Why would you want anything else? Sounds like a great life to me.

I have to admit, “Cowboy Time” still has a hold on a lot of us. We work till half-past dark, eat when the food’s ready. We don’t need any buzzing on our phones to tell us what to do. Old cowboys whisper a different wisdom—don’t count every minute. Let it pass as slowly as it wants. We’ll all be better for it and you won’t need anxiety medicine.

Find pleasure in the small stuff. An animal, a wildflower, a book, a poem, a child’s drawing. Doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive.

I have one early autographed copy of my new Christmas book, Bright is the Light, to give away. To enter the drawing, are you keeping the right time? What’s your opinion of a slower pace and letting life unfold as it should? In or out?

BRIGHT IS THE LIGHT….

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

Two weeks before Christmas, former soldier Calder Jackson drifts into Jubilee, Texas, half-frozen and desperate to escape a blinding snowstorm. Looking for nothing more than shelter, he never expects to find a family who welcomes him as though he belongs. He hasn’t belonged anywhere for a long while.

Kate Walsh hesitates to take in a male boarder, knowing how fast small-town gossip can ruin a woman’s reputation. However, with a disabled mother and a simple-minded brother depending on her, she needs the money. Before long, Calder becomes more than a tenant. His kindness brings laughter back into their home and gives young Micah the acceptance he’s longed for.

Together, Calder and Micah build a Christmas lantern to place in the window on Christmas Eve, honoring an old Irish tradition that welcomes blessings and guides the way home. Can Calder finally find the elusive peace he’s been chasing? The love he feels for Kate makes everything seem achievable as though the light has been waiting in the window all along.

Filled with hope, faith, and the warmth of family, this heartwarming holiday romance celebrates second chances, unexpected love, and the light that guides us all home.

* * * *

Release date – September 1, 2026 — KU, Kindle, Print

Available for preorder now –  CLICK HERE

FOR EXCERPT — CLICK HERE

I’ll have more copies to give away next month! Let’s Keep Cowboy Time. 🙂

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.

Help Wanted, Cowboy

by

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.

Cowboys, Rodeo, & a Stray Dog

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I have to confess that I panicked last year when my publisher Jane Porter asked me to move from River’s Edge, my little town on the Ohio River to Marietta, Montana. I mean, holy schnikeys! Except for flyovers and the very urban Bay Area of San Francisco to visit our kids, I’d never been west of Mississippi, and now I was supposed to write in the mountains of Montana? About cowboys? And rodeos and ranches? Yikes!

To be honest, the only things I had going for me as I headed into this new writing territory was a love of and experience with horses, the fact that I’d read a lot of Tule Publishing’s Montana Born books, and a deep respect for Jane and the team’s marketing expertise. They’d never steered me wrong yet, so I took a deep breath and dove in. I even took a trip to Big Sky, Montana, in July with my pal, mystery writer Carol Light, just to get a feel for the setting. Wow, was that ever grand!

I was grateful that I was starting my Montana Born journey with three other romance authors, all of whom already wrote cowboys and Montana and ranches and rodeo. Our 4-book, 4-author series, Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys released one book a week throughout September of 2025. And we needed a theme that would run through the entire series—something that tied all the books together. Someone said, how about a stray dog? That was fine with me, so our little thieving pup first appears in Jeannie Watt’s Unforgettable Cowboy, turns up again in Nicole Flockton’s Headstrong Cowboy, and in Sinclair Jayne’s Rogue Cowboy. Each time, the little trickster is stealing something … and then disappearing. He is a sheltie/border collie mix and cute as can be! Check him out here.

Then my turn came. Because I am the last book in the series, I got to decide what would happen to the little dog we’d named Rascal—because he truly was! Husband and Son both said words to the effect of you can’t kill off the dog. Like I would ever do such a thing! I’ll grant you I’m more a cat person than a dog lover, but surely Rascal needed a happily-ever-after just like all our cowboys and their ladies. Sorry, I’m not going to tell you where that poor critter ended up. You’ll have to read the whole series, ending with my Forever Cowboy to find out. Just trust me … fairy tale ending are my specialty.

Hope y’all enjoy all four books in the Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys series—we sure had fun writing them! And here’s the best part: I have three more Montana Born stories coming up here in 2026! I got into the cowboy thing so much that I created my own Montana world—Juniper Falls Ranch, so although  Forever Cowboy may be book 4 in the Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys series; it’s Book 1 in the Juniper Falls Ranch series. Book 2, The Cowboy’s Comeback, released January 30, 2026. Book 3, Help Wanted, Cowboy releases July 7, 2026, and book 4, The Rancher’s Christmas Wife, which I’m currently writing, releases in November! And you know what else? I’m havin’ the time of my life in Montana! Come join me!

To whet your appetite for my Juniper Fall Ranch cowboys, how about we do a little giveaway? Just tell me below if you like to see pets–dogs, cats, parrots, hamsters, rabbits, really any kind of pet–in your cowboy stories? I’ll give away two e-book copies of Forever Cowboy to two lucky commenters!

Thanks for spending time with me today! See you next time!

Heather Blanton – the Vaquero Who Shaped the Cowboy & a Giveaway

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Telling the West Right: Honoring the Vaquero Who Shaped the Cowboy

By Heather Blanton

Long before the American cowboy was immortalized in dime novels and Hollywood, his story had already begun—written in the dust and discipline of the Hispanic vaquero. These skilled horsemen, shaped by Spanish tradition and forged in the rugged lands of Mexico and California, laid the groundwork for what would become one of America’s most enduring icons.

Even the word cowboy finds its roots in vaquero, from vaca, meaning cow. But this influence runs far deeper than language. Vaqueros were masters of horsemanship, introducing the techniques of roping, branding, and cattle handling that became essential to ranch life. Their gear—wide-brimmed hats, leather chaps, spurs, and expertly crafted saddles—was born of necessity and refined through experience. Anglo settlers moving west didn’t invent the cowboy’s way of life—they learned it.

And they learned more than skill. The vaquero lived by a code: quiet competence, resilience, respect for the land, and pride in honest work. This wasn’t the reckless gunfighter of legend, but a man whose survival depended on patience, discipline, and grit.

Yet somewhere along the way, that truth was overshadowed. The myth of the American cowboy grew larger than life, often leaving behind the very culture that shaped it. What we celebrate today is only part of the story.

That truth is exactly why I wrote Fernando’s Fortune. I’ve spent my career telling stories of the American West, but the deeper I went, the clearer it became—some of its strongest roots were being left out of the telling. The vaquero wasn’t a side note. He was the beginning.

Don Fernando Diego Garcia de la Vega begins as a man who seems to have everything—a family fortune, a storied California hacienda, and a life marked by charm and privilege. But one reckless, passionate mistake with the governor’s daughter costs him everything. Stripped of his inheritance and cast out from the only home he’s ever known, Fernando is forced into exile in the untamed American West.

He arrives determined to reclaim his fortune within a year, convinced he can conquer the frontier as easily as he once won admiration in Monterey. But the West has no patience for pride. It is a hard land, filled with danger, hardship, and people who cannot be swayed by charm alone—especially a strong-willed frontier woman who refuses to be bought, bullied, or wooed.

 

What follows is not just a fight for survival, but a reckoning. Fernando came chasing wealth. Instead, he is forced to confront who he truly is when everything else is stripped away. In the end, he may gain far more than he ever lost—or risk losing everything that truly matters.

Because the West is more than myth. It is a story shaped by many hands, many cultures, and many truths. And if we’re going to keep telling it, we ought to tell it right.

~~~

Comment, and you are entered to win a paperback of Fernando’s Fortune! Do you think the vaquero is a forgotten hero of the West?

 

He was a prince of California. One scandal made him an outcast.

Don Fernando Diego Garcia de la Vega had it all: a family fortune, a legendary hacienda, and a life of effortless charm. But a single, passionate mistake with the governor’s daughter leaves him stripped of his inheritance and banished from the only home he’s ever known.

Exiled to the untamed American West, Fernando vows to regain his fortune within a year. He expects to conquer the frontier as easily as he once charmed the ladies of Monterey. But the Wild West is a brutal teacher, filled with ruthless scoundrels, unforgiving land, and a feisty frontier woman who refuses to be bought, bullied, or wooed.

He came to find his fortune. He might just lose his heart—or his life—in the process.

 

 

 

 

The Convict’s Courtship–Kylee Woodley–and a giveaway

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Smuggled in a Miner’s Pocket: The Cornish Roots of the Tommy Knocker

“What a tall tale… Tommy Knockers are Cornish, not French.”

“Maybe the Cornish miners smuggled them in.”

— From The Convict’s Courtship by KyLee Woodley

With St. Patrick’s Day just behind us and this “outlaw-ish” clean romance now available, it seems appropriate to share a bit about the Leprechaun’s cousin: the Tommy Knocker. These creatures are a fascinating part of the history and setting of my latest book.

The Migration of the “Cousin Jacks”


(Underground in the Gould and Curry Mine 1867. Timothy O’Sullivan photo)

In the 19th century, highly skilled hard-rock miners emigrated from Cornwall, England, to mining towns across the globe. Many settled in the American West, including the famous Comstock Lode in Nevada—the very setting of The Convict’s Courtship—where work was plentiful for those who knew the earth.

These men were known as “Cousin Jacks,” a term coined because they always seemed to have a cousin back home in need of work. The migration of these Europeans was so vast that between the 1860s and 1870s, the Cornish population in Nevada went from nearly none to over 1,000 in the 1870 census.

But they brought more than just their expertise in drilling; they brought their superstitions. Tucked away in their pockets (metaphorically, of course) were stories of mystical little creatures, much like an elf or a gnome, that haunted the deep places of the world. In the West, these spirits became known as Tommy Knockers.

The Ritual of the Pasty


(The Cornish Pasty, Cornwall Vintage History & Recipe Postcard C56 | eBay UK)

Life underground was dangerous, and the Tommy Knockers were said to be the ones in control of a miner’s fate. To keep these “little minions” happy, miners practiced specific rituals, like leaving behind a portion of their lunch—usually a piece of a Cornish Pasty.

These meat pies were folded in half with the edges pinched together into a thick crust. This “miner’s handle” allowed them to eat with dirty hands and discard the soiled crust afterward. While Cornish immigrants were almost entirely men—unlike many other groups who arrived in family units—this ritual connected the lonely miner to his homeland and his ancestors.

Protectors or Pests?

What exactly were these creatures? While some modern theorists believe the “knocking” sounds were simply the results of rock crumbling or timbers cracking under the weight of a pending cave-in, the miners saw it differently.

According to the Exeter Institute of Cornish Studies, “initial phases of belief [show] knockers led worthy miners to valuable ore, warned of danger, and punished those who angered them.” Many believed they provided a life-saving service by knocking on the tunnel walls just before a collapse. Because of this, some viewed them as good luck, while others feared their power to cause the very cave-ins they warned against.

The Folklore Connection


(In the evening, the seven Dwarfs came back.

These illustrations came from: Grimm, Jacob and Wilhelm. The Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm. Mrs. Edgar Lucas, translator. Arthur Rackham, illustrator. London: Constable & Company Ltd, 1909.)

There is even a link to the classic fairy tales we know today. While the Grimm tales are German and Tommy Knockers are Cornish, they share the same “Old World” root: the belief that the earth is alive and inhabited by subterranean spirits. In the 19th century, miners from across Europe (German, Welsh, and Cornish) shared stories in the bunkhouses, likely blending the “Knocker” with the German “Kobold” or “Dwarf.”

A Legacy in the Dark

Whether they were seen as dwarves—perhaps even distant relatives to the legendary Seven Dwarfs—or restless spirits lurking in the shadows, the Tommy Knocker became a staple of the immigrant West. For the man working a mile underground, the Tommy Knocker wasn’t just a story; it was a companion in the dark, a reminder of the roots he left behind, and a way to make sense of the dangers of the deep.

WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE FAIRY TALE GROWING UP?

LEAVE A COMMENT TO GET YOUR NAME IN A DRAWING FOR A COPY OF 

THE CONVICTS COURTSHIP

Outlaw Hearts book 3

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A remote mining town, an aspiring journalist, and the reformed convict who saves her life.

When Clara Alexander returned from finishing school to Virginia City she had two goals: to become a reporter and make peace with the father who betrayed her mother. But even in the West, there is no room for her in the newsroom or in the family her father made when he married his mistress. Clara is forced to take desperate measures to prove her worth to an editor—including a reckless venture into a dangerous mine shaft.

Reformed convict Beau Vulpe lives a quiet life of obscurity in a remote mining town in Nevada. When he rescues a beautiful woman from a sweltering mine shaft, he’s welcomed into her home as a hero, only to discover that they are the same family he deeply wronged the summer before. Now, with winter’s grip choking the mountain town and rumors of mines going bust, he is forced to stay, praying Clara won’t discover the truth before the spring thaw.

As Clara pursues her dreams of writing for the renowned Territorial Enterprise, she continually crosses paths with the mysterious Frenchman who saved her life and is drawn to him a little more with each interaction. Beau finds himself not only falling for the lovely lady but befriending her family as well. Can he protect his freedom and atone for his wrongs without losing his heart in the process? And what about Clara—will her attraction toward Beau Vulpe lead to the disappointment her mother warned her about?

Author Bio: KyLee Woodley is a cheery romantic who loves to write about bygone days and heartwarming romance with a pinch of adventure. She teaches preschool at a lab school in Texas, where she lives with her husband of eighteen years and their three teenage children. On weekends, KyLee cohosts and produces the Historical Bookworm Show, a steadily growing author interview podcast for history lovers and readers of historical fiction.

In her spare time, she cares for a rescue dog named Lucky, a feisty feline named Hazel, and two adorable Boston Terrier puppies. She listens to contemporary Christian, country, and early?2000s rock, visits bookstores and coffee shops with her teens, and watches adventure movies with her husband, who might resemble Superman.

Author Links:

 https://www.facebook.com/WoodleyWrites 

https://twitter.com/KyLeeWoodley  

https://www.instagram.com/kylee.woodley.writes/ 

https://www.pinterest.com/kypins13/  

Podcast: https://historicalbookworm.com/?page_id=41  

Personal Website:  https://kyleewoodley.com/ 

IF SHE WERE MINE — New Historical Coming Soon

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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

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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!

 

 

Is There Ever Such a Thing as a New Idea?

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We’re so happy to welcome back guest author Nancy Fraser! She’s toting four books to give away so be sure to leave a comment.  

One of the things authors struggle with the most is the challenge of finding a new historical romance trope… something that hasn’t been done hundreds of times. It’s not easy.

It helps if you’re writing your book as part of a multi-author series, because the initial trope is already there. Whether it’s a mail-order bride scenario, or wagon train romances, or even the land rush decades, the author’s job is to breathe fresh life into a tried-and-true formula.

Where to begin?
One thing that helps me is to first set a time period. I’m partial to the late 1880s or early 1890s, and for the silliest of reasons. I want indoor plumbing. I can’t tell you the number of historical romances I’ve read where nobody goes to the bathroom because there’s nothing engaging about hiking to the outhouse.

Indoor plumbing came to the cities and states east of the Mississippi not long after the Civil War. In some instances, e.g., well-to-do homes, it a was even earlier. However, the luxury was slow to arrive out west. In the more remote areas, homes didn’t rid themselves of the outdoor facilities until well into the 1900s. As a child (1950s), I remember one aunt who still used her outhouse. Believe me, for an eight-year-old, that pre-bedtime hike was both exciting and scary. Especially when you were being followed by an ornery turkey.

I digress. My intention was to talk about finding a different story angle.

So, how do you find that one ‘new’ story? Once I’ve set my time period and chosen my main character’s profession and the location for my story, I search for late 19th century facts about the area and the job, e.g., “1880’s medical facilities in rural Oklahoma”. Once I’ve found something quirky or, at least, interesting, I can fashion my plot around a little-known fact. I’ve even begun adding a feature to the back of most of my books called, “The More You Know”. I recap my research and share what I’ve learned over and above weaving it into my story.

Earlier this month, I released Lost in Her Dreams as part of the Chasing a Dream Series. I set the story in Alaska at the time of the Klondike Gold Rush. My fact sheet was full for that one.

Once an author has an idea for something unusual, the plot twist comes next. The what-ifs are used to tweak the facts without breaking them. Whether your unique story comes from the location or the premise itself, there are a number of ways to work in new ideas without compromising your research.

I’ve had the privilege of writing for a most unusual series of western historical romances beginning late last year. The series is titled, “The Bride Who…”. The objective of the series was to put our heroine brides in unusual circumstances. The titles in the series have been wonderfully entertaining.

Yesterday, February 26th, marked the release of my third book in the series. Titled: The Bride Who Writes Penny Novels, it was fun to create an alter ego for my heroine. Worried that some would deem her a loose woman, she chooses a nom de plum to honor her family history and stay hidden at the same time.

My first two books in the series were equally as much fun (and as challenging). The Bride Who Keeps Running Away came first and is an old-west reimagining of the movie, Runaway Bride with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.

The second book, The Bride Who Reads Too Much, gave my heroine a goal and a profession… one that the hero was happy to accept (eventually).

Whether it’s research that drives the author’s new idea, or maybe a unique group premise, the important thing is always to entertain and draw the reader into the story.


Here’s a sneak peek at The Bride Who Writes Penny Novels:

Kathryn (Kate) Montgomery has a secret… a big one.

Trained as a schoolteacher, she’s happy to spend her days teaching the primary grades in one of Denver’s most prestigious schools. By night, Kate sets aside her primers for a vocation of a different kind. Writing penny novels.

Left an inheritance of property in the small town of Elbert, Colorado, Kate decides to leave Denver behind and try her hand at writing full time.

Sheriff Rafe Nichols is summoned by a neighbor of the old Montague property because they suspect a squatter. When he arrives at the slightly rundown home, he’s surprised to find a beautiful, young woman who claims to be the owner. They butt heads when he tells her he’ll need to check into the legality of her claim.

What will happen with the small town of Elbert discovers her alter-ego’s identity? And how will it effect her relationship with Rafe?
You can find Kate and her handsome sheriff on AMAZON
As with all my books, it’s enrolled in Kindle Unlimited and available in print.

When you’re looking for a new book to read, do you try to find something with an unusual plot, twist, or historical detail? Or do you prefer to stay with the tried and true? As a thank you for the commenters who will spend time with me today, I’m pleased to give away four prizes, two copies of The Bride Who Writes Penny Novels and two copies of Lost in Her Dreams. 



Until next time, stay happy, stay healthy, stay well-read.

Nancy

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NANCY FRASER is a bestselling and award-winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.

Her preferred genres are sweet western historical and sweet small-town contemporary. However, she has been known to dabble in the most unusual settings.

When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

You can follow Nancy here:

Amazon Author Page ~ Bookbub ~ BlueSky Social  ~  Goodreads

 

Insanity in the Old West

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“On an unforgiving 1880s frontier, where secrets cut as sharp as winter winds, love must decide whether to freeze—or fight its way through the storm.”

When I began to write SUMMER’S HEART, I had no plans to include a woman who was off her rocker. It wasn’t until I decided Summer and Dan were too comfortable in their relationship. So, like authors do, I had to shake the couple up. Enter Elsie Finch with wild claims that Dan fathered her child.

Boy, did the fireworks light things up! Doubts and questions rose. I won’t give the story away but it took a while for Summer and Dan to kiss and make up. Here’s something fun for you.

 

Insanity treatments in the 19th century left a lot to be desired. Our own Mary Connealy has blogged about this several times so you might find more there. Here is the link to one: https://petticoatsandpistols.com/2022/04/21/insane-asylums-in-history/

In the east, they had plenty of asylums where they locked people with mental illness away. But husbands with wives they didn’t want soon saw how easy it was to label their excess baggage as insane and lock them up with no questions asked.

A few of the crazy reasons they gave was:

  • Imaginary Female Trouble
  • Political Excitement
  • Asthma
  • Brain Fever
  • Jealousy
  • Religious Enthusiasm
  • Reading too many novels (WHAT!!)

I kid you not. Reading novels had to be one of the lamest excuses!

Anyway, that was mostly back east. In the old West, mental asylums were not prevalent. Mostly, families tried to deal with their crazy relatives themselves. Another alternative was putting them in prisons but those conditions were horrible.

In Texas, the first institution was the Texas State Lunatic Asylum. Doctors there tried a softer approach—until it became overcrowded. A second one, the North Texas Lunatic Asylum was built in Terrell but it was pretty bad. Lobotomies, cold water immersion, beatings, and things like that. Few doctors knew how to treat them.

In my new story, I never go into what kind of asylum the one in Austin was. It wasn’t discussed and I had to get the characters onto the rescue of her little brother which proved quite challenging. I’m sure it was about the same as the others. Horrible places.

Not only did Elsie Finch provide a lot of comic relief, which the story needed to offset the darkness, it also taught Summer to trust Dan with all her heart and see that he truly loved only her.

In this snowbound 1882 Texas romance filled with frontier mystery, unexpected betrayal, and heart-pounding suspense, nurse Summer McIntyre’s world is upended when a stranger arrives through the blizzard carrying a newborn and claiming the sheriff, the man she’s set to marry is the father. As the storm seals the town under ice, Summer discovers her missing little brother is alive—and in the hands of a dangerous madwoman in the frozen hills. With rescue impossible and trust between her and Sheriff Dan Bodine shattered, Summer must uncover the truth before the storm takes everyone she loves.

Let’s chat. Do you like reading books in the season in which they’re written? A snowy blizzard in this one might be best in winter. But then reading it in summer when it’s hot might be a refreshing break from the heat. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m giving away a copy (winner’s choice of ebook or print) to two commenters so be sure to leave a comment. 

Creating Cowboys

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Confession? I don’t know any real cowboys. I’ve read about them in the novels that my fellow western romance authors write; I’ve watched myriad TV westerns both new and old and rodeo videos galore. We had horses for fifteen years, so I’ve met lots of horsemen, some may even have thought of themselves as cowboys, some sure acted as if they thought they were. But a cattle drive in Montana is very different from riding the horse trails in a state park in the Midwest.

So when it came time for me to write cowboys as characters in my new series for Tule Publishing, Juniper Falls Ranch, I admit I was daunted. Mostly because my heroes have all been pretty much beta guys—kind, sensitive, nerdy men who have no idea how truly desirable they are until my heroines show them. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they’re all pretty confident in their own abilities, they’re just not the swaggering type I always pictured cowboys to be. I’ve never really written alpha heroes because the men in my life, Husband, Son, the friends we are drawn to, are quietly strong, thoughtful men who are always there for me without fanfare or machismo.

But as I learned more and more about cowboys, I discovered that “alpha” didn’t really define the cowboy heroes I was reading about and watching. The swaggering stereotypical cowboy I’d always imagined was so far off the mark that I was actually shocked … and delighted. That quiet strength, that determination that I’d written into my beta winemakers, veterinarians, carpenters, college professors, and chefs were also hallmarks of the cowboy persona. When I created bronc rider Del Foster and rodeo cutting champion Bo Kennedy, those qualities—gentleness, intelligence, supportiveness, loyalty, steadiness, awareness of their own emotions as well as others—were all things my cowboys could be … and are.

And okay, I admit I had to learn to curb my heroes’ proclivity to be too chatty, something my critique partner and my editor ding me on even when I’m not writing cowboys, it’s been so very rewarding to create the cowboy heroes at Juniper Falls Ranch in Marietta, Montana—strong, brave, gentle men who make readers’ hearts (and mine!) beat just a little faster.

So tell me, what’s your favorite thing about cowboy heroes?

The Cowboy’s Comeback, book 2 in the Juniper Falls Ranch series, releases, January 29, but free ARC e-book copies are available here if you’re interested in reading and reviewing. I’d sure appreciate it if you did!

Thanks for stopping by today. I do hope the New Year treats you well and that you’ll find lots of cowboys (including my Montana guys) to fall in love with in 2026!

Petticoats & Pistols