#NewRelease from J. Arlene Culiner: A ROOM IN BLAKE'S FOLLY

J. Arlene Culiner visits today with a look at A ROOM IN BLAKE'S FOLLY, her new release from The Wild Rose Press. This historical western romance has an intriguing blurb that hints at a story that travels from the old west to the present. Thanks for being here, Jill!

I love writing about people who are different. Some are forced to adapt to new circumstances in order to survive, others are originals, folks who have never really fit into mainstream society. But no one is humdrum, and all have dreams. 

So what do an embittered mail-order bride, an adventurer, a brothel madam, a silver baron/artist, a war refugee, a pacifist, a playboy veterinarian, and a woman who protects spiders all have in common? They get another chance to find love. And what better setting for romance than a semi-ghost town in Nevada? 

A Room in Blake’s Folly begins in 1889 with the romance between Sookie Lacey, former prostitute now saloon dance girl, and Westley Cranston, adventurer. But love rarely follows a straight path. Times change, life goes on, new relationships form. By 2022, Blake’s Folly, once notorious for its saloons, brothels, speakeasies, and divorce ranches, has become a semi-ghost town of abandoned shacks and weedy dirt roads. But the old stories are still very present, and they have the power to influence the 53 remaining inhabitants.

A Room in Blake’s Folly

If only the walls could speak…

In one hundred and fifty years, Blake's Folly, a silver boomtown notorious for its brothels, scarlet ladies, silver barons, speakeasies, and divorce ranches, has become a semi-ghost town. Although the old Mizpah Saloon is still in business, its upper floor is sheathed in dust. But in a room at a long corridor's end, an adventurer, a beautiful dance girl, and a rejected wife were once caught in a love triangle, and their secret has touched three generations.

Excerpt:

“You a widow?” 

“No.” She could hear the tightness in her voice and feel the tension in her shoulders. 

His eyes glinted. “A runaway wife.” 

“Not that either.” Did she have to say more? She didn’t. But since people were bound to be asking that same question over and over, she might as well get used to it, even though the answer was only partially true. Even though it could never express what her life had been like up until now. “I left of my own accord, but with my husband’s full agreement. He’ll be looking into getting a divorce.”

“And your children?” 

Ah, there it was. The big question, the one thing everyone would be curious about. “No children. I’ve never had any.” 

He said nothing. Had he heard the note of anger in her voice? She’d done her best to sound neutral, but neutrality wasn’t an easy note to hit. How vividly she remembered the first time she’d caught sight of her future husband, Sam Graham, waiting with a little knot of men by a shanty train station in the middle of nowhere. He and the others had been eager to grab a sight of their brides-to-be, women lured west by the promise of marriage, land, and a home. How had the other women fared? Had they been as discouraged as she at the sight of the vast lonely wasteland, the emptiness, the bleached-out colors, and the coarse men who would be their lifetime partners? Men honed by the elements, a hard life. And rough alcohol. 

Westley Cranston stood, walked in her direction—no, walk wasn’t the word she could use. He sauntered, a slow, elegant saunter. A man sure of himself, of his power to seduce. Yes, that was why she’d felt so wary yesterday. He stopped when he was standing beside her. Smiled. No, there was nothing seductive in his smile. She’d been wrong. What had she been imagining? That she was still the young attractive woman she’d been years ago? What a fool she was. 

He touched the top of the piano with a gesture that was almost a caress. “Don’t worry. You’ll do well. The boys you’ll be playing with are good musicians, nice guys, too. They play at all the dances in town, and they’ll teach you the sort of pieces folks out here are used to hearing.”

“Thank you.” 

His eyebrows rose. “For what?” 

“For being so kind.” 

“Kind?” He guffawed. “It’s not kindness. I’m fighting for survival. High time we got a good piano player in this place. Bob, before he let that stray bullet hit him, knew how to slap at the keys, all right, but he didn’t know the first thing about keeping time. I’ll bet pretty well all the customers were happy to see him taken out of the running.” Grinning, he moved away in that casual easy way of his, headed toward the front door. Then stopped, looked back, his eyes twinkling. “But they couldn’t do that, not legally, anyway. One of the rules here in town forbids shooting pistols in a barroom.” 

She grinned back at him. “Sounds like a pretty good rule to me. And what are the other rules, if you don’t mind me asking. If there are any others, that is…” 

“Sure there are. Need plenty of rules in boomtowns, especially after payday. The other ones are, you can’t insult a woman, you can’t ride a pony or horse on the wooden sidewalks, and you can’t ride them inside this establishment or any other business in town.” He was chuckling again when he turned the lock, stepped out into the street, and disappeared. 

Hattie remained seated at the piano. Her anguish had totally vanished. Amazing, how he had put her at ease. He hadn’t judged her, hadn’t looked at her with disgust when she’d told him some of her story, hadn’t condemned her for feeling unsure about her piano playing. She wondered why she’d felt so mistrustful. He had behaved like a perfect gentleman—and a friend. 

Then another thought struck her. What had he been doing here in the Mizpah so early in the morning? Had he slept here? Obviously he had. Hadn’t he just let himself out? And that meant he had probably spent the night with one of the ladies upstairs. That he was a client. 

Disappointment washed over her. She couldn’t condemn him—men had needs, desires. Why was she so saddened by the thought?

Review of A Room in Blake’s Folly:

Rich detail and scintillating dialogue transport the reader through the decades between 1889 and 2022 of this surprising saga. With flowing descriptive phrases (“… the walls had a yellowish hue that only time could bring,”) Culiner effectively intertwines the characters and descendants of Blake’s Folly. And although overhunting and pollution mean environmental change, the charm of this old world community remains intact. Cheers for this book!

Lisa McCombs for Readers’ Favorite

Purchase Links:

https://books2read.com/BlakesFollyRomance

Trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wt3VkYUTVNk

Author Bio:

Writer, storyteller, photographer, and social critical artist, J. Arlene Culiner, was born in New York and raised in Toronto. She has crossed much of Europe on foot, has lived in a Hungarian mud house, a Bavarian castle, a Turkish cave dwelling, on a Dutch canal, and in a haunted house on the English moors. She now resides in a 400-year-old former inn in a French village of no interest and, much to local dismay, protects all creatures, especially spiders and snakes. She particularly enjoys incorporating into short stories, mysteries, narrative non-fiction, and romances, her experiences in out-of-the-way communities, and her conversations with strange characters.

Social Media Links:

Author Website: http://www.j-arleneculiner.com

Blog: http://j-arleneculiner.over-blog.com

Storytelling Podcast: https://soundcloud.com/j-arlene-culiner

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/j-arlene-culiner

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JArleneCuliner/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jarlene.culiner/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7158064.J_Arlene_Culiner

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/jarleneculiner

Amazon Author Page : https://www.amazon.com/author/jarleneculiner-quirky-romances

Clothes & Characters in the Old West: #NewRelease from Julie Howard

Julie Howard's newest book, THE THREE WIDOWS OF WYLDER, released yesterday, October 18, 2021. Today she's here to talk about what her old west characters are wearing in the book. Thanks for being here, Julie!

Thank you, Jana, for having me on your blog. My latest release, The Three Widows of Wylder, came out this week – a historical fiction about three women with terrible secrets.

The story is set in 1882 and the three main characters are very different in backgrounds and personalities. One way to illustrate their differences is through their attire and even their attitudes toward clothing. At the time, of course, women wore long dresses. Bustles were in style, corsets required, and most people wore hats when in company. Straw hats were in fashion and women decorated their hats with ribbons, feathers and fabrics.

Clara, who lives in Missouri at the start of the novel, is a simple, practical woman. She has five dresses and in her mind, that’s plenty:

She had always considered herself wealthy enough with five dresses— three simple calicos for everyday use, a modest charcoal for church, and an old navy, threadbare at the hem and cuffs, for cleaning the stove or other grimy chores. 

When Clara meets Mary Rose, she encounters a vain, spoiled woman whose identity is caught up in her attire:

Mary Rose fussed among her belongings. Dresses laid out, either to air or loosen wrinkles. Lavender, yellow, crimson, emerald—a constellation of hues overlapping like a spring bouquet. 

Then, of course, there is the very different Emma, an expert horsewoman and crack shot:

Thin face swallowed by cheekbones, wide gray eyes and a hard-set mouth that no longer recalled how to smile. Stained brown pants held up by a braided leather belt, and a blue long- sleeved shirt tucked in tight. A battered cowboy hat, found near a graveyard two months ago, covered her hair. Her pistol holstered on one hip. 

Simply through their clothing, a picture of their personalities is drawn. These women would have nothing in common in normal times, but there is nothing normal about their lives as the story begins. They must cling together for survival and an uneasy friendship ensues.

Here is more about The Three Widows of Wylder:

Blurb:

Three women on the run.

After the death of her husband, Clara flees a hanging judge and seeks refuge with her brother in Wylder, Wyoming.

With secrets of her own and good reasons to flee, spoiled and vain Mary Rose joins Clara on the trek to Wyoming. Surely a suitable man exists somewhere.

Emma is a mystery. A crack shot and expert horsewoman, her harrowing past seeps out in a steady drip. She’s on the run from something, but what?

After the three women descend on Wylder, a budding romance leads to exposure of their pasts. As disaster looms, will any of them escape?

Excerpt:

Emma stood, legs apart, one hand on the pistol at her hip. The covered wagon was the type used years ago by pioneers, before trains tamed the prairie, and they still lumbered across areas where tracks hadn’t been laid. Two women sat side-by-side, too focused on their argument to yet notice the camp they entered. Their one horse, overmatched by the heavy wagon, was damp with sweat, its mouth flecked with froth. 

“We should have stayed on the main road.” The peevish one appeared much younger, curly gold hair topped by a large straw hat. She wore a light-yellow dress with lace at her wrists and throat, a perfectly inadequate outfit for travel. “Someone could have provided directions.”

The older woman had finely-drawn features, a few strands of gray threaded through her dark, uncovered hair. Dressed in sensible blue calico, she gripped the reins too tight and the poor horse gave a pathetic shake of its head. “The whole point was to avoid people,” she sniped.

Emma strode forward and seized the reins. “For God’s sake, you’re killing him.”

The two women gaped as though at an apparition. The horse, released from harsh hands, lowered its head and halted. Its sides heaved as flies drank at its sweaty flanks.

“Whomever let you two fools handle a horse should be whipped.” Tempted to dispatch the women to hell for their cruelty, Emma rested her hand on the pistol’s handle.

The two travelers spoke in tandem. “Who are you?” and “How dare you call me a fool.”

As Emma crooned into in the horse’s ear, her expert fingers undid the buckles at its shoulders and haunches. By the time the older of the two women climbed to the ground, the horse was unhitched and Emma led it to the creek.

“That’s our horse,” cried the one in yellow. “Clara, what is that insane girl doing? She’s stealing him.”

Emma halted, shoulders stiff. She turned and pointed the pistol at the one with lace at her throat. “I’m no horse thief.” She cocked the hammer. “Apologize.”

About the author:

Julie Howard is the author of the Wild Crime mystery series and Spirited Quest paranormal mystery series. She is a former journalist and editor who has covered topics ranging from crime to cowboy poetry. She is a member of the Idaho Writers Guild and editor of the Potato Soup Journal. Learn more at juliemhoward.com.

Website: http://juliemhoward.com

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/juliemhowardauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18116047.Julie_Howard 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Julie-Howard/e/B07D6CS4NQ/

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/julie-howard?list=author_books

Twitter: https://twitter.com/_JulieMHoward

Follow her on Instagram: @authorjuliehoward 

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Three-Widows-Wylder-West-ebook/ 

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-three-widows-of-wylder/id1585169665

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-three-widows-of-wylder-julie-howard/

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-three-widows-of-wylder-the-wylder-west-by-julie-howard

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58903448-the-three-widows-of-wylder

DANCE TO A WYLDER BEAT by Marilyn Barr

Marilyn Barr joins me today to talk about 5 Things she learned about the old west while researching her upcoming historical western romance DANCE TO A WYLDER BEAT. Marilyn is holding a Cover Reveal for her book tomorrow (April 24/2021) on Facebook along with the other authors from The Wylder West series. Make sure you stop by!

Before I could Dance to a Wylder Beat, I had to learn a few trades to survive on the Sagebrush homestead in Wylder Wyoming Territory. In 1878, life was hard work. Brothers Nartan and Ikshu (pronounced ick-SHOO) Sagebrush are leather tanners who built a homestead on the outside of town when they were separated from their Arapaho band in 1874. By 1878, when Dance to a Wylder Beat begins, they have built a somewhat successful business, homestead, and sheep flock. Here are my five favorite fun facts I learned while visiting the Sagebrush brothers in 1878, Wylder Wyoming Territory. (Images in my graphic come from The Arapaho by Raymond Bial and The Arapaho by Loretta Fowler)

1.       Leather Tanning – Arapaho people were the experts in tanning, leather smith skills, and beading. I was fascinated with the art, fashion, and ceremonial leather goods I found in my research. Their beautiful crafts were the impetus behind giving the Sagebrush brothers the occupation of leather tanning. However, I had no idea how they tanned leather without the modern chemicals developed in the industrial revolution. Luckily for me, the local historical society had a non-mechanized leather tanning class where I learned I would have made a horrible leather tanner. The smell of the urine-soaking vats and conditioners made from cow brains was enough to send me running. The Sagebrush homestead had to be outside of town because the stench would have been a public menace. Removing the hair and strings of fat was done by hand while the skins were stretched on frames in the sun to dry. This was backbreaking work which I could barely perform once let alone every day because I don’t possess the physique of a romance hero…ah-hem….

2.       Travois – While most settlers would travel with a horse and buggy, Arapaho people traveled in a travois. The nomadic people would create a sling from their leather teepee panels draped on one end of their teepee poles. The other end of the long poles would be crossed over the neck of a horse and stretch behind the animal. This efficient engineering allowed for them to carry all their belongings on a few animals. Nartan and Ikshu are not migratory but wouldn’t see the benefits of building or buying a buggy with knowledge of this technology.

3.       Teepees and Cabins – Arapaho people lived in Teepees because they could be easily moved as the herd of buffalo (and other game) moved with the seasons. Nartan and Ikshu had a teepee when they first moved to Wylder in 1874, but Nartan builds a cabin in 1878 when he decides he wants to marry. Ikshu stays in the teepee which has one room serving all living purposes. A platform with skins piled on it had dual purposes as both his bed and couch. Not that Ikshu would have time to be a couch potato. Rotating skins through their maze of soaking vats, stretching frames, and smoking houses would take all day. Not to mention the work maintaining their sheep flock, garden, and meat smokers to have food.

4.       Pemmican – When I thought of the Old West, I thought of the rich American staples such as stew, meatloaf, fried chicken, and biscuits – all smothered with gravy. However, these meals would be reserved for special occasions or after-church brunches of the rich. My struggling leather tanners would only dream of such heavy meals. They maintain a garden, can hunt on their land, and butcher the sheep, but how did they maintain fresh food without refrigeration? The answer is a Native American staple called pemmican. Most of the settlers would be eating plain dried meats, but pemmican is meat pounded with spices, nuts, and berries before drying. It was still tough to eat but at least it had flavor. The Sagebrush boys would be able to make a month’s worth of pemmican in a day and store it without the risk of food poisoning.   

5.       Sanitation Papers – I wanted Nartan to prepare something for his intended bride to show her from the first day that he was committed to making her happy. In 1871, sanitation papers were invented which we now call toilet paper. Sanitation papers were sheets of thick paper which could be purchased plain or coated with aloe and essential oils. Nartan buys lavender scented ones to stock the outhouse he digs for his bride. What was everyone else using? Corn cobs, brushes, or old newspapers often hung inside outhouses for multiple uses. Nartan not only keeps Olive fresh with the papers, but he also gives her a bucket of latrine lime with dried lavender to act as “flushing” after she does her business. Nothing says, “I want to care for you” like a fresh bottom. What a luxury!

Travel with me and the other authors of The Wylder West series tomorrow, 4/24/2021, as we party like it’s 1878 in our Facebook group – here. The Sagebrush brothers and I will be revealing their book cover as we “Dance to a Wylder Beat”. Discover all the cowboys, ruffians, saloon girls, homesteaders, and handsome leather tanners who reside in Wylder, Wyoming Territory. I hope to see you there!

Blurb, DANCE TO A WYLDER BEAT:

Nartan Sagebrush's name may mean "to dance" in Arapaho, but he dances in secret. Forced to abandon his Shamanic apprenticeship, he is overwhelmed with homesteader life, and even his spirit guides are at their wit's end. Nartan takes fate into his own hands. Instead of divine intervention, a wife will help with his responsibilities and in assimilating into the Wylder community. 

Olive Muegge answer's Nartan's "wife wanted" advertisement.  Wildly independent she has secretly dreamed of a family to call her own. The secret she carries inside makes her an outcast and her wild ways don't fit the quiet wife Nartan thinks he desires.

Despite their differences, they are drawn to each other but a mistake may drive them apart.  Will Nartan embrace his Shamanic past to save them both or will he choose to rid himself of Olive forever? 

Excerpt:

When I turn back, the men are wrestling in a cloud of dust. Dead Eyes’ friends hoot like owls while a small crowd gathers around the scene. Being half-drunk, Dead Eyes is two steps slower than Nartan, who is landing punches on both sides. When Dead Eyes slams his gun on the ground in surrender, the dust settles, and I can study my future husband. 

Nartan’s muscular body straddles the smaller man while his broad chest billows. His hat has blown off in the scuffle, revealing two thick black braids adorned with feathers. Tendrils of raven-black hair wave around his head. “Quiet wife for a quiet life” my bloomin’ butt. This man is a sweet lick of passion wrapped in a delicious exterior. I think I’m gonna like being Mrs. Sagebrush just fine. I can handle an odd stick as long as he has the countenance of Nartan because I’m not as normal as I appear myself.

Pre-Order Buy Links: Coming Soon!

Author Bio:

Marilyn Barr currently resides in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband, son, and rescue cats. She has a diverse background containing experiences as a child prodigy turned medical school reject, published microbiologist, special education/inclusion science teacher, homeschool mother of a savant, certified spiritual & energy healer, and advocate for the autistic community. This puts her in the position to bring tales containing heroes who are regular people with different ability levels and body types, in a light where they are powerful, lovable, and appreciated. 

When engaging with the real world, she is collecting characters, empty coffee cups, and unused homeschool curricula. She is a sucker (haha) for cheesy horror movies, Italian food, punk music, black cats, bad puns, and all things witchy.

Social Media Links:

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

Amazon author profile

Goodreads

BookBub

Judith B. Glad talks Secondary Characters

I'm thrilled to host Judith B. Glad today on my blog. Not only is Jude a talented writer, fabulous editor and smart businesswoman, she's an all-around great person. Jude was the first person to take a chance on my writing by publishing "Her Best Man". She edited all five of my books with her publishing company, UncialPress, and she's a joy to work with. Thanks for being here, Jude!   

I love secondary characters, for a lot of reasons. You know who they are: those folks who frequent the deli where the heroine works, the bar where the hero hangs out. Her granny, his uncle Charlie, the headmistress, the coachman. They are often more fun than heroes and heroines, at least to write about.

I'm not talking about a heroine's BFF. She's more of a supporting actor, because she has to be Heroine's confidante. Same goes for Hero's sidekick. They play important roles in romances, and in a lot of mysteries too. And definitely in westerns--remember "Gabby" Hayes?

Most secondary characters are not as big a part of a story as the BFF and the sidekick are, but they're a step above being "spear carriers in someone else's opera" (Isn't that a great description? I wish I knew who said it first). They don't have to have well-defined motivations or be so well described that a reader can easily visualize them, and they can get away with a lot. Without them, many stories would be pretty flat and uninteresting.

Creating secondary characters can be a challenge. They have to be fleshed out enough to be more than scenery, yet, there's always the risk of having them take over a story. That happened to me in one of my early contemporary romances. It was set in a small town and I had the best time making the bar owner, the city councilwoman, the money-hungry developer and a whole bunch of others into real live people. The only trouble was, by the time I was finished, they'd pretty much overwhelmed the story, because there were ninety-three of them (a publisher who rejected the story counted them) in a 260-page story. Oops!

I'm currently reading a mystery series that has a bit of that problem. The protagonist/investigator/sleuth is a remarkable fellow, and his primary sidekick has a fair share of intriguing foibles. The mysteries are satisfying. I haven't figured out an ending in advance so far. But after reading eight, I'm still trying to figure out some of the relationships among the same dozen or so quirky characters who pop up in every book, not to mention the twenty or thirty others who stroll across the stage now and then. But doggone! They are all so interesting, I just keep reading.

In my own "Behind the Ranges" series, I've tried to curb my enthusiasm for huge casts of secondary characters, but there are a few who keep popping up, either personally or in memory. Buffalo Jones, a cantankerous old fur trapper who only appeared in The Queen of Cherry Vale, gets remembered a lot. Japhet Breedlove never appears, because he was shot before Noble Savage began. Oh, my, but he was a nasty man, evil all through. Mrs. Petrie, the long-time cook in the Lachlan's big house in Boise City, even gets a romance, although it mostly takes place off-stage.

Once in a while secondary character speaks up and demands his or her own story. Or readers demand to know what's happened to this one or that. When I began writing The Queen of Cherry Vale, I never would've thought it would develop into a ten-book and one novella series. But there was this young kid who went off to find adventure, and an Indian woman who ran away, and...

And that's one reason I love secondary characters. You never know when they're going to stand up and say, "Tell my story. Please, tell my story."

* * * *

Commoner By Choice Blurb

The heyday of gold discoveries is over in Idaho Territory, but there are still fortunes to be found. Eliza Jane Dollarhide believes that one is buried somewhere near a tiny mining camp deep in the wilderness. Her guide is Micah King, young, widowed, highly recommended--and Black. Never having known a person of color, Eliza is at first apprehensive, but soon learns that Micah is both a gentleman and a superbly competent guide.

A good thing, too, for soon after they reach the isolated gold mining town of Yellowjacket, they realize they face deadly danger. Someone is after the papers Eliza came to retrieve, and will stop at nothing, not even wanton murder, to get them. Only one road leads out of Yellowjacket, so Micah guides Eliza along a dangerous trail through the wilderness, depending on dim memories of a long-ago journey through almost impenetrable mountains. As they travel, each learns to know the other, and soon love blooms between them.

Impossible love, for Eliza is white. So even if they survive their ordeal--and escape whoever is trying to kill them--sooner or later they will have to part.

Or will they? Surely there must be a way they can be together, be happy.

Commoner By Choice Excerpt

"Can you shoot?"

Eliza looked up from her plate. "Shoot? Of course not. All I know about guns is that they make loud noises and they kill people."

His eyes closed and his lips tightened.

She imagined him counting to ten and was conscious of a sense that she'd somehow failed a test. "That wasn't the right answer. What I should have said was that I've never had an opportunity to use a gun. Or a need."

"And I hope you never do have the need. But you should know what do to if it ever happens. We haven't ammunition to spare, but I want you to know how to load and aim. Jocky, can you handle the mules alone this morning?"

"Sure, Micah." His plate empty, Jocky set it aside and refilled his coffee cup. "When I'm done, can you show me how to use the gold pan?"

Of all the-- Eliza glared at both men. They were here to find Mr. Harris's papers, not to play gold miner. And why the sudden need for her to learn to shoot? That's why she'd hired a guide, wasn't it? To protect her?

She used the last fragment of biscuit to wipe the bacon grease off her plate. The first morning on the trail, she'd found it revolting even to think of eating grease. Now she rather enjoyed the flavor. Seeing that they had no butter or jam, it made an excellent spread. But she was getting tired of bacon and biscuits every morning. Some porridge would taste good, even without cream.

They went to the cleared area in front of the mine for her shooting lesson. When she gingerly took Micah's rifle in her hands, she was surprised at the weight of it.

He pointed out the various parts. "Stock, hammer, trigger, magazine, sight..."

She understood only about half of what he said, but she decided she really didn't need to know what all the pieces were, just how to load it and shoot it. The first was relatively simple, and on her third try she managed to insert all fifteen of the bullets--Micah called them "cartridges"--without dropping any. She held it out to him.

"Careful where you point it," he said as the barrel swung in his direction.

"Oh! I'm sorry." She let the barrel drop, until it pointed straight down.

"Best way, until you're sure of yourself, is to unload before handing it over."

Since she was reasonably certain she'd never be that sure of herself, she unloaded the rifle in silence. Remembering his earlier advice, she checked twice to make sure it had no bullets left in it.

"Now, show me how you'd shoot that white rock up there."

"The one we--"

"Yep. Pretend it's a bear and you're hungry for meat."

She raised the rifle and aimed. To her complete chagrin, the barrel wavered and dipped. Even if she knew how to aim it properly, she was certain she'd never manage to shoot that "bear."

He stepped up behind and reached around her, moving her hands on the stock and the barrel, showing her how to nestle the stock into her shoulder. The warmth of him against her back, the faint-pepperminty smell of him, and the low rumble of his deep voice distracted her, until she all but forgot what she was about.

"Try again."

"Hmm?" Try what again, she wondered. "Oh! Yes, of course." She raised the barrel of the rifle and pointed it in the general direction of the white rock. The end of it still drew circles, but they were smaller and more round. She pulled the trigger anyway. If this were real, maybe she'd scare the bear to death.

"Now what do you do?" His breath was warm against her ear.

She wanted to lean back into his embrace. To set the fool rifle aside and turn to face him. She wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed.

"I-I have to cock it, don't I?"

"That's right." He released her and stepped back.

She wanted to follow him. Instead she worked the lever that was supposed to eject the empty shell and push a new bullet into the...the chamber?

"He's mad now. Comin' right at you. What are you going to do?"

She turned around and handed him his rifle. "Here, you take it. I'm going to run."

Buy Links:

Amazon     Kobo

Author Bio:

As a child Judith B. Glad spent many Saturday afternoons at the movies, mostly watching double feature western shoot-em-ups with an elderly aunt. Couple that with having lived most of her life within 25 miles of the Oregon Trail and it's no wonder she's always been fascinated with the Old West.

She married young and had four children, became a bookkeeper, learned accounting, and eventually went back to school to become a botanist, but she always dreamed of telling stories about people who lived in, passed through or settled the Old West. In the meantime, she was fortunate enough to have a job that took her far afield, away from cities and into the back country of most of the western United States. Some of those wild places whispered to her of the people who might have lived there. One long wet winter she decided it was time to put some of those stories down on paper.

The result--so far--includes the ten books and one novella in Judith's "Behind the Ranges" series. She is currently working on another novella in the series, and hasn't come close to running out of people whose stories are worth telling. You can learn more about the series, as well as Judith's other books and shorter stories at www.judithbglad.com.

Social Media links:

Facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/judewritesromance
Blog - http://judithbglad.blogspot.com/

#NewRelease from Cat Dubie!

Debut author Cat Dubie is my guest today. Her first novel with The Wild Rose Press, THE QUEEN OF PARADISE VALLEY, releases tomorrow and she's very excited to share it with readers. Please welcome Cat Dubie!

Thanks, Jana for giving me this opportunity!

Tomorrow, November 1, is the release day for my first romance with The Wild Rose Press – an historical Western The Queen of Paradise Valley.

Blurb:

Diana Rennie, daughter of a wealthy rancher, attempts to persuade mystery man Del Russell to leave his grievances behind and forgive her father for past mistakes. Her careful plan goes awry and results in a shotgun wedding and a prison sentence for Del.

Four years later, Del is back in her life with a vengeance—back for his rightful share of Diana's ranch, back to prove he isn't the criminal she thought he was, back to finish what the two of them started years ago in a passionate daze. And he isn’t going anywhere, no matter what beautiful, treacherous Diana does or says to try to get rid of him.

Excerpt:

A lantern hung from the center post, shedding smoky light that didn’t reach the gloomy corners of the tent. Diana brushed snarls out of her hair and pulled down the wool sleeves of her  underwear. Outside a rising wind stirred the pines, sawing branches together, scattering needles onto the canvas roof.

She shivered and hugged her arms. Her bedding, blankets arranged on a thin mattress, looked cold and uninviting. Why hadn't she asked one of the cowhands to bring some heated rocks from the campfire? Where was her brain? Still listening to Del as he chided her for skimming the surface of the ocean he called life? 

A chilly draft swept her back. She whirled. As if she had conjured him up, Del stood in shadows at the entrance, one hand holding his hat, the other clasping the neck of a bottle.

"Del--" Tremors in her voice betrayed her excited dread. "You have no right to be here."

Her dread increased as he let his hat fall and stepped forward, his face emerging in the light. There was something predatory in his half-closed eyes. Something hungry. 

"Why?" The soft-spoken word seemed fraught with danger. His gaze moved over her in a slow sweep and he swayed, groping for the center post to steady himself. The lantern swung and grotesque shadows careened across the canvas walls. He raised the bottle to his lips.

She shook her head. Drunk. Disgusting.

"See, the men got a wager. Some say you wear black to bed. Reckon they’re wrong. Man's clothes, man's red underwear. An' I was hoping to see the flawless design."

No sense to his words. No reason for heat forming in her cheeks, spreading to her neck and down.
She said, "You can make your report and leave me to myself."

Available at:

Amazon  https://www.amazon.com/Queen-Paradise-Valley-Cat-Dubie-ebook/dp/B075X58S8R

The Wild Rose Press  https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/se no arch?controller=search&orderby=position&orderway=desc&search_query=Cat+Dubie&submit_search=

Barnes & Noble  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-queen-of-paradise-valley-cat-dubie/1127176154?ean=2940158564567


Cat Dubie Bio:

My love of words began early--I'm told I was making rhymes soon after I began to talk. With a crayon in my hand I first drew stories, with a pencil I wrote them. As for reading, I was the girl who always had her nose in a book, the one who read with a flashlight under the covers or, when the moon was full, would sit by a window for hours laughing, crying, loving characters whose adventurous lives wouldn't let her sleep.

The girl grew up, married one of the good guys, raised three great children, worked, laughed, lived, and never lost her need for creating stories about romance, adventure, passion, mystery, love...
We now live in southwestern British Columbia where I'm able to indulge that need full time, plot, plan, and now share my stories with readers. 

My blog: https://catdubie.blogspot.ca
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/authorcat.dubie.7
twitter:  @CatDubie        https://twitter.com/catdubie