Giveaway

Where is Felicia Filly?

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Whoo-hoo, friends! I’m here today in the beautiful southwest visiting a filly who’s lived for most of her life in the in a state that boasts one of the seven natural wonders or the world. Do you know which wonder? (hint: it’s quite “grand”) Growing up in a city that used to call itself “The West’s Most Western Town”, how could she not have ridden and raised horses since her high school days?

This filly thought it would be fun to treat me like a cute cowgirl version of Elf on a Shelf. She posed me on different shelves around her house that, if you look closely, will give you a clue about her and her life. Can you guess who she is?

Clue #1

She loves to collect horse statues, especially Breyer horses, and still has one that she got for Christmas when she was fourteen. The brass ones in this photo are antiques – another kind of the horses she likes to collect.

Clue #2

This filly and her husband do a lot of traveling. She has two shelves filled with little trinkets from places they’ve been.

Clue #3

She recently redecorated her office and has surrounded herself with things that motivate and inspire her. One office wall is filled with cute cat pictures. What else would you expect from this kitty lover?

Clue #4

Yet another wall in her office is filled with typewriters. The one on the far left is over a hundred-years old (I did mention she collects antiques). See those badges hanging from the hooks? They are from her volunteer work with the Alzheimer’s Association – a cause that’s near and dear to her heart.

Clue #5

Last but not least, this filly has a book scheduled to come out this summer. She confided in me that she’s really excited about this release and will be telling you more about in soon!

Well, all I can say after my visit with this filly is, with all these shelves and stuff on them, I wouldn’t want to have to be the one to dust her house (hee, hee).

Can you guess who I visited? A randomly drawn winner will receive a $10 gift card!

 

Congrats to Shanna’s Winner

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Thank you to everyone who shared such nice comments today! You are appreciated!

Today’s winner of Shanna’s Giveaway is Patti Whitaker! Congrats, Patti!

REMEMBERING OUR ANCESTORS–AND HOW TO HANDLE WHAT WE KNOW–(AND A GIVEAWAY!) by Cheryl Pierson

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Hi, everyone! Y’all know I’ve blogged several times before about my searches on Ancestry . com and some of the stories I had learned about my ancestors from my mom. But my dad was never one to talk much about his side of the family, I think because there was quite a lot of sadness in his upbringing.

Dad was one of five children, 4 boys and 1 girl. When he was very young, his ‘just older’ brother was killed  in an automobile accident, and my dad was in the car when it happened. Back then, there were deep ruts in the roads and my granddad hit one, overturning the car. Dad’s  brother, Walter, was killed. I learned  from “family talk” in years to come that my grandmother came home and laid on the bed in her blood-stained clothes for days, mourning the loss of her  young son.

Not long after that, Kenneth, their son that was younger than my dad, died of a malady known then as “summer complaint” — he was only 6 months old. There isn’t much more to be discovered on Ancestry about these deaths since they were so long in the past and the children were so young.

But what I DID learn from Ancestry recently was a real shocker–as some things on there are bound to be! Looking through old census records, I came across an unusual entry in the one for my great great grandfather’s family. His name was John Jenkins Moss. He had several children, but there were two sons– one born in 1859 and one in 1860.

He and my gr-gr grandmother, Jaritta Jane, were married in September of 1859 and the son born in 1860 was born in July. But…the one born in 1859? The census shows an “M” by his name–I discovered that stands for “Mulatto” — a reference to a light-skinned, mixed-race child in those days. His name was Ike. It’s a name that has never been talked about in our family.

This haunts me.

Yes, even though he is long dead, I wonder about him and whatever became of him. Why? Because it may mean we have other family members out there that we never were permitted to know or claim, nor they, us.

The thing that stuck with me the most was that on this particular census, both boys were listed as 8 years old, so they couldn’t have been a full year apart. Ike was living with the family at that point, claimed as part of the household, as a son, just as the other boy, William Francis was.

It raised so many questions in my mind. Did my 2 x great grandmother know about Ike when she married her husband? Did she agree to bring him to their home willingly? And when they did, I wonder how things were handled? How did she treat him? How were things between her and her husband? What were the circumstances of Ike coming to live with them? Well, y’all know my writer’s mind just went crazy when I figured all this out!

Something else that’s happened in all of this traipsing around in the past was that I came across some of the things I’d saved from our big attic problem of a couple of years ago (remember when it was buckling and I had to do the massive clean-out?) I had kept a box of letters that were written between my parents when they were engaged. At that time, Dad was in Arizona because his lungs were bad, and Mom was still here in Oklahoma, not having yet joined him.

My mom, Elwanda, and dad, Fred, as newlyweds in 1944

Oh, my goodness. I didn’t know what to do with those letters, as you might imagine. I started reading them, but after the first couple, though they were very sweet and heartfelt, I felt as if I were intruding on some very private moments that were never supposed to be shared. I put them back in the box, but I couldn’t bear to get rid of them. I still have them, but will I ever read them? Maybe when I’m 90, if I live that long.

Do any of you sleuth through your genealogy? I wish so much I’d written down all the stories my mom told me. Too late now. I swore I would write everything down for my kids, no matter how mundane it might seem, and I started that, but I must admit, I have not kept it up like I should have. I don’t make New Years’ resolutions, but if I do have any wish to “keep to” something, I think this would be it.

 I know I have a long way to go with the genealogy research, and it has been so much fun so far–but finding that entry about Ike has really stayed with me, and made me think about someone I never knew existed, and certainly never knew was part of my family. There’s no date of death, not so far, anyhow, but maybe in my progress it will show up and I might be able to at least find where his grave is. 

Here’s kind of a lighter story about my family before I sign off–my dad’s sister, my Aunt JoAnne, told my sister and me this story when we were at her house a few years back drinking our Sonic drinks on the sweltering heat of summer on her front porch. This same gr gr grandfather who had the two boys so close in age that I mentioned earlier was also a cattle drover. But he didn’t want to travel too far from home there in Texas, close to the Indian Territory border. They lived SO close that they were near Apache, Kiowa,  and Comanche territory. As I said, Grandpa John didn’t like to travel a long way on the cattle drives, so he stayed within a 20-30 mile radius of his home, just joining up with certain trail drives and working that area of the drive as the came and went. 

One day, he was bitten by a mule in the back of the leg. It became infected.  Luckily, he was befriended by the Kiowa chief, Lone Wolf. Lone Wolf took him to his village and they cared for him and made him well, and he was able to live a long life because of this. Lone Wolf was a war chief, known for preserving his tribe’s auntonomy and way of life, so in my mind, this was a real show of friendship and trust for him to take a white man to his camp and care for him. Aunt JoAnne told us that they remained friends for the rest of their lives. A town named for the chief was founded in August 1901, on the opening of the Kiowa-Comanche-Apache Reservation to settlement. (Wikipedia) It’s in the southwestern part of Oklahoma. This is picture of Chief Lone Wolf and his wife.

Have any of you ever learned family secrets that you never knew growing up, through working on genealogy or finding a letter or journal, or in some other way?  I would love to know, big or small, what that secret was–(without getting you into trouble!) LOL Do you have any unique family stories that have been passed down?

I’m giving away a digital copy of my novella, ONE MAGIC NIGHT, which is loosely based on another ancestor’s background, and I knew he needed his own story! It’s an oldie but a goodie! Be sure to comment for a chance to win!

Genealogy is so interesting, but you must be prepared for what you learn–and decide if you’ll pursue it, or leave it where it lays–at least, until you’re 90. 

 

 

 

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONGS–WHAT’S YOURS? (AND A GIVEAWAY) by Cheryl Pierson

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I love the music of Christmas. I could play it all year long if I weren’t married to someone who isn’t as crazy about it as I am. Those songs are so uplifting and beautiful that they make me feel good just to hear them, and you can’t help but sing along with them.

 

My dad always loved Christmas, and was a great practical jokester. He delighted in making phone calls to his grandchildren, pretending to be Santa. He’d call back later on for a rundown about what happened on our end—the looks, the comments, and the joy of getting a real live phone call from Santa!

 

One of the traditions in our house was the box of chocolate covered cherries that was always under the tree for him from my mom, a reminder of hard Christmases in years past when that might have been the only gift she could afford. Another was that our house was always filled with Christmas music.

I was a classically trained pianist from the time I turned seven years old. My father’s favorite Christmas carol was What Child Is This? Once I mastered it, I delighted in playing it for him because he took such pleasure in it, and since it was also the tune to another song, Greensleeves, I played it all year round for him. My love for playing the piano was one of the reasons I enjoyed writing my story NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH for our Christmas Stocking Sweethearts series so much. Of course, her favorite Christmas song was The First Noel, for obvious reasons.

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

Click here to view the entire series on Amazon

The tune known as Greensleeves was a British drinking song for many years, a popular folk song that was not religious. In ancient Britain, there have been more than twenty different known lyrics associated with the tune throughout history. It was first published in 1652.

Shakespeare mentions it by name in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” in which it is played while traitors are hanged. It has been attributed to King Henry VIII, and said that he wrote it for Anne Boleyn. How did this song become one of the best-loved Christmas carols of all time?

In 1865, Englishman William Chatterton Dix wrote “The Manger Throne,” three verses of which became “What Child Is This?” During that particular era, Christmas was not as openly celebrated as it is today. Many conservative Puritan churches forbade gift-giving, decorating or even acknowledging the day as a special day for fear that Christmas would become a day of pagan rituals more than a serious time of worship. Although Dix wrote other hymns, in the context of the times, it was unusual for him to write about Christ’s birth, since many hymn writers and religious factions ignored Christmas completely.

 

The words represent a unique view of Christ’s birth. While the baby was the focal point of the song, the point of view of the writer seemed to be that of a confused observer. Dix imagined the visitors to the manger bed wondering about the child who had just been born. In each verse, he described the child’s birth, life, death and resurrection, answering the question with a triumphant declaration of the infant’s divinity.

“The Manger Throne” was published in England just as the U.S. Civil War was ending. The song quickly made its way from Britain to the United States. Dix died in 1898, living long enough to see “The Manger Throne” become the Christmas carol “What Child Is This?”

Credit to Wikipedia Article for much of this information.

And here are THE PETERSENS singing WHAT CHILD IS THIS? (Lovely harmonies!)

 

WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE CHRISTMAS CAROL OR SONG? Mine is SILENT NIGHT, but gosh, to me they are all so beautiful. I can’t think of one I don’t like! Be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a digital copy of your choice of NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH or THE DEVIL AND MISS JULIA JACKSON!

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

LOOKING FOR THE GOOD THINGS–AND A GIVEAWAY! by Cheryl Pierson

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When my husband Gary and I were first married, he would laughingly call me “Pollyanna” –the girl who always saw the good in every situation. Through the years, I have to admit there have been times when that quality has failed me, when things were so bad I didn’t know what we were going to do. I know we’ve all had “those” times. But in general, I’m one of those people who does try to see the good in things.

 

I think I “learned” to do that from my mom. I thought a lot about this over the last few weeks—fall makes me remember and miss my parents more than any other time of the year. One night Gary and I were talking about the things our parents had taught us, and I told him one thing my mom taught me was to look on the bright side of things.

 

I imagine she had to do a lot of that, being the oldest of eleven children in the Dustbowl days of Oklahoma—which was also during The Great Depression. Growing up, I remember how she’d comment on things that meant nothing to me…at the time.

 

“Oh, Cheryl, I saw the first robin today! That means spring is on the way,” she’d say, with a smile.

 

And? my young brain would ask. So, spring is on the way.

When spring came along, maybe she’d comment on how green the trees were, or how blue the sky was today—just look at those clouds!

Now that I’m older, I realize why these things were important and such a cause of joy to her.

Growing up dirt poor in a small house that had no insulation and very little heat, I’m sure that seeing the first robin was important because it meant those cold days and nights would soon be at an end and warm weather was soon to blow in.

 

The green of the trees meant there was enough rain to allow things to grow—something I know, as the oldest in such a large family, she was acutely aware of  since my grandfather was a hardscrabble farmer and had so many mouths to feed.

What a relief, especially here in Oklahoma, that there had been plentiful rain and things were growing well!

This was a picture I took of my hibiscus tree the kids gave me for Mother’s Day one year and its beautiful red blooms! I have to bring it in during the winters here in Oklahoma, but I’m thankful I have a place to put it and keep it hale and hearty until we can move it back outside again when spring–and that first robin–come along! The second picture is one of my two furbabies, Max and Sammy, watching a squirrel they’re thinking of chasing as he jumps from the crape myrtle to the fence. So glad to have these boys in my life!

 

The blue of the sky—can you imagine growing up in a time when you could look outside and see billowing gales of dust—and nothing else? Animals had to be put up in the barn, families had to be inside, and still, the houses were so poorly constructed there would be layers of dust on the windowsills once the dust storm had passed. So a blue sky was important—no dust, and those beautiful white clouds must have looked heavenly in her eyes.

 

Mama always found happiness in the small things—small in MY eyes.  A good meal she’d cooked for her family, getting the laundry done and put away for the week, finding a good sale on orange juice—yes, those were the days when people would look through the Sunday or Wednesday paper at the grocery store ads, make several stops to find the things at each store that were on sale, and several trips home to put the perishables away—a very different time.

It was not just the fact of the accomplishment itself, but what it meant to her from the things that had happened in her past. A good meal meant there was enough food to go around for everyone, served on a matching set of dishes. No one went to bed hungry. Laundry being done meant that everyone had clothes for a solid week—not one or two good dresses that had to be laundered over and over. Making the rounds of the different grocery stores and finding good “deals” meant she was able to provide some extras with what Dad made in the oilfield. She knew how hard he worked. She never took anything for granted.

So though I didn’t have the past that Mama had—mine was much easier in comparison—I think I learned that attitude through watching her. I’m sure there were times she wanted to just go into the bathroom and have a good cry, but instead, she looked for the good, and found it.

This is a picture I took of a gorgeous Oklahoma sunset a couple of years ago. I just loved the beautiful sky, and the way the light hits the water of the pool.

 

I think of Mama every time I see that first robin. What a gift that has been to me, in so many ways, including my writing. Part of writing a good story is thinking about our characters and WHY they act, and react, like they do. This realization about seeing the good in things has been a whole new area of enlightenment for me. I understand so many of my characters even more than I did when I wrote them—their reasoning, and their motivations.

 

Do you have an aspect to your personality that you inherited or learned from one of your parents or another family member? What is it? Do you think that these behavior patterns can be multi-generational? My mind is whirling! What do you think? Be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of one of my books–your choice! 

One of my fave pics of Mama and Daddy–taken April 9, 1991 on their 47th wedding anniversary.

 

LANDON–GUN FOR HIRE (#9) by Cheryl Pierson

Here’s one of my favorite examples of how finding the good in a terrible situation, for both Land and Lissie, came to a wonderful decision for them. This is from my book, LANDON, from the GUN FOR HIRE series. Land has fallen in love with Lissie, and she with him, though they have yet to admit it to one another. Things seem impossible from his point of view since the relationship between Lissie’s father’s late wife, Little Dove, is so entangled in a way Land doesn’t believe Lissie knows about. He must take a chance on ruining their budding relationship by telling her a huge part of his reasoning for being on this wagon train was because he had come to avenge his sister–Little Dove–by killing Lissie’s father. 

Take a look:

 

He gave her a piercing look, then led her to a large boulder where she sat down. She watched him with worry in her expression. There was really no way he could say what had to be said but to blurt out the blunt truth. He took Lissie’s hand again, then released it, half-turning away from her.

“Little Dove was my sister. Zach is my nephew.”

Silence washed over them. A soft spring breeze rustled the treetops. From far away, a coyote yipped, and another one answered.

“I know.”

****

Land turned quickly to face her, surprise in his handsome features for a moment before he veiled his expression.

“You kn—how?”

“Just from what Zach has told me. And—from your reaction when we talked about how she came to be married to my father.”

Land shook his head and gave a short laugh. “I guess I made no secret of my opinions that day.”

Lissie stood, looping an arm around his waist. “Zach—told me about your ‘friend’ who died having her baby.”

Land shook his head but remained silent.

“I wanted you to know…Little Dove and I were close. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“She wasn’t much older than you,” he muttered, looking out into the night woods.

“She was very dear to me.” Tears welled up in Lissie’s eyes as the memories flooded over her. “When she told me she was going to have a baby, we began to plan all sorts of grand things for him—or her.” She smiled. “We both hoped for a boy, but my father seemed to have no interest. So I became her confidant. We were more like sisters. But…I loved her so much.”

Land pulled Lissie close to him, the warmth of his body flooding through her, the support of his arms filling her with strength, as well.

“I loved her, too,” he muttered roughly. “I’m glad you had each other. When I learned what my father had done—I was sick with anger. I’d been gone—a long time. When I came home, my father…well, it took his life, in the end. The truth of what he’d done hit him in the face once he’d sobered up. But by then, it was too late. Little Dove had been lost. And it had been three years. The alcohol had numbed his brain for so long…”

His voice trailed away, and Lissie looked up into his face. She took his hand, careful of the bruised and battered knuckles.

“What happened to him, Land?” She carefully examined his torn flesh. He glanced at her, just as she brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed them.

“He died. Sank into the bottle and never came out.” He turned toward her. “Little Dove was always his favorite,” he said with a faint smile. “She was so full of life and the love of adventure—and he had a real soft spot for her. When he realized she was gone forever, he gave up.

“I told him I was going after her. I would find her—but she’d been gone so long by the then that he didn’t have faith I could find her and bring her home.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother…she was stronger than he was. She had the others—my brothers and other sister—to live for. But losing Little Dove took a hard toll on her, too, along with my father’s love for drink—and then, his death.”

They were silent a moment, then Land said, “I want to do this right between us, Alissa.”

Her heart jumped at his use of her proper name, the formal seriousness of his tone. She nodded, not looking at him. Sometimes, the hardest things were easier to say in the darkness, without looking—

It was the way her mother had spoken to Lissie of her own impending death…the only way Lissie—or her genteel mother, she suspected—could have borne to have that conversation at all.

But sometimes, speaking of the good things that were dear to a person’s heart were best spoken of like this, as well.

“We will do it right, Land,” she promised him. And, before she thought, she raised her eyes to his in the dim, silver-filtered moonlight and the soft, far-away gold cast by the lantern.

It seemed the silver and gold came together around them to enfold them in a magical velvet enclosure of their own, where there was nothing but the two of them—no fears, no worries, and no sorrows.

But Lissie knew it wasn’t truly that way—it was only an illusion. She already understood the trials and hardships they would face—through her father had sloughed off much of what others taunted him with, not only having married a “squaw” but also that she was so much younger.

“It won’t be easy.” Land’s voice was harsh.

“You won’t find a quitter in me.” Lissie raised her chin. “I’ve heard and seen everything, I think. When my father was alive, he thought nothing of parading Little Dove and me through town…letting people believe we were—for sale.” She gave a short laugh.

“I can’t tell you how many times we were ‘saved’ at the last second, complete with witnesses—so that dear Papa could be paid off and not press charges.”

Land swore. “Did he ever let it go…too far?”

Lissie smiled faintly. “No. But Little Dove and I were so scared—”

“He was a monster!” Land turned away from her furiously.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But for now, it’s important that Zach think well of him. As well as possible,” she amended quickly. “He and Papa were never close.”

Land took a deep breath. “For now,” he agreed. “But—what about you and me? Seeing the things you’ve seen, and knowing what you’ll experience—are you certain I’m what you want? That’s only a part of what I was talking about. You could go on alone and get your homestead set up on your claim. There’ll be plenty of men—”

“I only want one man—you.”

He watched her in silence.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she whispered.

He took a step toward her, pulling her into his arms once more. “I don’t ever want you to regret marrying me.”

Tears blurred her vision, but she smiled as she lifted her head. “I don’t believe you’ve asked me—”

His lips came across hers, hot, demanding, the best proposal she could ever have hoped for.

 

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE (CLICK HERE)

Little Pieces of Ideas that Wander Through My Mind

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I was on a writer retreat with my bestie, Liz Flaherty a couple of weeks ago. It was fabulous. We wrote, we drank wine, we ate chocolate, we talked, we processed her book and mine. Our retreats are always as Liz puts it,

“… harbors, as in they are places of refuge and safety, places for gathering, resting, and repairing. They are narrow and small and contained and when we are finished in them, we are ready and happy to return to the open sea of our everyday lives, both our writing ones and our real ones.”

Isn’t that gorgeous? And so very true.

We talked about the little pieces of ideas that wander through our writer minds—snippets of conversations, words, things we notice that perhaps no one else notices. We share ideas about settings, even as minute as the furnishings in a specific house in a setting. That got me thinking about where my random ideas rest in my imagination—on a chintz chair, I think. Faded old flowered fabric on a huge overstuffed chair sitting in a sunny spot under the eaves. Maybe there’s an ottoman, but it doesn’t have to match because honestly, my decorating style, like my writing style, is as random as my ideas. So why would I imagine something that matches?

Everyone has word pictures in their minds—and often it takes just seeing a pair of fancy cowboy boots in a store in West Yellowstone, Montana, or a rusty pump on a ranch in Virginia City for a story to start to happen.

The what-ifs are the things that writers and readers store away in the chintz chairs in their imaginations, and they are as myriad and varied as readers and writers themselves.

So, here’s a list of just a few of the random pieces of ideas, thoughts, and word pictures from my chintz chair:

  • She exuded grace and intelligence
  • A streaky sunset
  • A child mute and blinking in terror
  • He let go of my hand and suddenly I was untethered and adrift in my own thoughts.
  • Rumpled (Isn’t that a great word?)
  • A train stops at a small snow-covered station
  • What if I look in the mirror and someone else stares back.
  • He crooked his finger in a come-hither gesture (Okay, I’ve used that one in more than one book, but it’s still on the table because it’s such a wonderfully sexy word picture.)
  • Earthy and raw
  • Coffee that tasted like morning . . . or was it the other way around?

Doesn’t that cozy chintz chair up there make you want to curl up and read or nap? Share a way that you find the cozy and comfy when you need it. There’s an e-book copy of Forever Cowboy waiting for one lucky commenter.

Until next time…

 

 

LOVE LETTERS AND MAIL-ORDER BRIDES–by CHERYL PIERSON

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Ah, those wonderful love letters! Don’t we love reading them? I must admit I have an affinity for love letters because of the insights they give us into the past, and the people who lived then.

Love letters are something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Probably because of the time of year–fall always makes me get nostalgic–but also because, as authors, we have to use letters and notes in our writing to “get the message” across that perhaps our characters might not be able to speak aloud.

 

My hubby is, like many men, not sentimental. He wouldn’t care if I never got him another Valentine’s Day or anniversary card, but they mean a lot to me—so we exchange them every year. I suspect that, through the years past right down to the present, most men didn’t and don’t make flowery love speeches from their hearts, or even write their innermost thoughts and feelings in cards and letters.

 

One of the most poignant love letters I know of is the famous letter written by Union Army Major Sullivan Ballou, just before the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861 where he died at the age of 32. Married only 6 years, he left behind two small sons and his wife, Sarah. The letter he wrote to Sarah days before he was killed is one that speaks poignantly of his guilt at having to choose between his duty to country and duty to family. Ken Burns used a shortened version of the letter in his series, The Civil War—and its contents are unforgettable, and so powerful it brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.

 

 

SULLIVAN BALLOU

In part, it reads:

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

I had to come up with a love letter, of sorts, for my 2017 novel, Sabrina, part of the 4-book set entitled MAIL-ORDER BRIDES FOR SALE: THE REMINGTON SISTERS. The Remington Sisters set is out of print now, but I’m working on getting SABRINA published as a stand-alone story! My letter was nothing to beautiful as this one penned by a soldier marching to his inevitable death, but a letter that had to convince my Sabrina to leave her wealthy lifestyle in Philadelphia and come West to Indian Territory!

Sabrina and her three older sisters (Lola, written by Celia Yeary; Belle, written by Jacquie Rogers; Lizzy, written by Livia J. Washburn; and Sabrina, my character) have to have mail-order arrangements in order to get out of the fix they’re in with a step-father who plans to sell them to the highest bidder—and they don’t have much time to do it. When Sabrina receives two proposals on the same day, she counts her lucky stars that she’s able to compare the two letters and has a choice between the two men who have written her—something many women of the day did not have.

She’s safely with the man she’s chosen now, Cameron Fraser, but she’s remembering the day she received the letters and why she made the decision she did. Take a look:

She’d answered ads from both Cameron Fraser and David Mason. Ironically, she’d received offers from both men on the same day. That had been a blessing, as she was able to compare their responses immediately.

Mr. Mason had written one page, in sprawling wide script.

“I have need of a wife to help me raise my four children I was left with after my sainted Amelia passed on last year. Your help will be appreciated. And I will do right by you. I hope you are a willing worker and a good cook. Can you make good cornbread? That is a must in our home…”

She’d opened Mr. Mason’s letter first, and tucked it back into the envelope quickly. She’d hoped she’d managed to keep the revulsion from her face when her oldest sister, Lola, had come hurrying through the door. Lola was five years older, and Sabrina could never manage to keep a secret from her, no matter how she tried.

“Well?” Lola had asked, pinning Sabrina with “the look” that Sabrina dreaded.

“I haven’t read them,” Sabrina said defiantly.

“Bree. You know we have to get out of here—the sooner the better. We don’t have much time.”

Here’s the difference, and why she chose Cam. He wanted her for more than making cornbread!

Lola had turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. That’s how Sabrina knew her oldest sister was angry—or hurt. Maybe both.

She’d sighed, and begun to open the letter from Mr. Cameron Fraser. And before she’d read the entire first page of his two-page missive, she knew her decision was made.

Dear Miss Remington,

Thank you for your very kind response to the ad I placed for a bride. I felt out of place to do such a thing, but your answer made me glad I did so, after all.

I know that Indian Territory may seem uncivilized and wild to a well-bred lady such as yourself, who has grown up in the cultured, genteel society of the East, but I assure you, I will do everything in my power to welcome you. In no time at all, I hope you’ll come to think of the Territory as your home.

My family owns a fairly large cattle ranch in Indian Territory. I wanted to assure you that, although the ranch itself is somewhat isolated, we are close enough to Briartown to travel there frequently for supplies.

You will be safe here, Miss Remington, and cherished. You will be well-treated, and I promise you here and now, I will never raise a hand to you.

If it is your will, and I hope it will be, I am willing to be a good and loving father to any children we may have—and a good and loving husband to you.

The sky here is the bluest you’ve ever seen. The water is the freshest and coldest. And I hope you will come to love the open range as much as we Frasers do.

I await your arrival in Ft. Smith. I will meet you there, where we’ll be legally married in a civil ceremony before we travel together to the ranch. Enclosed, you will find a financial draft for your passage and travel expenses.

Sincerely,

Cameron James Fraser

Something about the underlying feeling of the words Cam had written spoke to Sabrina. That he’d taken time to describe—even briefly—how he felt about his ranch made her know that he cared about her feelings—not just about what skills she might bring to the marriage table.

I see it, too, don’t you? He loves the land and his life, and wants her to share it with him. I wonder if women who were forced to take this route looked for these types of things—I know I would. And Sabrina is a bit of an adventurer, so going to Indian Territory would not hold her back. Adventure awaited!

MEANWHILE–here’s a song about this very topic, from one of my favorite musicians, MARK KNOPFLER. This is called Prairie Wedding. Fingers crossed the video will work–it’s an oldie but a goodie, and tells such a touching story in just a few verses.

Have you ever received a love letter that meant the world to you? I’ve had a few in my lifetime, and they’re tucked away in my desk and my heart! If you would like to share, we’d love to hear about your love letters!

I’m giving away a digital copy of my latest release for the GUN FOR HIRE series, LANDON, to one lucky commenter! Be sure to leave a comment today for a chance to win!

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

 

Welcome Guest Author Lynne Lanning

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It is said that “A picture paints a thousand words,” and it does. But pictures can’t capture the reality of seeing things for yourself, and I’m wondering how many words that’s worth!

Hello, everyone! I’m Lynne Lanning, and I am bursting at the seams to share my recent journey with you. My husband and I recently returned from a 39-day trip to the Western US. 8000 miles by car, and I have no idea how far on a cruise to Alaska. For my husband, (a history buff), it was fun and informative, but for me, it was all those things plus research.

I have at least 100 stories going around in my head right now, after all the amazing sights we saw. I brought home loads of pictures to remind me of the grandeur, and also stacks of books, brochures, and maps that will aid me in future stories.

Standing in the place where our ancestors stood gave me chills. I stood in wagon ruts on the Oregon Trail and Santa Fe Trail. I witnessed intimidating, rugged terrain they once called home. I stood in awe at sights of the sun setting behind majestic mountains that they once gazed upon.

It didn’t take me long to appreciate their sacrifices. As soon as I stepped out of my air-conditioned car, I appreciated them, and by the time I huffed and puffed my way up a slight incline, I knew they were my heroes! Those people were tough, strong, and determined. Even in my younger days, I’m not sure I would have made it past the first mountain chain, through the first desert, or crossing the first river.

I could go on for days telling you about it, but there is nothing like seeing it for yourself. This nation has more of God’s amazing creation than you could explore in a lifetime, and I am honored that I was able to see as much as I did. From painted mountains to waterfalls, deep canyons to majestic mountains, wildlife to prairies filled with wildflowers…all breathtaking. I just hope I can do it justice in my writing.

One of the interesting places I visited was Mesa Verde National Park – the only US National Park dedicated to a culture of people instead of a natural wonder. I have researched this park and its native people who disappeared for unknown reasons, leaving behind unbelievable archaeological treasures.

I recently wrote a novel, Muriel Mesa Verde Bride, that takes place at Mesa Verde, which will be released on October 31st. It was exhilarating to imagine my characters walking right along with me on those paths. The story is filled with suspense and gets a bit darker than my normal stories, but has such a sweet romance that blossomed under a dark, dangerous cloud. If you like Historical Romantic Suspense, I hope you will pre-order your copy today. Muriel, Mesa Verde Bride, in the National Park Bride Series.

In case you aren’t familiar with me, let me share that I also write lighthearted Historical Romance filled with grins and giggles. My best one yet was just released on October 6th, 2025 – Loving An Untamed Wonder – Western Whirlwinds – Mischief, Mayhem & Mishaps.

Enjoy a good chuckle when this Pinkerton Agent’s ‘assignment’ arrives, in a power packed parcel of sweet innocence wrapped in red hair and full of spirit – along with mischief, mayhem and mishaps. His life was about to change forever, if she didn’t end up being the death of them.

For a chance to win an ebook of this sweet story guaranteed to make you smile … perhaps even laugh, tell me about the most wonderful place you have ever visited.

If you’re like me, you probably have more than one.
Thanks for visiting with me today!

Lynne Lanning has such an effortless way of evoking emotion from her readers. Her characters are so realistic that the reader can feel their pain during trials and their joy during triumphs.  Each story tells of true bonds of love and loyalty, mixed with tough times and decisions, with a twist of humor and sometimes devastation…the same is true in life. With a blend of her own family members and heritage along with lots of fiction, it’s hard to tell where reality stops and fantasy begins.

Find out more about Lynn online here.

Rodeo Caption Give Away

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Hey everyone! I’m having a busy week taking care of my folks and finishing a book and things like that, so I decided to have a little contest. Just pick one of the three rodeo pictures below and write a caption for it. In the comments put the number (#1, #2, or #3) and what you think the caption should be. Three winners will receive $10 Amazon gift cards. You are welcome to caption one, two or all three photos!

 

#1

#2

#3

The winners will be announced on Saturday. Good luck!

Photo copyrights 2017 Jeannie Steinman

 

 

WHAT MAKES A MOUNTAIN MAN HERO IRRESTIBLE? (AND A GIVEAWAY!) by MISTY M. BELLER

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I’m so excited to visit with my Petticoats and Pistols family again!

If you’ve ever glanced at one of my books, you probably have an inkling how much I LOVE a mountain man hero.

The rugged, self-reliant mountain man holds a special place in the hearts of readers who love historical romance. There’s something undeniably captivating about a man who thrives in the untamed wilderness, facing danger with quiet strength and a determination to survive.

In Saving the Mountain Man’s Legacy, the hero embodies many of these timeless traits that make mountain men irresistible. But what is it about them that draws us in? Let’s take a closer look.

  1. Strength That Goes Beyond Physical

Mountain men are known for their physical strength—hauling logs, scaling cliffs, and braving the harshest elements. But the true allure lies in their inner fortitude. These men endure isolation, danger, and nature’s unforgiving hand. Their resilience shows us that they’re not just physically capable but also emotionally steadfast. This unwavering strength is a cornerstone of the mountain man hero, making him someone we can admire—and trust.

In Saving the Mountain Man’s Legacy, the hero uses his strength not only to survive but to protect those he loves. His ability to endure hardship while still showing tenderness to the heroine is what makes him unforgettable.

  1. A Connection to Nature

Mountain men are deeply connected to the world around them. They understand the land, navigate it with ease, and respect its power. This connection gives them a sense of calm and confidence that’s incredibly appealing. Who wouldn’t want a man who can track a deer, build a fire from scratch, and find his way home under a starlit sky?

In my novel, nature is more than just a backdrop—it’s an integral part of the story. The hero’s ability to navigate the wilderness becomes a lifeline for both himself and the heroine, showcasing his resourcefulness and his bond with the natural world.

  1. A Quiet, Brooding Persona

There’s something irresistible about a man of few words. Mountain men aren’t known for boasting or unnecessary chatter—they let their actions speak louder than words. This quiet, brooding nature gives them an air of mystery that draws us in. We can’t help but wonder what secrets lie beneath their rugged exterior.

In Saving the Mountain Man’s Legacy, the hero’s stoic personality hides a well of emotion and vulnerability, which makes his eventual openness with the heroine even more rewarding.

  1. An Unexpected Tenderness

Despite their rough exteriors, mountain men often surprise us with their tender hearts. These are men who know how to care—whether it’s for an injured animal, a struggling companion, or the woman they love. Their tenderness feels earned, making it all the more precious when it’s revealed.

This duality—rugged strength paired with a gentle heart—is what makes the hero of Saving the Mountain Man’s Legacy so compelling. His care for the heroine and his willingness to protect her, even at great personal cost, show that beneath the gruffness lies a man capable of deep love.

  1. The Ability to Adapt

Life in the wilderness demands adaptability, and mountain men rise to the challenge. Whether it’s a sudden storm, a wild animal encounter, or an unexpected threat, they’re quick on their feet. This resourcefulness makes them dependable and, let’s face it, incredibly attractive.

In the novel, this adaptability plays a key role in the hero’s journey. His quick thinking and ability to face challenges head-on not only saves lives but also wins hearts.

Why We Love Them

Ultimately, the mountain man hero is irresistible because he represents the best of humanity: strength, independence, and a capacity for love that runs deep. He reminds us that even in the harshest conditions, beauty and connection can thrive.

And when he falls in love? He falls hard and forever. (Be still my swooning heart!)

If you’re drawn to a hero who can chop wood, tame a wild horse, and still melt your heart with a single look, then you’ll LOVE Sampson Coulter in Saving the Mountain Man’s Legacy.

To celebrate, I’m excited to give away a signed copy of the previous book in this series, Guarding the Mountain Man’s Secret! To be entered for the giveaway, I’d love to hear what you think makes a mountain man hero irresistible? Let me know in the comments!

Purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKYH43XB?tag=pettpist-20