sweet romance

THE 19TH CENTURY BRIDE: FROM THE MAILBOX TO THE CHURCH (AND A GIVEAWAY!)–by Nancy Fraser

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As a reader (and author) of sweet, historical western romance, nothing gets me more excited than seeing a new mail-order bride story. While I can’t begin to imagine what these women went through, I can certainly create a scenario that seems plausible to me.

When I wrote my first mail-order bride romance, I did a lot of research and found some of the most hilarious recounts of how and where men found their match. Of course, it wasn’t always done by mail. There were many different avenues to explore should you be in need of a wife. Or, for that matter, a husband.

 

The Standard Mail-Order Bride

The most familiar scenario was the “advertisement”. This was also the longest process given the time it took for a letter to cross great distances during the mid-1800s (the height of the phenomenon). Generally, a man would place an advertisement in a handful of larger newspapers throughout the East and Midwest. The ads varied from short and to the point, to longer explanations. I found a wonderful example of these ads during my research and used of few of them to create a meme insert in my book, A Christmas Baby for Beatrice.

The Bridal Service/Matchmaker

The use of a matching service took a lot of the unknown out of the process. Applications for both men looking for brides and women seeking to be a bride were (hopefully) scrutinized by the person running the matchmaking service. Matches were made and, depending on the applicant’s preference, contact was then done via letters until the couple became comfortable, OR they went on blind faith that the matchmaker knew what they were doing.

Matchmakers, especially during the time of the gold rushes and land grabs, would often set up meet-and-greet parties, where you could meet face-to-face before selecting a partner. For the most part, these were among the most successful of all the matching types.

Matches weren’t always perfect and, occasionally, the bride was ‘returned’ which usually involved paying for their travel expenses back to where they came from. Or, by receiving a refund from the matching service. My very first mail-order bride romance, Seth’s Secretive Bride, was a mismatch that turned into a beautiful love story.

 

The Arranged Marriage

Arranged marriages were the norm among the rich, most often for business purposes of mergers or financial bailouts. Given most young women would never defy their father or mother’s wishes, these marriages often ended up cold and heartless. Children were only conceived out of a sense of duty, and husbands often took mistresses. Personally, I’m not a fan of arranged marriage brides. I much prefer a strong heroine who refuses to accept her fate. I’ve written a few of those. All with happy endings, of course. My latest arranged marriage story, Adela’s Solemn Vow, ended in rejection by the would-be groom. Thank goodness my heroine was strong-willed because she took it in stride and made a new life for herself with a much better hero.

 

The Church Marriage

Probably the least known form of matchmaking was those that were facilitated by the church. It wasn’t widely practiced but did happen when a newly ordained minister was single. The church, preferring a stable homelife for the man in charge of their faith, would find a suitable wife for the minister to marry.

My grandfather, Peter M. Weaver (b. 1860), was first ordained as a Methodist minister in Tennessee in 1884. His church arranged a marriage to Nancy Ann Melson (b. 1864), a lovely twenty-year-old from a nearby community, and so began my lineage on my mother’s side of the family. They had two children right away, a son and a daughter, born in 1885 and 1887.

In addition to his small country charge, my grandfather also covered two other remote areas on his circuit (not unusual at the time). When he was home, he and my grandmother ran a small farm to help feed their family. However, in 1909, at the age of 45, my grandmother became with child for the third time. My aunt Lillie was born in September of that year. My mother followed two years later in September of 1911. By the time both my aunt and mother were born, the two older siblings had children of their own, making both babies aunts to children older than themselves.

Despite my personal family history, a church-arranged marriage is the one scenario I’ve not attempted to write. I’m not sure why, but likely because it hits home too closely.

 

I’d love to hear what you think of the mail-order bride scenarios. Is there something you’ve not read that you think would make a good premise?

I have four signed/print books to give away. So, please feel free to comment for your chance to win.

Wishing you all a happy, blessed day!

Nancy

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.

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.

Newsletter Sign Up: http://eepurl.com/bxkKvD

 

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–CAN YOU HELP WITH A REVIEW?–by Cheryl Pierson

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Hi everyone! I’ve talked a lot about A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE lately. It was released in October, but had a hard time from the moment it was released, as Amazon didn’t change the release date from the old version of the book. I am hoping you can help me by posting a review! Here’s what’s happening:

Several years ago, about ten or so, I wrote a book called “The Half-Breed’s Woman” about our hero, U.S. Deputy Marshal Jaxson McCall, who was the son of a white man and an Indian woman. Brought up in Indian Territory, he’s lived a very hard-knock life with his younger brother, Brendan, who is also a deputy marshal.

The heroine is a young debutante from Washington, D.C., Callie Buchanan, whose stepfather, Dunstan Treadwell, has nefarious plans for her now that she is eighteen. She is on the run (who wouldn’t be?) and Treadwell hires Jaxson to track Callie down and return her to him.

Jaxson takes the job, but things get complicated, and soon they are both in danger.

As the years passed, I thought of so many things I wanted to change in this book. Writers do that, many times,—and a “do-over” is not always possible. BUT, in my case, I was able to do just that, and what fun I had with this!

I’ve re-released this fabulous story under a new title and cover, A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE. It’s full of surprises and action, and one of the most poignant love stories ever. This is a revised version with new content. It is NOT A CHRISTIAN read, but has been modified to a sweeter format than the original.

Here’s where I need your help.

When Amazon re-released this story with the new content and title, they kept the OLD release date, from the old version of the book! It took many phone calls and e-mails but they finally corrected it nearly a month later–too late for me to be able to post it at many of the advertising sites as a “new release”. So, if you think this is a story you might enjoy reading and reviewing, I will send you an ARC copy of it FREE in exchange for a review! 

If you will e-mail me at fabkat_edit@yahoo.com, I will be glad to send a free copy of A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE winging its way to you, and eagerly await your review!

Writers depend on reviews since it helps with our exposure on Amazon. No pressure here, at all, but I could use the help if you think this is a story you might enjoy reading and reviewing!

It’s one of my favorite stories, and I have plans, still, to write sequels as to what happens to these characters—they are some of my very favorite creations. I hope you will feel the same.

Here’s the blurb—it tells the gist of the story much better than I can in the space I have:

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–A sensual western historical romance that draws you in and won’t let go. 

U.S. Deputy Marshal Jaxson McCall is hired by Dunstan Treadwell, a powerful government official, to track down his runaway stepdaughter, debutante Callie Buchanan. When Jax realizes he’s been double-crossed by Callie’s stepfather, he doubles down to protect Callie from an evil nemesis from his own past who has been hired to kill them both.

The stakes have changed: Treadwell doesn’t want Callie back—he wants her dead. And the man coming after them is a master at murder.

Jax catches up to Callie in Fort Smith, and none too soon, for Wolf Blocker, the man Treadwell has hired to murder his stepdaughter and Jax, is one step ahead of them—and he’s got assassination on his mind. Jax and Callie set out on the stagecoach for Texas, neither of them able to be honest about their circumstances. With Blocker on their trail and Apaches ahead of them, the future is uncertain.

One thing Jaxson knows: he cannot take Callie back to Washington to face an attempted murder charge. Matters are further complicated when Jax and Callie are forced into marriage by worried Cavalry Captain Alan Tolbert to avoid the trouble he believes Treadwell could cause.

Through all the pretense, the hardships, and the deadly danger, one thing becomes obvious. Callie and Jaxson were meant to be together for this new beginning, for this new forever love that neither of them had ever hoped to find. Will they live long enough to see it through?

Have you ever read a story or seen a movie that had characters so REAL that they stayed with you long after the book was finished, or the movie had ended? What characters have stayed in your heart and mind long after the story was over?

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  https://tinyurl.com/2k7xeddt

Guest Blogger Jo-Ann Roberts – Quilts and Christmas

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Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!

Earlier this year, the lovely Zina Abbott asked if I would be interested in being part of a historical MAPs that would feature quilts and Christmas. Gosh! As an avid quilter what could be better? Maybe a rugged cowboy? I answered with a very enthusiastic “Yes!”

While history books, almanacs, and memoirs chronicled the West as a man’s world full of adventure and clashes with nature and man, it should be noted women also played a vital role in the migration and taming of the frontier.

Prior to leaving for the journey, female friends in the East came together to stitch a quilt for the departing woman. These “quiltings” became farewell gatherings, united in purpose as well as in friendship. Thus the “friendship quilts”, squares inscribed with names, dates, and heartfelt sentiments became popular.

As preparations continued, the women gathered all the quilts, blankets and tied comforters they could make or acquire. While special quilts were packed in a trunk, or used to wrap fragile keepsakes, everyday quilts were left out for bedding or padding on the wagon seat. When the winds rose up and blew across the dusty plains, quilts were used to cover the cracks that let the dust inside the wagon.

Since most of the women walked alongside the wagon, little quilting was done on the trail. More often the women knitted or mended clothing during the short breaks or occasional layovers. Besides, the poor light of a campfire would not have been conducive to stitching blocks together.

Quilts often reflected the adventures the of the family. “Road to California”, “Crossing the Plains” and “Log Cabin” (my personal favorite!) often indicated memories of home and hearth, the trail looming up before them, or the movement of the wind across the plains.

As the journey continued, quilts were needed for far more serious purposes than simple comfort and dust control. They were hung on the exposed side of the wagons for protection against Indian attacks. Loss of life from sickness and injury was inevitable, and wood for building a coffin was scarce along the trail as well as time-consuming. Wrapping a beloved mother, child or husband in a quilt for burial gave the family comfort knowing that something symbolizing family love enfolded their dear one in that lonely grave along the trail.

Once a pioneer family reached their destination, quilts and blankets were needed to keep the elements out of their windows and doors of log cabins or dugouts. Quilts also gave emotional sustenance as well. Putting a favorite quilt on the bed gave a woman a sense of connection with her former way of life, and something of beauty in her desolate home.

A Swedish woman settled in Kansas in the early 1850s, and recalled an invitation to a sewing circle. Being new to the country and the territory, she took this as an offer of friendship. Pioneer quilting had become an opportunity to express creativity and cultivate friendships in the new land.

Here’s the buy link for Noelle:    Noelle – Christmas Quilt Brides

 

 

On to the fun stuff….

Today is release day for Noelle – Christmas Quilt Brides, Book 8. If you’d like to read an excerpt, PLEASE CLICK HERE

 ***** Giveaway *****

Jo-Ann will be giving away two ebook copies of Noelle. For a chance to win one, leave a comment about the type of crafting you enjoy most ( quilting, knitting, sewing, cake decorating, wreathing-making, etc.). If you’re not a crafter, what crafty skill to admire most in others?

Many thanks to the P&P authors for extending an invitation to their blog. I love sharing my love of the West and sweet historical romance!

 

Rachel Fordham Finds Treasures of the Past

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While researching a book, I came across several accounts of hidden money sewn into clothing, hat brims, or fake compartments in luggage. I didn’t end up using everything I’d discovered in my novel, but it did send my mind racing and ideas spinning. We are so used to electronic funds, checks, and secured shipping that we don’t often worry about traveling with the family’s heirloom jewels or your life savings, but times used to be different.

During the prime stagecoach and railroad days people often traveled with money or valuables. Robbers knew this, which is why we have so many accounts of stagecoach robberies and trains stopped by bandits and looted. Some passengers took to hiding money in their clothing, sewing it into the hem of their pants or skirt, or stitching it into lining of a jacket.

There have been other times in history when hiding money and valuables became the norm. During and after the Great Depression there was a general mistrust of the banking system. Our grandparents and great-grandparents (depending on your age) may have been some of those that weren’t quite ready to trust their hard-earned savings to an institution.

Rather than sew their money into their clothing (though, some of them might have), they could have buried it in the backyard, under floorboards, behind the mantle, in the piano, and even in the outhouse (gross).

There are fantastic stories of people buying old homes and finding “treasure” hidden in the floorboards or in the rafters of the attic. I can’t help but wonder how many homes have been torn down with their treasure never found, or items of clothing discarded that held a secret. The author in me wonders the circumstances that led to someone hiding away their money—were they saving so they could reach for a dream? Preparing for a rainy day? Hoping to give their children a better life?

When my husband and I moved to Buffalo, New York so he could attend dental school there, we bought a small, OLD home. I asked the neighbors about it and learned as much history as I could about the charming little place. It had once housed a large family. (Where they all slept, I will never know.) I tried to visualize them and often thought about those that had lived inside the walls of my beloved first house. At one point we decided to add more insulation. (Those Buffalo winters are brutal!) While working we discovered a small box tucked way back in the eaves.

I was not an author at the time, but I still had a vivid imagination and can still remember my heart beating a little faster when I reached for the box. It didn’t contain any gold, no rare coins, or fine jewels. But it did contain handmade Christmas ornaments from decades ago. As a lover of history and stories, I found my discovery fascinating. Holding those ornaments in my hand made it easier to picture the big loving family that I had only heard a few scattered details about. I confess, I still think it would be fun to prowl through an abandoned house and discover treasure, a journal, or any other fascinating piece of history. Wouldn’t it be so fun to sneak around a ghost town…sigh, someday!

Whether hidden to avoid bandits, or fear of a depression, or simply an accident, the pieces of the past we discover tell us a little about those that came before. I wonder what the next person to live in my beloved Buffalo house learned about me. We were students and had no money to hide, but there is a bird house my son made with his grandpa and nailed to the back fence, scratches in the floor from a baby walker, and probably a few missing socks behind the washing machine. (It’s been a decade, so maybe those are gone by now.)

And now after writing this and thinking about hidden treasure and stories, I am convinced that all writing retreats should take place in very old houses or near other prime locations for treasure hunting. Maybe we would all find a story worth telling!

 

Rachel Fordham is giving away a copy of her latest novel Where the Road Bends. To be entered in the random drawing, leave a comment for Rachel telling her if you’ve ever stumbled across a treasure or family heirloom.

A Home for the Holidays and a Give Away!

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Hi Everyone!

I’m excited to announce that I have a new sweet holiday release.

A Home for the Holidays is the story of a world-traveling engineer who has never had a place to call home, except for during the four years he spent in Holly, Idaho, living with his aunt while attending high school. Jason Regan has no time to celebrate holidays, and no reason to settle down…until a Holly, Idaho judge sentences him to 100 hours of community service at the local animal shelter for a decade-old unpaid parking ticket. Jason is, in effect, sentenced to Christmas. 

Tess Evans is a recovering lawyer who now runs Forever Home animal shelter. She is thrilled to have a new volunteer, even after discovering that it’s the guy she’d crushed on in high school; a guy who had no clue that she was alive until a blabby friend told the world. But Tess will do her best to put her embarrassment behind her to join forces with Jason to empty the shelter by Christmas.

 

 

AMAZON

This series introduces my new small town series Holly, Idaho, so I’m giving away a Holly Jolly Christmas mug to one lucky commentor. 

Here’s an excerpt from my story:

“Hold on!” Tess Evans hung up the phone as her dad attempted to open the door to Forever Home while balancing two cinnamon lattes and carrying his toolbox. Pete Evans had a proclivity for doing things on his own, be it raising three motherless daughters or opening a door with his hands full. He was usually successful, but in this case, he was about to lose a latte.

“Really, Dad?” Tess said as she rescued the top cup of steaming coffee just before it toppled.

“I almost made it.”

Tess took the other cup from him and set it on her desk. Pete set down the other, then jerked his head toward the door leading to the dog kennel area. “Will Lisa be done feeding before her coffee gets cold?”

“Judging from the decibel level, I think she’s almost done.” Morning feeding was always a loud and happy time as the food trolley rolled along the concrete aisle between rows of kennels. But once the dogs had their meals, barking stopped as eating commenced, and the sound level dropped accordingly.

“Why the big smile?” Pete asked as he set down his toolbox.

“I don’t need you today.” Tess was still feeling slightly dazed from the phone call she’d just received from justice court.

“You don’t need me?” Her dad sounded shocked, but Tess read the relief in his gaze. Despite having a very tight schedule on his latest project, he stopped by the shelter every Tuesday morning to spend an hour nailing things back together. The problem with retrofitting an old garage into a new animal shelter was that there were a lot of hidden issues that poked their heads up at the most inopportune times. She and Lisa had painted the place cheerful colors—yellow and aqua—and kept it sparkling clean, but they didn’t have the time or the skillset to deal with loose concrete bolts and flapping siding—the latest ills.

“I have a new warm body.” Which was nothing short of a miracle this time of year when everyone was so busy. There was just one teensy part of that good news that kept Tess from doing a full-on happy dance.

“Cat? Dog? Iguana? No, wait. You said warm body, not cold. Scratch the iguana.”

Tess smiled. “No, Dad. A human. One with building skills. Judge Nelson sentenced a guy to community service and decided that I needed the most help right now. I get him for one hundred hours.”

“One hundred hours?” Pete tipped his chin toward the ceiling as he did a quick mental calculation. “Twelve days? That seems like a healthy sentence.” His eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, did this guy do to earn that much community service?”

“Parking ticket. And it’s twelve and a half days.” Judge Nelson’s assistant had emphasized that the entire sentence was to be served, down to the last hour. No early outs due to holiday bon homie.

Her dad’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he park in the mayor’s reserved space?”

“The ticket is years old. I think Judge Nelson gave him ten hours for each year it wasn’t paid.”

Pete gave a short laugh. “That sounds like something the judge would do. Who is it?”

“Jason Regan.” The instant the name left her mouth, Tess felt her cheeks go warm, and gave herself a mental kick.

You are not the same geeky girl who crushed on the man long ago.

Law school had changed her, given her confidence, leadership abilities…migraines. But if she hadn’t gone, hadn’t buried herself in research and paperwork for eighty hours a week, she wouldn’t have known how happy she was not doing that, or that her true calling was managing the animal shelter her late grandmother had started five years ago to take the pressure off the regional shelter that Holly shared with the nearby town of Everly.

Her dad’s forehead creased. “Must be an out-of-towner.”

“No,” she said in a casual voice. Too casual? “He was a senior during my sophomore year. He left right after high school. Mae Regan is his aunt.” It seemed best to leave out the part about him being her unrequited crush and utterly oblivious to her existence, except for one small incident in the school cafeteria. Oblivious, that is, until gossipy Melissa Braddock had read the signs, guessed the truth, and ratted Tess out to the general school population.

“Just doing you a favor,” Melissa had said when Tess had confronted her in horror after word had gotten back to her. “How else will you get his attention?” The amazing thing was that Melissa really believed she had done Tess a favor.

But Tess would give Jason this—he never treated her differently. Meaning, of course, that he hadn’t given her so much as a side-eye. Her hope was that the news had never reached him, or if it had, he’d brushed it off as so much gossip.

“Jason Regan…” Her dad’s eyebrows drew together. “Oh, yeah. He was the kid with the mean three-pointer.”

“That’s the one.” Tess shooed away her embarrassed teenage self as she confronted her new reality. “He’s mine for one hundred hours, and I intend to get every bit of work out of him that I possibly can.”

Mr. Regan was going to be a terribly busy man, and she was close to betting money that he wasn’t as amazing as she remembered him. Backyards got smaller and all that stuff. She’d probably take one look at him and wonder what the big deal had been.

To enter to win the holiday mug, tell me the place where you most enjoy spending the holidays. Please note that I’ll be on the road tomorrow, but will answer comments when I get back home. I’ll announce the winner on Friday, October 30.

Cheers!

Jeannie

Welcome, Heather Blanton

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Today we’re happy to welcome Heather Banton! Today Heather will tell you about her book, A Good Man Comes Around, and she will give away three copies of her book to three winners. If you prefer, you can choose a book from her back list. Welcome, Heather!

In the Tragedy, Find the Blessings…

Greed is good.

Greed is good?

Hardly. But the 19th-century discoveries of gold and silver inarguably drew men by the thousands to the American West. Some prospectors were good. Some were bad. All played their part in settling America’s frontier.

As I researched gold rushes for a few previous books, I was struck by one man’s random, utterly stunning gold strike, and the way it impacted his life. His tale is the basis for my book, , the expanded version releasing today!

 

Oliver Martin was one of the few men in the goldfields who was there more out of directionless boredom than Gold Fever. Ostensibly, he was in the gold camps to strike it rich. The fact was, though, Oliver was a good-for-nothing slacker who didn’t even own a pan. Hard work didn’t pull his trigger. He meandered around boom towns like El Dorado and Yuba, panning, drinking, doing odd jobs, but mostly, drinking. Drifting, lost, he had no real plans for his life.

Then tragedy struck. And in nearly the same instant, Oliver was handed an incredible, amazing blessing. I mean, a jaw-dropping fork in his road.

 

After an accident, the young man had to bury his lifeless best friend in the wilds of the Sierra Mountains. Grief-stricken and with no conscious thought to location, he merely chose the first spot he saw. Along a bustling creek, he dropped to his knees and started clawing at the sand. He had not dug down two feet when he found a nugget of gold that weighed in at over eighty-five pounds.

Eighty. Five. Pounds.

In modern money, the rock had an approximate value of $650,000. Digging less than a foot in any direction and Oliver would have missed the nugget entirely.

I was fascinated by this turn of events in the man’s life. Wham! Suddenly he had a pot of gold sitting in his lap. He had gained something of great value yet lost something priceless, irreplaceable, in one fell swoop. I thought of Job—God blessing him, then Satan cursing him.

Receiving an overwhelming financial windfall is definitely a blessing or a curse. Depends on how you use it. We know most of these stories don’t end well. The goldfields were killing fields, rife with thievery, murder, and mayhem. And even when the prospectors managed to hang on to their money, they often spent it on riotous living before they could get out of the mountains.

Oliver found himself facing an unfamiliar choice: squander the unimaginable wealth or use it wisely, to become a better person, maybe make the world a better place.

What would he do? He had spent much of his life breaking promises, abusing friends, and running from God. Now it was time for him to examine his heart. He was still reeling from the painful loss of his friend. How could his future be so bright and yet so grim? Was it even in him to be a better man?

Meanwhile, God was working on someone else’s heart. Moved by Oliver’s tragedy, Abigail Holt, the mail-order bride Oliver had rejected, offered him friendship and forgiveness.

So, the question is, did Oliver go the way of so many lottery winners? Did he drink and gamble the money into oblivion? Loan it to moneygrubbing friends more lost than he? Or did he grow up and find the path God had for him? Did Abigail play any part in his choices?

I hope you’ll read releasing today and find out what drew me to this true Gold Rush story.

What about you? Have you or anyone you know been able to look past an enormous tragedy and find a blessing in it? Comment to win your paperback copy OR any paperback by me of your choosing! I’ll do THREE (3) winners!

Her Montana Cowboy by Jeannie Watt

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Hi Everyone!

My first Harlequin Heartwarming–HER MONTANA COWBOY–will be released on August 1st and I’m very excited. I’m also excited by the fact that the cowboy on my cover looks very much like Prince Harry!

HER MONTANA COWBOY is a city-girl country-guy story and was a lot of fun to write. Here’s an excerpt from a scene where Gus helps Lillie Jean get her car out of a mud hole in the long driveway leading to the ranch. It opens with them riding in the tractor:

Lillie Jean smelled like lilacs, a scent Gus knew well, due to the thick hedge near the ranch house that burst into blossom each spring, filling the air with perfume and sending old Sal’s allergies into high gear.

He hated that he noticed that Lillie Jean smelled good. Hated the way the delicate floral scent made him feel like leaning closer and taking a deeper breath. In fact, it was really annoying to find himself feeling that way, so he was very glad to finally arrive at the car.

Lillie Jean put her hand on the door handle before he’d rolled to a stop, and he automatically reached past her to keep her from opening the door. She shot him a startled look, which he met with a frown, once again doing his best to ignore the lilacs and the incredible color of her eyes.

“Never open the door until the tractor is out of gear.” He made a show of moving the gear lever. “Big tires,” he said in a clipped voice. “Very unforgiving.”

“Is it okay now?” Lillie Jean asked as she eyed the giant rear wheels.

“Yeah.” He put on the hand brake and set a hand on the back of her seat to maneuver himself out of the cab. Lillie Jean took the hint and climbed down the stairs and jumped to the ground, quickly moving out of range of those big tires. Gus followed her and then reached up to drag the chain off the floorboards under the seat.

The mud was deep and water soaked into his jeans as he crouched down to attach the chain to the frame of the big car. Once done, he motioned for Lillie Jean to get into the driver’s seat.

“What do I do?”

“You start the engine and steer. Do not step on the gas.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll annoy me if you ram that big car into the tractor.”

“Oh.” She moistened her lips—a mistake in the cool weather—and then said, “You don’t have much faith in my driving ability.”

All he did was point a finger at the car in the mud then turn and walk back to the tractor. “Just put it in neutral,” he said, “and let me do the rest.”

“Why even start it?”

“So that the steering wheel works.

From the way her jaw muscles tightened, Gus deduced that she was starting to hate him a little.

“I knew that.” She abruptly turned and headed toward the car, mincing her way across the lumpy half-frozen mud next to the door.

Gus climbed into the cab and, once Lillie Jean was situated behind the wheel, he gently eased the tractor back until the chain was taut. He continued inching backward until the car jerked, then moved forward. Lillie Jean kept the wheels straight until finally the car was free, and he swore he could see her biting her full bottom lip as she concentrated, even though they were separated by twenty feet and two windshields. Once he was certain Lillie Jean wasn’t going to throw the car in gear or anything unexpected, he moved the tractor forward so that the chain sagged.

“There are no more puddles between here and the ranch house, so you should be okay,” he said as he unhooked the chain. “You should be equally okay when you leave, which will be in short order, right?”

Lillie Jean propped a hand on her hip and stuck her chin out. “Enough, okay?”

He stowed the chain back in the cab of the tractor and then turned to her. “Enough what?”

“Enough passive-aggressive stuff. And enough insinuating that I’m not who I say I am, and that I’m here to try to take advantage of your uncle. I’m not.”

“I have no way of knowing that.”

“And you have nothing to do with this situation. It’s between me and Thaddeus.”

“Thaddeus is getting up there in years. I’m his nephew, his ranch manager.”

“Meaning?”

He gave her a small, not particularly friendly smile. “Meaning that, until Thad tells me otherwise, it’ll be you and Thaddeus and me.”

HER MONTANA COWBOY is available for pre-order right now and will be officially available on August 1st.

WEDDING AT ROCKING S RANCH and a GIVEAWAY

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Wedding at Rocking S Ranch Book Birthday

I am happy to announce a new release in the Oak Grove Series!

To celebrate, I am having a giveaway (see guidelines on this page) and will chose a name among those who comment.

 

Here’s the back cover blurb ~

Can a Widow in the Wild West …find wedded bliss again?

When Cassandra Stewart fulfills her husband’s dying wish by visiting the ranch he loved, she plans to sell it. But then she meets his best friend. As aloof, ruggedly handsome Wolf shows Cassandra the value of life in the prairies, tenderness begins to grow from their shared pain into something more… Maybe theres a future for her at the Rocking S Ranch after all…

The hero in this story captured my heart. I have a soft spot for the competent, yet brooding type and Wolf is all that. What characteristics say “hero” to you?

I also wanted to share a short book trailer…

And an excerpt from Chapter One ~

Alexandria, Virginia ~ 1879

 

Cassandra Stewart slipped her had through the crook in her father’s arm and leaned on him for support as she descended the grand staircase of her parent’s estate. At the bottom of the stairs, her mother stood beside their housemaid. “I don’t like this, Cassandra. Not one bit. Are you sure that you want to do this today?”

“No. I’m not sure, but I’ve put it off for far too long. It’s been ten months since Douglas has been gone.”

“You are still weak. Just the work of dressing has taxed your strength.”

She smoothed the wide silk belt at her waist. It matched the dress she had donned. How she hated the color black. “The attorney said it was necessary as soon as I was feeling well enough. Today is a good day. I feel stronger. Besides, Mr. Edelman went out of his way to travel all the way from the city to take care of things. It is time.”

Father patted her forearm—his way of showing support, both physically and emotionally. He was ready for, as he stated, “the entire disaster of her marriage” to be over and done with. He wanted his little girl back and for life to return to the way it once had been before she ever met Douglas Stewart Jr. Father simply wanted to protect her—his only child—and this was his way to do it. He had no idea that she could never go back to life as it once was. Not after all that had transpired. Douglas had changed everything in her life. So had the loss of their baby.

The house echoed with the whispers of her two great-aunts. While she’d been confined to her bed, they’d discussed her in the hallway just beyond her bedroom door. A wayward woman—tainted—they’d called her, speculating whether the death of her husband was a punishment from above because she’d blatantly gone against her parents’ wishes and the mores of decent society to marry so quickly. Most couples were engaged a year before the wedding ceremony.

Cassandra consoled herself with the knowledge that their own marriages had been long and lonely, as their husbands both sought to escape their daily harping and criticism. Her own marriage, although only a few short months, had been a wonder, and she would be forever grateful to have had that time with Douglas. Yet her great-aunts’ harsh judgment stung her conscience. She had never been good enough to suit them. A disappointment—that’s what she was.

As she walked slowly down the hallway, a chill coursed through her. She pulled her tatted shawl tighter around her shoulders with her free hand. Despite the heavy heat of the midsummer afternoon, she was still cold. The meeting shouldn’t take long. All she had to do was sign the official papers, and her late husband’s land would then be ready to sell. She might have sold it long before this, releasing the burden of a property she’d never seen, if not for Mr. Edelman’s insistence that he make sure that no will existed.

And then there had been her daughter. Cassandra had held out hope that the property would be a legacy to pass on, but her daughter had come early—much too early. Her chest tightened at the memory. She didn’t want to dwell on it yet couldn’t help herself. Hope had become despair. And a mad fury had overtaken her. Douglas had been reckless to participate in that boat race. He’d thought himself invincible in all things. The very quality that had drawn her to him had also been the death of him.

Well, today would be one more snip in the rope that tethered him to her. A rope that she both loved and hated at the same time. Her heart had ached for so very long—nearly a year now. Her hopes and dreams had all been dashed the moment the boat he’d crewed with his friends had collided with another.

As she entered the library, Mr. Edelman turned from the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the lawn and the Potomac River. He was a short, round man, with light gray hair and eyes to match. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stewart.”

At the sound of her married name, her father’s grip tightened on her hand. After all this time, it still bothered him.

“Thank you, Father.” She released his arm and sat down in the chair he held out for her on one side of the massive oak table.

“Mr. Edelman. Thank you for making the journey today. Please take a seat.”

Her mother and father took seats on each side of her at the long table as if to bolster her for what might be coming.

“Indeed, it is no imposition. It is always a treat to get away from the city for a short break in routine, especially in the oppressive heat of summer.” He cleared his throat and took a seat across from her. “I prepared the paperwork several months ago and simply set it aside, awaiting this moment when you would be ready. All that is needed is your signature in several places.”

He set his leather satchel on the table and withdrew a stack of papers. “Most of your late husband’s finances are tied up in the property. Since he left no will, as his wife, you inherit everything. Once the ranch sells, you should have enough money to choose where you want to live and live there quite comfortably.”

Mother gave her a quick side hug. “You will stay here. As you have since the…incident.”

It wasn’t an incident…it was a marriage. But the courtship and wedding had happened so fast, and then the marriage had been over just as fast. No one’s fault, the captain had written in his report of the boating accident. If not for the months of morning sickness that followed and the lingering ache in her belly, Cassandra might have wondered if the marriage had happened at all.

Mr. Edelman placed the first paper in front of her along with a pen.

Something he’d said gave her pause. “You must be exaggerating the extent of his holdings. Douglas said it was a very small farm. He only had a few cows. Certainly not sufficient enough to keep me for more than a year.”

She picked both papers up and started to read. Halfway down the page she realized she hadn’t understood anything and started over. The inked letters swam before her, the words meaningless.

Mother leaned toward her. “I’m sure Mr. Edelman has everything in order, dear. He’s very reputable, and your father has already looked over everything.”

Cassandra stared at the line where she was to put her signature. It was all so very final—putting her mark there. She should simply sign it and let it go. There was already a potential buyer in Denver waiting for word from her. But all that she could think of was the last time she’d seen Douglas. He’d been in so much pain toward the end, but he’d asked her to do one last thing for him.

Mother leaned toward her. “Sign the paper, dear. Mr. Edelman is waiting.”

Cassandra looked up and caught the worried glance her mother sent her father. Another chill slithered through her. Why did she feel so torn about this? Had she procrastinated, not because of her health, but because of the promise she had made to Doug? Was that the real reason she had put off this moment?

“Before I sign this, I have one question.”

“Yes?” Mr. Edelman said.

“Will I be able to stay on the property after these papers are signed?”

He looked momentarily surprised. “Well…no. Any further contact with the property would be handled by Mayor Melbourne in Oak Grove. He is the attorney there. He has agreed to handle the sale upon receipt of these papers. There would be no need for you to travel there yourself.”

“But…what if I choose to?”

Father shook his head. “We’ve been through all this. You are not strong enough to go.”

“But I will be. Not tomorrow, or even next week. But someday.”

Mr. Edelman leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his girth. “I didn’t realize that you had reservations about selling your land. Perhaps you should explain.”

Your land. How could it be hers if she’d never seen it? Never walked upon it? “You see…after his accident and just before he…he passed, my husband asked me to go to the farm. He wanted me to live there—to stay for an entire month. I’m sure he hoped I would come to love it and stay, but of course, that is not possible. I would not want to be there without him.”

“Your parents didn’t mention any of this when they retained my services.”

Of course, they hadn’t. Discussing it in front of Mr. Edelman was their ploy to make sure she felt even more pressure to bend to their wishes.

“It would be sensible if the property were nearby, but to travel all the way to Kansas…” her father interjected.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Edelman said. “Highly irregular for a young woman of means. Not a good idea to travel on your own. There are ruffians and scallywags out West.”

Cassandra nearly smiled at the exact same words her parents had used when trying to stop her from marrying Douglas. Surely the great Wild West held all sorts of people, not just the social miscreants mentioned time and again by her family and close friends.

“Douglas spoke of the place only a few times,” she said. “He looked forward to showing it to me, but then the boating accident happened.”

“It really is for the best, Cassie,” Mother said. “You belong here. Not halfway across the country stuck on a cow farm with a bunch of rough men.”

Her mother’s words left little uncertainty as to her true feelings. Cassandra glanced up at Mr. Edelman. No doubt he’d heard of her situation, bantered up and down the seaboard by gossipy society matrons. Mother’s inference did not help the slightly tarnished, although completely undeserved, reputation that she’d acquired by marrying Douglas so rapidly.

She suddenly realized that her fingers were clenched around the pen and her teeth were clamped together. Even her chest was tight. She had loved Douglas honorably. It wasn’t fair for others to judge her otherwise.

With that thought, something in the cold ashes of her core sparked. A wisp of the determination she’d once possessed began to glow inside her. Douglas’s memory didn’t deserve to be brushed aside and forgotten as if he’d never existed, as if he were an “unfortunate incident.” Their marriage had happened no matter how hard Mother and Father tried to sweep it under the rug…and push her to forget it.

She was angry that he’d left her alone and reeling from the consequences of his careless behavior, but she still loved him. Their short marriage had been wonderful. Maybe she should do as he asked. A promise, after all, was still a promise, even after death.

She set the pen down, her movement slow and deliberate. “I want to see the grave and make sure that my husband’s interment—” how she hated that word “—was handled appropriately. I believe I will make the journey after all.”

The silence that followed her announcement reverberated like the last gong of a bell.

“Well then,” Mr. Edelman said after a moment, glancing from her to her parents. He gathered the papers together in front of him. “If you are sure that is what you want, I’ll get these in the post to the attorney in Oak Grove. They’ll be waiting there for your signature after you have fulfilled your promise to your late husband.”

“Why can’t I carry them with me?”

He looked unsure. “It’s irregular.”

“It seems sensible to me. They are, after all, my papers.”

“Very well. When you arrive in town, simply leave them with Josiah Melbourne.” He started to close his satchel when he stopped. “Oh, yes. Here’s one more item.” He withdrew a small box and handed it to her.

The crude wooden box was the size of a small rectangle jewelry case and without any decoration. She turned it over. Her husband’s initials—DLS—were burned into the bottom. “Where did this come from?”

“Mayor Melbourne said it was found among your late husband’s papers.”

She frowned. “Why am I only seeing it now?”

“We thought it an oddity,” Mother said quickly. “It’s just an ugly box. Nothing of consequence.”

“But it was important enough to Douglas that he kept it with his legal papers.” Cassandra smoothed her fingertips over the letters. The box was an amateur attempt at woodworking. Was it Douglas’s first attempt? She knew so little of that part of his life. Now, she guessed it made scant difference.

“I took the liberty of opening it, thinking it might hold something of import regarding your late husband’s estate,” the attorney said, indicating she should go ahead and open the box. “As you will see that was not the case.”

She opened the lid.

A folded piece of paper lay on top of a few small assorted items—a lock of auburn hair tied with a bow, a bullet and a leather thong with a small turquoise stone. On the very bottom was a feather. Mementos, she supposed. She wished Doug were here to explain their meaning.

She opened the paper and found a note in her husband’s script, written with a steady, strong hand.

Wáse’ekhaar’a—
You will know what to do.
Wira’a

“This isn’t for me,” she murmured, confused. They certainly were strange names.

“We could put it in the post,” Mother suggested. “There is no reason for you to hand-carry it all the way to Kansas. You belong here.”

Cassandra closed her eyes. “Mother. Please. I will simply take it with me. Someone there will surely know what it is all about.” She turned to the attorney. “I’m sorry to have brought you all this way only to stop short at the last moment.”

“Quite all right.” He leaned toward her, his gray eyes kind. “Your mother and father do have your best interests at heart. You are obviously still recovering from your illness, and it is an arduous journey to travel so far.” He stuffed the papers and the box carefully back in the satchel. “If you change your mind and end up staying here, then send me word and we will talk again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Edelman.”

He stood, as did her parents. At the library door, he stopped. “Please consider, Mrs. Stewart. A promise made to a man on his deathbed isn’t legally binding. God would not hold you accountable for trying to ease the last few hours of your husband’s life. Good day.” He turned and headed down the hall, followed by her mother and father.

They would, as a matter of course, hold a whispered conversation out of her hearing, trying desperately to figure out a way to keep her here. Whatever plan they hatched would come to naught. She was getting stronger. She had to do what she thought was best.

“God might not hold me accountable,” she whispered into the empty room. “But I do.”

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

Wedding at Rocking S Ranch © by Harlequin Books & Kathryn Albright
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

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Wedding at the Graff by Jeannie Watt

by

Hello everyone! I hope you’re having a great Wednesday! I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you a little about my latest release. I usually write contemporary western romance. It’s kind of my thing. However, my most recent book is a sweet contemporary set in Marietta, Montana, and since this is my very first (official) sweet romance, I wanted to share it with you.

Originally the story, which is the last book of Tule Publishing’s Holidays at the Graff series, was supposed to take place on and around St. Patrick’s Day, which happens to be one of my favorite holidays. Previous books took place at Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s (waving at fellow filly Marin!) and Valentine’s Day. Since my book was the end of the series, a wedding was in order, so we decided to make my book Wedding at the Graff. (I still worked in St. Patrick’s Day. Yay!) The only problem was that my characters weren’t yet dating. Yikes! The only solution was to make them friends who’d always secretly been aware of the the other. But what’s going to keep them apart? A ‘stolen’ heirloom ring which the heroine has in her possession and which the hero needs to return to his boss, her former fiance.

Enter the Flanigan Stone.

Here’s the prologue:

Garrett Hawley dropped the glossy color photo on the Macassar ebony desk and leaned back in his chair. “Colleen won’t give it up. She’s convinced my great-grandfather stole the ring from her great-grandfather, even though she has no proof.”

Michael Donovan pulled the photo closer. He’d only seen the antique emerald and diamond ring a half-dozen times on Colleen Flanigan’s finger. Once she’d become engaged to Garrett, he’d removed himself from her life. It was the only way he could handle the situation. Tamp down the gut-wrenching sense of loss and move on.

“You know, the only reason I gave her that ring is because of Granddad. He suggested it.”

Michael raised his gaze. He had not been aware. The late Hugh Hawley Sr. had been both generous and business-savvy. He was the reason Michael had his education, and the reason he had a job at Hawley Enterprises. He was also the reason Michael was tied to the company for three more years.

“Yeah. When Dad found out, he came uncorked, but it was too late. Kind of hard to tell your new fiancée you want to trade out engagement rings—especially that ring.”

No doubt. The Flanigan Stone, as Colleen had called the emerald, was a Flanigan heirloom that the Hawleys had gotten possession of, either by purchasing or stealing, depending on who told the story. Colleen and Garrett’s marriage was supposed to put an end to the family feud…but things hadn’t worked out that way. If anything, their failed relationship had thrown gas on the fire.

Garrett’s jawline hardened. “Dad wants to have the emerald reset to give it to Serena as an engagement present.”

“Seems kind of a shame,” Michael said. He meant that in many senses. It was too bad that the pristine stone would be pried from its antique platinum-and-white-gold setting. Too bad that high-maintenance Barlow would be wearing it. But Serena had Hugh Hawley Jr. wrapped around her finger, and what Serena wanted, Serena would get. Which meant that Garrett would do what he could to retrieve the stone, which was why Michael was there for the late-night drink in the offices of Hawley Enterprises.

My life is going to be a nightmare until I get the ring back.”

“No way that Serena would be happy with another more expensive ring?”

Garrett leveled a speaking look at Michael.

“I’ll take that for a no.”

“What you have there is a $50,000 stone. Untreated. Colombian. Do you know how many untreated natural emeralds of that size there are in this world?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“Point one percent.” Garrett sounded as if he’d just had the statistic hammered into him, which he probably had, since he and his father had been closeted in Hugh Jr.’s office during the latter part of the day. Michael had assumed it had something to do with procuring new financing for their latest condo project, but apparently not.

Garrett smiled the wry half-smile Michael rarely saw anymore, looking for one fleeting moment like his old fraternity friend—a guy he’d respected and liked. The smile evaporated.

“Serena is all about having what other people don’t.” Garrett snorted. “Kind of like Dad.”

And kind of like Garrett, himself. The reason Garrett had swept Colleen off her feet was because she was jaw-droppingly beautiful and Garrett collected beautiful things. Showed them off. But in addition to being beautiful, Colleen was intelligent and hardworking, witty and fun.

The perfect woman in Michael’s mind. Or she had been. Times had changed. She’d changed. But the fact that she’d changed didn’t keep Michael from feeling a stab of alarm when Garrett said, “I’m going to have to unleash .” The head of legal for Hawley Enterprises. “I’ll have to pay for his hours myself.” Garrett reached for the crystal decanter and held it up. Michael shook his head and then Garrett poured another two fingers of Oban into his glass. “No way Dad is going to let the company pay for what he calls ‘my mistake.’”

Garrett grimaced as if mentally calculating the lawyer’s fee. Not that he couldn’t afford it. Michael understood his boss didn’t like to make mistakes, and if he did, he hated his father rubbing his face in them.

“Am I here so that you can unburden yourself?” Michael asked. He doubted that was the case given the way his relationship with Garrett had evolved.

“I want you to talk to her.”

“Excuse me?” Michael now wished he had scotch in his glass.

“She’ll probably listen to you more than she’ll listen to me.” Another of those rare half-smiles. “Our relationship is acrimonious.” Garrett put his forearms on his desk and leaned forward. “If you agree to go to Nowhere, Montana, and convince Colleen to give the ring back—convince her I’m serious about a charge of grand larceny—I will make it worth your while.”

Go to Montana and meet with Colleen? The thought shook him.

“How?”

“Let’s just say a big chunk of the down payment you just dropped on that condo will reappear in your bank account.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted, even though he made it a point not to show emotion during business dealings. “That could get into some serious money.” More than the ring was worth, but quite possibly less than the lawyer would charge.

“Totally worth it to get my dad off my back, see Serena happy and…you know.” He gave a small shrug before leaning back and finishing his second scotch, which Michael read to mean that he wouldn’t mind seeing Colleen squirm. She’d hurt his pride and given Hugh Hawley Jr. the ability to say ‘I told you so’ to his son.

“I’ll need a more exact number than ‘a big chunk,’” Michael said. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew that the amount they agreed upon wouldn’t matter. He’d fly to Montana because he was concerned about Colleen doing battle with the Hawleys. She could be stubborn and headstrong, and the emerald was an emotional thing for her. Colleen Flanigan was not above cutting off her nose to spite her face, as his gran would say.

He didn’t want to see her get herself into trouble, because despite his efforts to the contrary, he still wasn’t over her.

So that’s how the story begins. I also made a Pinterest Board showing the inspirations for the story. I hope you’ll check it out!

Cheers!

Jeannie

AMAZON     BARNES AND NOBLE     iBOOKS     KOBO

 

 

Road trip!

by

KathrynAlbrightBanner

I  just returned home to the Midwest from my folks place in San Diego.

Road trip
One of my sons’ came to visit me!

When my boys were young we would enjoy road trip s, picking out different routes so that we could see the country. We had some amazing trips but we always ended up in San Diego so that they could visit with my side of the family. On these drives, my mind would always wander and I would try to envision what it must have been like for the early pioneers, settlers and Native Americans. All of it became inspiration for the stories that I write.

Road trip Arkansas B&N
A young Arkansas fan in Barnes & Noble (Actually it is nice to have strategically placed relatives)

For many years now I’ve flown. It is just not the same as driving. There is something lost in not being able to roll down my window and smell the sage, or pines, or ocean and feel the wind on my face. When my husband agreed to make the drive this year I was thrilled. I flew out to have a long visit and then he drove out later to spend Christmas with me. My sons also came for a shorter visit. Then together we drove back to the Midwest. It took some planning. We had to dodge El Nino effects and so we stayed SOUTH! Oklahoma roads were completely shut down with ice, Denver was a blizzard, a tornado tore through Texas. and the Mississippi River was flooding all over the place at the time we planned to cross. Never a dull moment. I was glad to get home safely.

How did the pioneers handle this!

 

I cannot imagine what it must have been like for women in the 1800s. Mail-order brides and those who traveled to a new destination looking for free land to farm or ranch often would never see their loved ones again. They must have experienced terrible bouts of homesickness. It’s no wonder that church and social gatherings played such an important place in their lives. And traveling, they couldn’t check for bad weather on their phone and adjust their route to avoid it the way I could on this trip. I’m so glad I live today and not in the 1800s!

 

Road Trip
A bit strange to see this site getting closer in front of me! We were both going the same direction–EAST!

How do you like to travel and where would you choose to go in the
continental United States given the opportunity? 

Familiar Stranger in Clear SpringsComment for a chance to win a print copy of my newest release!
(See P&P sweepstake rules here.)


Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs

 

I am holding a contest on my website for the month of January to celebrate my current release.

You can check it out here.