Win A Copy of MARRYING THE MAJOR!

I got my author copies last week and can’t wait to start giving them away.  Just leave a comment and I’ll toss your name in the Stetson. Late tonight I’ll draw three names . . . Most of you know that Marrying the Major is Book #4 in the “Women of Swan’s Nest” series.  It’s about Caroline and Bessie, so it’s a two-for-one romance.  Here’s the back cover blurb:

 A Very Practical Proposal . . .

He hired a governess, but what retired officer Tristan Willoughby Smith needs is a wife. Not on his behalf, but to protect little Dora and Freddie. When Caroline Bradley arrives at his Wyoming ranch, she seems perfectly suited–capable, efficient, intelligent . . . if a trifle too appealing.

Caroline knows what a real union of hearts should be, and the major’s polite, no-nonsense offer hardly qualifies. Still, she accepts for the children’s sake, little knowing the complications the marriage will bring to test her confidence and her faith. Yet in this unusual match, Caroline starts to see a glimmer of something strong and true–the makings of the family she never thought she’d find . . .

Here’s an excerpt . . .

This is from the middle of Chapter Two, and it’s one of my favorite scenes. Tristan is ferrying Caroline across a river on the back of Cairo, his prize Arabian stallion. Caroline is terrified of horses. To reassure her, he’s just bragged that Cairo would never disobey him. But that’s exactly Cairo does. He balks in the middle of the river, and Caroline takes a fall…

The water went over Caroline’s head with whoosh. She couldn’t see or breathe. She could only feel the sudden cold and the current grabbing at her skirt. The stallion was bucking and stomping. If she didn’t get out of the river, she’d be pulled downstream or trampled. She tried to stand but stumbled because of the weight of her clothing.

“Get back!” the Major shouted.

He had his hands full with the unruly horse. She didn’t know why it had bucked, but the medical case was slapping against its side. She had a horrible vision of it coming loose. Major Smith would lose the quinine, and she’d lose her only picture of Charles. Bracing against the sandy bottom, she pushed to her feet. She wanted to run for the shore, but if the case tore lose she’d go after it.

Cairo reared back and whinnied. She half expected Major Smith to land in the river with her, but he moved gracefully with the horse, aligning his body with the stallion’s neck and back. Behind her she heard Jon sloshing toward them on Grandma. Being caught between two horses terrified her more than drowning, so she hoisted her skirts and ran downriver.

She stumbled a dozen steps, tripped on her hem and went down. Rocks pressed into her knees and she cried out. She kept her head above water, but her skirt was tangled around her legs. Seemingly out of nowhere, male hands gripped her arms and lifted her from the current.

“Caroline.” She heard the major’s voice, the accent thick as he set her on her feet. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

She felt the strength of his arms and the sureness of his stance. As he steadied her, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and became aware of his body shielding her from the current. She had no business noticing him in a personal way. She was merely an employee, a woman who was afraid of horses and had fallen in the river.

She pulled back from his grasp and staggered away. “I’m all right.”

He splashed closer, reaching for her. “Let me walk you to the shore.”

“No!” She didn’t want to feel his arm around her waist. “Go take care of your horse.”

“Jon has Cairo.”

She looked past him to the shore where Jon and Grandma were leading Cairo up the sandy bank. The black horse had calmed, but he still looked on edge . . . much like the major. He stepped closer to her, his hand extended as if he were giving her a peppermint. “Come now,” he said with authority. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Oh yes, there is!” She was afraid of him, afraid of her feelings because she couldn’t help but like this man. With malaria symptoms, he had no business jumping into the river to help her. He should have taken his horse to shore and let Jon come to her rescue. Instead he’d risked getting a chill. Even more revealing was the compassion in his eyes. He looked both sincere and commanding, a man of courage who understood fear. She could imagine soldiers following him into battle, trusting him to lead them to victory.

She trusted him, too. But she didn’t trust her feelings. How many times had she felt this spark of interest in a man only to have it dashed?


Don’t forget to leave a comment to be eligible for the drawing!  To order now  from Amazon, click here:  Marrying the Major

Not Your Typical Prairie Heroine by Lacy J. Williams

Thank you for having me as a guest on the P&P blog. I’m so excited to be here! I’ll be giving away a copy of my novel MARRYING MISS MARSHAL to one of the P&P blog readers, so stay tuned for that.

From the moment I met my heroine, town marshal Danna Carpenter, I knew she was different from the typical gal you meet in most western romances. For one thing, she wears a badge, totes a gun, and can outshoot most of her male acquaintances.

She wears trousers, and a Stetson instead of a bonnet. She’s tough, resilient, independent… But there’s one way she’s just like me.

She can’t cook.

Now, I’m much better than I used to be nine years ago when I first got married. My poor husband suffered through burnt cookies, un-baked potatoes, undercooked casseroles, chunky gravy, and more.

Between a family recipe book, some lessons from my husband’s lovely grandmother, and a lot of practice, I’m happy to say I am much improved. I still don’t cook as much as I should (too busy!).

But back to Danna.

When she realizes she’s falling for the hero, Chas O’Grady, all the things she sees as her faults (like not being able to cook) suddenly matter a whole lot more. She wonders if he wishes she was more like a “regular” lady—someone who wears dresses and can cook. She’s not sure if she could really make him happy by being who she is. On the other hand, being town marshal is all she knows how to do, AND she’s good at it. If she changes who she really is, could she still be happy?

Hmm. Maybe she’s more like me than I originally thought. When Luke and I first got married, I tried to be the “perfect” wife based on everything I *thought* he wanted. And while there is some give-and-take necessary to make a marriage work, transforming myself into a different person than the one he fell in love with in the first place wasn’t the answer. Being someone I wasn’t couldn’t make either of us happy. It took several months for me to realize that Luke wanted me to be myself. And of course, I wanted to learn to cook for myself so we wouldn’t starve! Nowadays, I might not cook as much as I should, but I spend time doing things that make me happy (like writing books!).

I don’t want to spoil the ending of the book, so you’ll have to read it to find out if Danna came to the same conclusion I did and whether Chas was able to accept her as herself, badge and all.

What about you? Is there any time that you’ve tried to be something you weren’t? What did you learn from the experience?

Leave a comment and a winner will be chosen at the end of the day for someone to receive a copy of MARRYING MISS MARSHAL. In the meantime, you can read the first chapter or enter in my big giveaway at www.marryingmissmarshal.com .

A little more about our guest . . .

Lacy Williams is a wife and mom from Oklahoma. Her debut novel won ACFW’s Genesis award before being published. She promises readers happily-ever-afters guaranteed.

Lacy combines her love of dogs with her passion for literacy by volunteering with her therapy dog Mr. Bingley in a local Kids Reading to Dogs program.

Lacy loves to hear from readers at lacyjwilliams@gmail.com. She posts short stories and giveaways at her website www.lacywilliams.net  and can be found on social media at www.facebook.com/lacywilliamsbooks and www.twitter.com/lacy_williams .

 

The Greatest Western Song of All Time

The title for this blog is a bit of hyperbole, but I think it’s true.  El Paso by Marty Robbins has been my favorite song for years.  It came up at P&P a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. For those who haven’t heard it, I’m included a YouTube video from the 1970s. I recommend ignoring the white jumpsuits. It’s hard to believe we ever thought they were a good idea.   

Here’s El Paso.

 

And now for some trivia . . .

The song was written by Marty Robbins in almost less time than it takes to sing the 4-1/2 minute long version.  He said in an interview that it came to him almost like a movie and he just wrote it down.

The song is unusual in that there’s no chorus and no repeated lyrics.

El Paso was released in September 1959 and went to No. 1.  In 1961, it won the Grammy for Best Country and Western Recording.

The Grateful Dead did a cover of  El Paso.

El Paso appeared on Gunfighter Ballads & Trail Songs.  Today on Amazon, there are 107 review that break down like this: 5 Stars — 100.  4 Stars — 6.  3 Stars — 1. The solo 3-Star reviewer didn’t like the  change in the order of the songs on the digitally remastered CD.

The City of El Paso named a park after Marty Robbins.

The song on the flipside of the old 45 was Running Gun.

The Glaser Brothers supplied the harmony, and Grady Martin played the Tex Mex style guitar that gives the song so much character.

Marty Robbins’ real name was Shane Dawson. He was born September 26, 1925.  He passed away December 8, 1982 from a heart ailment. He had a twin sister.

And now here are the lyrics that first made me love western romance . . . 

El Paso by Marty Robbins

Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night-time would find me in Rosa’s cantina;
Music would play and Felina would whirl.Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina,
Wicked and evil while casting a spell.
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden;
I was in love but in vain, I could tell.

One night a wild young cowboy came in,
Wild as the West Texas wind.
Dashing and daring,
A drink he was sharing
With wicked Felina,
The girl that I loved.

So in anger I

Challenged his right for the love of this maiden.
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore.
My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat;
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.

Just for a moment I stood there in silence,
Shocked by the FOUL EVIL deed I had done.
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there;
I had but one chance and that was to run.

Out through the back door of Rosa’s I ran,
Out where the horses were tied.
I caught a good one.
It looked like it could run.
Up on its back
And away I did ride,

Just as fast as I

Could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.

Back in El Paso my life would be worthless.
Everything’s gone in life; nothing is left.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death.

I saddled up and away I did go,
Riding alone in the dark.
Maybe tomorrow
A bullet may find me.
Tonight nothing’s worse than this
Pain in my heart.

And at last here I

Am on the hill overlooking El Paso;
I can see Rosa’s cantina below.
My love is strong and it pushes me onward.
Down off the hill to Felina I go.

Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys;
Off to my left ride a dozen or more.
Shouting and shooting I can’t let them catch me.
I have to make it to Rosa’s back door.

Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side.
Though I am trying
To stay in the saddle,
I’m getting weary,
Unable to ride.

But my love for

Felina is strong and I rise where I’ve fallen,
Though I am weary I can’t stop to rest.
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle.
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest.

From out of nowhere Felina has found me,
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side.
Cradled by two loving arms that I’ll die for,
One little kiss and Felina, good-bye.  

?

Let’s Talk About Book Covers

 What kind of book covers to do you like? What makes you pick up one book but leave another on the shelf?  Do you like couples on the covers? How about children and animals?  And then there are cowboys and outlaws and warriors . . . oh my! I can spend hours looking at books, sizing up the covers and reading the blurbs.

I’m thinking about this topic because the cover for Marrying the Major is up at  www.christianbook.com. This is my October 2011 Love Inspired Historical, and my thirteenth book. You’d think I’d be used to the “cover” moment, but it’s always exciting.  It goes like this:  I’ll see the email from the Harlequin Art Department, tingle with anticipation and download an attachment that’s going to give readers the first impression of the book.

My first reactions are all over the road. Sometimes I love the cover and I think, “Yes! That’s my hero!” Or “The heroine’s perfect!” Other times it’s like looking at an alien creature with extra arms and legs.  Not good or bad, necessarily. Just not what I was expecting.  

I’ve had some great covers, including the one for my first book. In 2003, it won the RWA Artemis Award for best cover in the historical category.  Of Men and Angels is still one of my favorites.  It even impressed my  teenage sons.  I’m sure they were expecting a romance cliché or a clinch, but instead I got a leg.  A thigh to be precise.

At RWA in Orlando I asked an editor from a Christian publishing house how they felt about bad boys and hero-driven stories.  I’d noticed the majority of their covers featured the heroine. She laughed and said they love strong heroes, but they put the heroine on the cover because it sells books. “The bigger the dress, the higher the sales,” she said with a smile. Cover styles change and I’ve noticed more variety, but there are a lot of pretty dresses on covers for inspirational romance.  

I tend to write hero driven stories, so I’ve gotten a lot of men on the covers.  My favorite hero cover is Abbie’s Outlaw. I also got a hero cover for The Maverick Preacher.  The cover for Midnight Marriage  has a fun history.  The guy on the cover won a Mr. Romance contest sponsored by Harlequin in 2005. In real life, he was a charter boat captain in Alaska. 

Then we get to the bad covers . . . I’ve never had anything truly awful. I’ve been very fortunate, but I do have some pet peeves.  Kids on covers? It usually doesn’t work for me, though the cover for Wyoming Lawman charmed readers. I’ve heard that kids on covers have a lot of appeal. I’m not a fan of old style clinch covers, though they served a purpose.  When the romance genre arrived on the scene, a clinch cover made it very clear that the book was a love story.

I like animals on covers. That might be why The Outlaw’s Return is a personal favorite. 

So what about you?  What do you like? Dislike? And do you have any favorites?  The “Texan” anthologies by my fellow Fillies Linda Broday and Phyliss Miranda are awesome!

Wedding Memories

My youngest son is getting married on Saturday!  I couldn’t be happier for Dave and Whitney, my new daughter-in-law. It’s our second wedding in eight months. My oldest son and his wife tied the knot in October. In honor of both brides, I thought I’d talk about family wedding memories.

My husband and I had a whirlwind courtship back in 1980.  We’d been acquaintances in high school and later became friends. He rode up to my house on a big red motorcycle one evening, suggested a movie and off we went to see the first Star Trek movie.  Four months later we got married in a very small ceremony in my parents’ living room. I wasn’t the girl who always dreamed of a big wedding.  In fact, Mike and I planned to elope until my dad said, “I think your mother would like to see you get married.” 

Well, my mom said, “You’re getting married here? I thought you were eloping?” She liked the idea of eloping  just fine. It was my dad who wanted to see the big moment and he did.  Short and sweet. Family. A wedding breakfast, where I found out my husband of 45 minutes didn’t like quiche.  Thirty-one years later, we’re going strong and he hasn’t had quiche since.

My parents’ wedding in 1954 was much more traditional My mom wore a beautiful white dress with a sweetheart neckline, lots of lace and a veil. Her bridesmaids wore shades of aqua, ballerina length dresses and cute little hats. The best picture, I think, is “the kiss.”  No wonder my folks were together for 42 years!  A lot of love was there from the beginning. So was faith and a willingness to talk, talk, talk things through.

My mom’s wedding dress got worn again in 1993. When my brother and future sister-in-law got engaged, she had trouble finding just the right dress.  My mom’s gown fit her perfectly. Not only did she wear the dress, she and John got married on my parent’s 39th wedding anniversary. My oldest son was the ring bearer. He looked great in a tux! He looked even better on his own wedding day,which leads us to . . .

The most recent wedding is my oldest son and his wife.  Awesome day!  They got married at Woodlawn Plantation in Alexandria, Virginia.  String quartet. Delicious food. Lovely flowers. Gorgeous pictures. Best of all, family got to celebrate with them.

So those are my wedding memories. What are yours?  Of maybe you have a favorite wedding scene in a book?  I’d love to hear about them.

I’ll be in and out today . . . The wedding ramp-up is starting.  Can’t wait for Saturday!  P.S.  Sorry not to have family pictures . . . I don’t have the older ones on the computer, and the newer ones are on the old computer which isn’t here today.  They were on this computer until I had a virus a few months ago.  They’re safe, just not easily accessible.

Cheryl St.John: June Release and Drawing!

Who doesn’t love it when a town or a family is revisited in a sequel? It’s like seeing old friends again or coming home for a stay. It’s always fun to set up a character in a previous book, and then give them their own story. Readers who enjoyed The Preacher’s Wife and asked about a sequel will be happy to know Elisabeth Hart’s story has finally been told in Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter.

Elisabeth’s family moved west to Colorado from back east, and along the way her mother was drowned. Elisabeth had issues getting used to the idea that her father snapped himself up a new wife in Nebraska before they ever reached their destination. But before the end of that story, Josie and Elisabeth came to an understanding , and are close friends when this book begins.

Elisabeth wants a man just like her father. Someone wise and upstanding, a man who lives by God’s Word and is an example to the community. She has high ideals and lofty expectations.

Enter Gabe Taggart, bounty hunter. Now Elisabeth doesn’t know he’s a bounty hunter when she meets him. He’s keeping that under his cowboy hat. But she does know he’s dangerous, because he’s lying shot in their family home after a gunfight—a gunfight she instigated—but she won’t admit to that. Her father is perturbed with her and insists it’s her job to take care of the man, since she got him shot up in the first place, so like the obedient daughter she is, she’s waiting on the irritating man hand and foot. Her charity and good will are soon spread pretty thin however.

Gabe only cares about keeping his secret and creating a home for the sister he placed in a boarding school. She has graduated and wants to come set up house with her big brother. Irene arrives sooner than expected, and she sure isn’t the quiet, studious little girl he remembers. She’s a full-blown suffragette, with contacts in important circles. Between his outrageous sister and his feisty caregiver, his future is not living up to his peaceful expectations. Worse yet—the two become fast friends. What’s a man to do?

This story is filled with gunfire, kisses, and a few good laughs. But it’s also a poignant look into healing for the grieving process and an example of how God responds to faith. I hope you will find a copy and let me know what you think.

I’m giving away autographed  copies to TWO PEOPLE who click through to my trailer on YouTube, LIKE it and leave a comment here to tell me they did so. The traffic should generate interest for the book.

CLICK HERE FOR TRAILER ON YOUTUBE

Thank you for visiting today!


———————————————————————————————————
READ CHAPTER ONE
Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter
by Cheryl St.John
Colorado June, 1876

“Toss your guns down now!” a male voice shouted. “Hands in the air.”

Elisabeth Hart couldn’t see past the layers of netting on a woman’s hat in front of her, but sounds of alarm rippled through the passengers who sat in the forward rows. The interior of the railcar was sweltering beneath the midday sun, and she blotted her eyes and forehead with her lace-trimmed handkerchief. What should have been a routine stop along the tracks to take on water had become life-threatening.

Thuds sounded as firearms hit the aisle. A man in a battered hat and wearing a faded bandanna over the lower half of his face came into view. Eyes darting from person to person, he snatched up the guns.

Another masked bandit appeared in the wake of the first. Sweat drenched the front of his dusty shirt. “Turn over all your cash and jewelry. Ladies’ bags, too, and none of you gets shot.”

Two more thieves held open gunnysacks and gathered the looted items.

Fear prickled at Elisabeth, but a maelstrom of rebellious anger made her tremble. How dreadful of these men to point guns and make demands. Every fiber of her being objected to their lack of concern for the safety of the passengers and the downright thievery.

She turned to the tall, quiet man who’d been sitting beside her on the aisle side of the bench seat since they’d left Morning Creek, noting the way his hat brim shaded piercing green eyes. He watched the gunman with intense concentration, but made no move to stop what was happening. “Aren’t you going to do something?” she whispered.

The man cast her a glare that would have scorched a lesser woman. One eyebrow rose and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“They’re going to rob us,” she insisted. “You still have your gun. I saw it inside your jacket when you leaned to lower the window earlier.”

He focused on the man wielding the revolver, but spoke to her. “Can you count, lady? Just give ’em what they want so nobody gets hurt.”

“But—”

Pausing beside them, the masked robber pointed his gun directly at her seat partner’s chest. The man gave Elisabeth a pointed glare and calmly raised his hands in the air before looking up.

“Right in here,” the robber said.

The seated man handed him a coin purse and tossed several silver dollars and his pocket watch into the bag.

The barrel of the gun swung to Elisabeth. “Lady?”

Elisabeth’s temper and sensibilities flared, but fear kept her silent. Her heart beat so frantically, she thought her chest might burst. She wanted to refuse, but didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Begrudgingly, she forfeited her black velvet chatelaine pocket with the silver handle and removed the gold bracelet she’d received for her last birthday, dropping both into the burlap sack.

The robber pointed at her neck. “You got a chain under there.”

She clapped her hand protectively over the plain gold ring that rested on a chain beneath her damp and wrinkled cotton shirtwaist. “This was my mother’s!”

“Just give it to him,” the green-eyed stranger cajoled in his maddeningly calm manner.

“Now just wait,” Elisabeth argued with a glare. “You don’t understand. This was my mother’s wedding ring.”

The stranger gave her a quelling look that singed her eyelashes. Passengers called out their displeasure and shouted for her to give up her jewelry same as they had.

The ring was all she had of her mother. Since she’d drowned, Elisabeth had worn it every day…and tried to fill the woman’s shoes. The wedding band symbolized Elisabeth’s childhood and her sacrifices. Parting with it would break her heart…but she didn’t want to be the cause of anyone getting shot. What would her father have to say in this situation?

She closed her eyes. Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. Her true treasures were in heaven. The ring wasn’t as important as the lives at stake.

The robber leaned down close as if he meant to take the ring from her neck. She raised her hand to her throat to prevent him from touching her. She could do this on her own. He grabbed Elisabeth’s collar and yanked so hard that she jerked forward and the top button popped off.

In that same second, a grim click sounded. The bandit paused dead still.

Elisabeth stared into his shining dark eyes, and the moment stretched into infinity. She could hear her blood pulsing through her veins, her breath panting from between her dry lips. Was this the day she was going to die and meet her Maker?

“Take your hands off the lady, or you’re dead.” From beside her, the stranger’s low-timbered voice was calm, but laced with lethal intent. The hair on Elisabeth’s neck stood up.

No one else was privy to the robber’s predicament. The green-eyed man’s gun was still concealed between the two men, the business end jammed up against the robber’s belly. Elisabeth dared a glance and saw the stranger’s other hand clamped over the man’s wrist, keeping that revolver pointed toward the floor and protectively away from her.

What could only have been seconds, but seemed like an hour, passed with their ragged breaths loud and the tick of a pocket watch encroaching on her consciousness.

“We ain’t got all day, Hank!” one of the other thieves shouted.

The robber leaning over her attempted to move, and pandemonium broke loose. A shot rang out and Elisabeth’s rescuer grunted in pain. The robber tugged at Elisabeth’s collar, and the man beside her fired his gun.

The stench of gunpowder stung her nose. Men shouted. Women screamed. Elisabeth watched the events unfold in a haze of fear and disbelief.

The man who’d threatened Elisabeth crumpled, slumping sideways over the back of a seat. A horrifying crimson blotch spread across his shirtfront. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.

The stranger leaped from his seat with his arm outstretched. “Get down!” he bellowed. A rapid succession of shots nearly deafened her. She cupped her hands over her ears, belatedly realizing he’d been ordering her to get down. Praying for safety for the other passengers, she folded herself onto the floor and knelt with her heart pounding. The shock of seeing that man shot and bleeding stole her breath.

Minutes passed with her thoughts in chaos. Would she see her family again? If the stranger protecting her had been shot, maybe other people were being killed or injured, and all because she’d delayed. She’d been going to give him the ring.

An eerie silence followed in the wake of the previous pandemonium, and it took a few minutes to comprehend what that could mean.

The sound of hesitant footsteps and voices told her the battle was over. She opened eyes she hadn’t realized were squeezed shut, unfolded her body and peered over the seat in front of her.

One of the male passengers had picked up the gunny-sacks and now doled possessions back to their owners. In numb silence, she accepted her monogrammed velvet pocket and gold bracelet from his outstretched hand while her mind struggled to comprehend what was going on around her. A conductor and several other railroad men stepped over prone bodies on the floor. The sight made her stomach lurch. Elisabeth could only stare in numb disbelief.

One of the uniformed men made his way to the stranger who was seated on a bench with his back against the side of the railcar, his hand pressed to his ribs. “Find something for bandages!”

Spurred out of her frozen state of shock, Elisabeth straightened and stepped into the aisle. She raised her hem and, holding it in her teeth, tore a wide strip from her petticoat. “Here.”

Others provided handkerchiefs and scarves, and the conductor handed over the wad of material for the fellow to press against the wound. “Sit tight,” he said. “We’ll get you to the doctor in Jackson Springs quick as we can.”

Several men dragged the robbers’ bodies to the back of the car, the dead men’s boot heels painting shiny streaks of blood on the wooden floor. Her stomach roiled and she thought she might be sick.

“Are you all right?”

She swung her gaze to those green eyes, now dark with pain. “Y-yes, I’m fine.”

Had he killed all of those men? He made a halfhearted attempt to sit a little straighter, but grimaced and stayed where he was.

He’d probably saved her life. Without a doubt he’d saved her from losing her precious ring. She perched on the edge of the seat beside his leg, and reached to replace his hand with hers, pressing the cloth against his cream-colored shirt, where it was soaked with blood that flowed from his side. “I’m Elisabeth Hart.”

“Gabe Taggart,” he replied.

“That was a very brave thing you did.”

His expression slid into a scowl. “Didn’t have much choice after the stupid thing you did.”

Taken aback, she was at a loss for words. Before that horrible man had reached for her, she’d been prepared to hand over the ring. Now she felt foolish for ever hesitating.

Steam hissed and the train jerked into motion, picking up speed along the tracks. The stranger winced at the jerking movement. The woman who’d been sitting behind them made her way along the aisle in the rocking car. “Thank you for rescuing us,” she said to Gabe.

Casting a disapproving scowl at Elisabeth, she returned to her seat. Elisabeth glanced at a few of the other occupants of the railcar and noted an assortment of scathing looks directed toward her. None of them understood the value she placed on the ring or the reason for her delay. She hadn’t meant to endanger anyone.

Silently, she prayed for his life, asking God to forgive her for putting him at risk because of her selfish attachment to an earthly treasure. Out of habit, she reached into the jacket pocket of her traveling suit and rubbed a smooth flat stone between her fingers. The keepsake was one of several she’d picked up during her family’s perilous journey to Colorado. The stones reminded her of the sacrifice and dedication that had brought them to a new state and a new life.

The train rocked and turned a bend. Several other passengers expressed their thanks to Gabe as the train neared its destination. When at last they reached Jackson Springs, the tale spread to the baggage men and the families waiting on the platform. Several men carefully loaded Gabe Taggart into the bed of a wagon and drove him away.

Grateful this particular chapter of her life was over and that Taggart would be getting medical attention now, Elisabeth released a pent-up breath and joined the others disembarking.

“Thank the Lord, you’re safe.”

Elisabeth turned with relief and embraced her stepmother, their bodies separated by the girth of Josie’s growing belly beneath her pretty green day dress.

“What happened to that man?” her six-year-old half brother Phillip asked. He had shiny black hair like their father’s and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“He prevented robbers from stealing our things,” Elisabeth answered, trying to keep panic and guilt from her voice.

“Lis-bet, Lis-bet!” Peter and John, the three-year-old twins, jumped up and down waiting for her to greet them.

She picked up Peter first, kissing his cheek and ruffling his curly reddish hair. After setting him down, she reached for John. He kissed her cheek, leaving a suspiciously peppermint stickiness on her skin.

Josie turned and motioned forward a slender dark-haired young woman that Elisabeth had assumed was waiting for another passenger. “This is Kalli Tyler. She’s my new helper. Your father thought I needed someone full-time, and I didn’t argue. She’s a godsend, truly. You two are going to get along well.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” Kalli said with a friendly dimpled smile. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She kept her voice steady, but her in-sides quivered in the aftermath of that drama. She collected herself to study the other young woman.

As her father’s assistant, the notary public and a tutor, Elisabeth did have her hands full. It was wise of Father and Josie to hire additional help. At seventeen and sixteen, her sisters, Abigail and Anna, were busy with school, studies and social activities, and their bustling household did need extra assistance to keep things running smoothly.

“I brought a wagon and Gilbert,” Josie told her. “You had bags, and I’m not up to the walk.”

“Of course,” Elisabeth answered. “Phillip, help me find my bags, please.”

She turned toward the pile where luggage was being stacked just as two men carried one of the robbers from the train on a stretcher. He’d been shot in the chest and his vest was drenched with dark glistening blood. The man was quite plainly dead.


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If you’re blog hopping today, I’m at Seekerville http://seekerville.blogspot.com/ and

I’m the Spotlight Author at Love Western Romances this month! http://www.lovewesternromances.com/

Who Introduced You To The Joys of Reading?

 I’ll never forget a particular trip to the library. My mom heard about the summer reading program and off we went.  It was quite the adventure!  The Granada Hills Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library had just opened, and it was right next to Petit Park, another brand new facility. I walked out of the building (which at the time seemed huge) with my own library card and a stack of books that included Carolina’s Courage by Elizabeth Yates.

Carolina’s Courage is about a young girl who leaves her New Hampshire home to travel west with her family.  They’re part of a wagon train, and Carolina’s most beloved possession is her china doll. Somewhere in the story she reluctantly trades it with a little Indian girl, and it’s that trade that leads to peace and safe passage for the entire wagon train.

Carolina’s Courage was the first “western” I ever read.  I’m so glad my mom took me to the library that summer. At summer’s end I’d read 25 books, each noted in my little-girl block printing and acknowledged with a stick-on gold star. That first summer reading program led to many others, and I will be forever grateful to the librarians who made it such fun. I discovered Laura Ingalls Wilder at the library.  Same with Jack London . . . Later I moved on to Willa Cather’s My Antonia and O Pioneers.

Both of my grandmothers also encouraged my love of books.  I was about ten years old when Nana Bylin bought me my first Black Stallion book.  I read it fast, and then I read it again.  Every week for the next few months, she had a new book waiting for me.  When we finished the Black Stallion series, we launched into Nancy Drew. That was good for a year of reading! 

My other grandmother played a different role in my love for books. She was a writer at heart.  She never ventured into fiction, but she wrote wonderful letters. She lived about 400 miles away when I was in middle school, and we wrote weekly.  I wish now she’d written her memories in a journal. I don’t have the details, but she and her family traveled to New Braunfels, Texas in a covered wagon. 

The other individuals who encouraged me to read were elementary school teachers.  My fifth grade teacher put Caddie Woodlawn  into my hands and I loved it.  Every week when we went to the school library, I found something new and intriguing. For a while, I was hooked on biographies. I discovered Sacajawea  on the biography shelf and read it many times.

Has this blog jogged your memory?  What books do you remember reading as a child?  Do you remember the very first chapter book you ever read?  Books have always been magical to me. They still are!

Where Do You Like to Read?

It’s a beautiful spring day, and I’m giving serious thought to taking the Kindle outside and sitting in the sun. When I was growing up in Granada Hills, California, a Los Angeles suburb, I’d often read in the backyard. The house had a big sandstone patio, and a fruitless Mulberry tree offered a canopy of shade. Add in a bottle of Orange Crush and a folding chaise lounge and you’ve got the picture. Being outside added to the sense of adventure of whatever I was reading. I still enjoy it.

I’ve got other favorite places to read . . . Here are my Top 5.

Place No. 1 — Airplanes. I love reading on planes! When we lived in the Washington DC area, I’d make twice-a-year trips to see my mom in Los Angeles. A nonstop flight would give me about six uninterrupted hours. The trick is to pick a book that’s just the right length. You don’t want to land with just 15 pages to go. That happened to me once. I was at the most exciting part just as the wheels touched down at LAX. Series romances are a good length for flights, especially Love Inspired Historicals.

Place No. 2 — Hotel Rooms. I don’t do a lot of traveling, but the times I have, I’ve been glad to have books with me. When my husband and I go on vacation, picking which books to take is a big part of the planning. We were in Laughlin, Nevada for a weekend when I read Swan’s Chance by Celeste DeBlasis. I read until five in the morning. Just couldn’t put it down! For travel, I like long books that will last awhile. James Michener’s sagas definitely do the trick.

Place No. 3 — The Beach. There’s something wonderful about reading with your toes in the sand. Add the rumble of waves and can of Diet Coke and I’m set for hours. For a “beach read,” I like something fast-paced with lots of drama.

Place No. 4 — By A Swimming Pool. This one has pros and cons. Community swimming pools can be noisy and crowded, and if we have small kids in tow, they need our full attention. It’s hard to read with all the splashing and noise. On the other hand, if I’m by myself and it’s quiet, I enjoy the ambience.

Place No. 5 — Home Sweet Home. Reading at night in the den is just wonderful. In the winter, the fireplace is ablaze. In the summer, the windows are open and the crickets are chirping. The coziest place in the house is my LaZ Girl recliner. That’s not a real trade name. It’s a LaZ Boy, but my husband calls it my LaZ Girl. It fits!  

So those are my favorite places. Anyone else? Where do you like to read?

Cheryl St.John: Behind the Scenes

Some of my favorite shows are the programs on how movies are made. Movie Magic is one, and there’s another on Bravo. And there are all those HBO specials. Those looks into the development of a movie always leave a big impression on me.

Sometimes after learning how over budget a production is, or the how the blue screen effects were done, I go see the movie just to find out how the finished product came out. Even if I don’t have the slightest interest in a movie in the first place, after I watch one of those programs, I have to see how all the special effects and the computer imaging and fake rain and snow and all that stuff came together into 90 minutes of near-perfect cinematography and sound and lighting. The process absolutely intrigues me.

Did you know that in Gone With the Wind, during the scene where Scarlet walks among the wounded soldiers on the battlefield, if one slows the film enough and knows where to look, Judy Garland, dressed as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, can be scene peeking around the backdrop? They were filming side by side on the same sound lot.

I’m an Avatar geek, and the CGI technology is one of the most amazing things I’ve seen done in film—that anyone has seen done to date. I had to force myself not to buy the second release with extra footage, because I already owned the first version. When there are no behind the scenes extras on a DVD I’ve purchased, I feel cheated.

Even seeing a movie first and then watching the how-to program fascinates me, but I’d rather know the behind the scenes first, for some reason. Then I can sit and pick out all the places where I know they did a particularly wonderful job—or had an especially difficult time.

When we’ve finished watching a new movie, my husband cringes, because he knows I’m going to go into the menu and watch the behind the scenes trailers and clips. I’ve learned a lot by seeing how scenes are created and changed and how actors get into the roles of their characters.

I think one reason why that intrigues me so, is because everything that looks so polished and perfect in the finished product, was actually grueling, laborious, often times FRUSTRATING work behind the scenes.

I remember for example, in the making of Jurassic Park, every time that huge tyrannosaurus—the one that broke through the fence and came after the kids in the car—every time it got wet in the rain scenes, the mechanical parts stopped working. The crew would have to stop, dry it down, wait, and start over. Hours and hours and hours, and in some cases DAYS of painstaking work just getting a few perfect shots.

It’s not so unlike what we writers do. Other writers and all the readers see us with our good clothes on, our hair fixed, attending meetings and conferences, and book signings, with stacks of the glossy finished product in front of us. But how many hours of unglamorous work went into the finished product? I hate to even think how much I’ve made an hour on some of my projects, because when I think about it too hard, the more difficult it is, the more time it takes. And the more time it takes, the less I’m making per hour.

And I must tell you: I don’t get up in the morning and slip into my pink ostrich-feather trimmed negligee or dictate to my personal secretary. Some days (and nights) I do my best writing in my jammies! Now there’s a picture for ya, eh?

Finished books can represent years. They also often represent other projects that fell by the wayside in between. Not every book that a writer proposes sells. I know a lot of authors who claim they sell about one out of every three stories they come up with.

A book takes anywhere from a few months to several months to complete. Some writers take a year or more. And those words don’t flow out of our brains in perfect order. Great scenes don’t just happen without plotting and planning and playing with dialogue. I usually write a story from beginning to end. I’m a very linear writer. But sometimes I have to go back and add things I belatedly realize are needed. Many authors write in layers, with dialogue first and then go back to add body language and setting. Others write scenes out of order and then connect them like a puzzle. It always amazes me how the process differs with each person—and with each book. I don’t write every book the same way. And then there’s the middle muddle, and all kinds of things that can get a writer off track.

I’ve never asked other writers about this, but most often my books leave an impression on me—an imprint of what was happening in my life at the time it was written, be it good or bad. I remember which book I was writing when something significant happened in my life. While we’re bringing characters to life, we’re simultaneously living life.

I think I can imagine what it’s like when the director, producer and crew of a movie watch their finished product for the first time. They remember how that scene came off beautifully after the boom was repaired or how amazing it is that a shot was edited to remove a dog that shouldn’t have been there. And then I imagine they look at the film with fresh eyes and marvel at how all the parts and players came together in a satisfying and rewarding piece of work.

That’s how a book feels, too. Satisfying and rewarding, even though I know all the things that happened behind the scenes. It’s still a delight to see a new book cover for the first time. When my author copies arrive, I open the box and touch them, open them, read the first few pages. Spotting my release among all the others at Wal-Mart or the grocery store never gets boring. And I consider myself one of the most fortunate people in the world to be doing what I love and getting paid for it. Seriously, how many people can work in their jammies?

There’s something amazing about recognition from your peers, as well, and that is what RWA’s RITA contest is all about. It’s judged by other writers just like myself, who love books and understand the process of writing one. I’ve been honored (for the fourth time) with a RITA nomination—this time for a novella,  MONTANA ROSE in the TO BE A MOTHER anthology from Love Inspired Historicals. Being a finalist is a big deal, accompanied by flowers, champagne and congratulations from friends, agents, editors and fellow writers. I am clearing a spot for that bad boy statue above my desk! Root for me in July.

Do any of you enjoy seeing behind the scenes as much as I do?