Murder at Mistlethwaite Manor by AJ Skelly

 

 

**Check out the gorgeous cover!**

There is a murderer among them. 

And no one with secrets is safe.

Murder at Mistlethwaite Manor

by AJ Skelly

Genre: Historical Romantic Suspense, Mystery

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None meets The Gilded Age in this delicious, suspenseful murder mystery.

When Lady Emma Grace Hastings receives a much-coveted invitation to the most auspicious Christmas party of the season—one that comes with a 10,000 pound prize for the winner of a mysterious game—she cannot believe her good fortune.

But as the guests are assembled at Mistlewaithe Manor, the chilling intent of the game is revealed. Each guest has cause for alarm, because all of them have secrets, and to win the prize money, those secrets must be exposed.

Things take a sinister turn when Emma Grace finds herself caught between her old love and her soon-to-be betrothed. Suspicions abound, and old wounds are opened. The dead body in the study does not help. Nor does the raging winter storm that prevents escape from the manor. Emma Grace must battle her heart, use her wits, and put her sleuthing skills to the test to survive the weekend alive.

Because there is a murderer among them.

And no one with secrets is safe.

**Releases June 4th – Preorder now!**

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AJ Skelly is an author, reader, and lover of all things fantasy, history, and fairy-tale-romance. And werewolves. She has a serious soft spot for them. As an avid life-long reader and a former high school English teacher, she’s always been fascinated with the written word. She lives with her husband, children, and many imaginary friends who often find their way into her stories. They all drink copious amounts of tea together and stay up reading far later than they should.

You can read more of her short stories at www.ajskelly.com.

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Escape Routes by Marsh Rose

 

 

It’s 1985 and pampered psychotherapist Lauren Olive loses her job, the love of her life to his hairdresser and is forced to move to a backwoods bungalow as a drug couselor in a rural jail.

Escape Routes

by Marsh Rose

Genre: Historical Women’s Fiction

It’s 1985 and psychotherapist Lauren Olive, a pampered Baby Boomer in the California wine country, has never owned a bank account, lived without a man, or seen the dark side of life. But after she loses her job, and then the love of her life abandons her for his hairdresser, she’s forced to move to a decrepit bungalow in the backwoods and accept work as a drug counselor in a rural jail.

At her new job, the inmates view her wide-eyed naivete with hilarity and her hardened coworkers resent her middle-class roots. Worse, the bungalow seems poised to collapse around her. If Lauren is going to survive financially, avoid going back to live with her parents, and regain normality, she’ll need to leave her little-girl ways behind. But success doesn’t come without struggle. Surrounded by her crusty landlord, the jail’s seasoned deputies, skeptical inmates and a new love interest, Lauren must confront challenges she never could have imagined in her comfortable city life.

Escape Routes is a tale of maturity under duress. It speaks to the emerging audience of readers who want stories of growth and accomplishment by strong women in compelling situations. Although it is a work of fiction, it offers a glimpse into rural American criminal justice during the 1980s, a time when addiction treatment for inmates was in its formative years. Its narrative captures genuine lifestyles, concerns, speech, and behavior without demonizing, demeaning, or glamorizing the characters on either side of the bars.

**Order a Print Copy from SunburyPress and use the code MRTOUR for free shipping!**

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Lies and Love in Alaska

by Marsh Rose

Genre: Women’s Fiction, Romance 

To stop the meddling of her matchmaker friends, divorcee Annalee fakes an affair with an Alaskan bush pilot whose profile she has seen in a magazine about bachelors in that rugged environment. The plan backfires when he appears in her small California town and lures her to his remote cabin with stories about the magnetic pull of the Last Frontier and the promise of lasting love.

In ways she never imagined, she finds herself falling for both the pilot and Alaska in spite of the bears, blizzards, peculiar neighbors, pyromaniac ex-girlfriend, stack of love letters hidden in a pantry and evident truth to what they say about single men in Alaska: the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Before Annalee can sever her ties in California and move north, a shocking telephone call from an unknown woman rocks her world and catapults her into a whole new way of life.

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ESCAPE ROUTES

CHAPTER 1

Sunday, April 7, 1985:  “He gives you an allowance?  That’s reckless.”   -- My friend Bridget

            I would have never grown up if the love of my life hadn’t left me for his hairdresser.  In fact, there were a lot of things I never would have done: fixed a toilet, slept with a motorcycle racer, been arrested, learned to cook, bought a house or made peace with my parents. 

            I was always puzzled about what to call our relationship.  Today I’d say I was living with my significant other or my domestic partner but we didn’t have those words back then.   “Living with my boyfriend” would have sounded ridiculous given that I was nearly 30 when we met and he was 35.   

            My mom and dad called our arrangement “shacking up” but they said it with a smile.  That was important to me.  While I complained to my friends about my parents’ over-protectiveness, secretly I was never comfortable with a life choice until I knew they approved.  In fact I had been filled with trepidation in my first year with Aaron when I took him back to Philadelphia for Passover to meet them.  Although he was a JFK look-alike and a university professor and a psychologist, I feared they were disappointed in our lifestyle and they’d let it show.  We were, after all, living in sin in San Francisco, that malignant ganglion of sex and drugs.  But they met me at the airport with the usual volley of kisses and cheek-pinches, and at dinner my father accorded Aaron the seat of honor at the head of the Seder table even though Aaron was Irish and bewildered. 

I had been his teaching assistant in graduate school.  We hooked up the day he found me sobbing in the back row of his classroom, distraught over the end of an affair with a musician I swore would be the next Kris Kristofferson.  Aaron had long legs and a boyish grin and thick chestnut hair that fell disarmingly over one green eye, causing him to constantly flip it back in a graceful pas seul of wrist and neck.  He could have had his pick of arm candy among his worshipful students and admiring colleagues but he chose me, a diminutive, frizzy-haired, myopic daughter of Russian immigrants.   Ten years later we had become one of the rare couples in our generation whose relationship had survived the permissiveness and excesses of the recent past: free sex, open marriages, the whole suppurating end result of The Summer of Love. 

            By the early 1980s, Dr. Aaron Prentice was on a tenure track at the university.  I had survived the rigors of getting my psychotherapist’s license – a master’s degree and a lengthy internship – and was seeing clients at Changing Times, a non-profit counseling agency housed in an old Victorian on a side street in town.  I could have sought a more lucrative position in a psychiatric hospital with its endless chaos and demanding bureaucracy but I chose the lesser-paying quiet ambiance of a small local clinic.  My clients’ issues were typical of our middle-class, middle-aged population.  Loss of a parent, a cheating spouse, a wayward teenager.  No violent paranoid schizophrenics, no one thinking they were Mother Mary.  I enjoyed pleasant relationships with my colleagues and never thought about work on weekends. 

            Aaron and I bought an upscale townhouse in Santa Rosa, a city in the famed Sonoma County wine country north of the Golden Gate Bridge.  There, we lived the lives of established DINKs (Dual Income, No Kids) in the pre-Dot.Com era.  Good wine, good but not excessive food and sophisticated, well-read friends.  On Saturday nights his students dropped by for Merlot and Chardonnay, hors d’oeuvres and energetic debates.  Our décor was a meld of flea market chic, exotic gifts from travelers and carefully collected objets d’arte.  The academic tomes and literary classics on our living room bookcase kept company with ancient Native American artifacts and Austrian blown glass.  Our throw rugs were from the Andes. 

            Aaron did the grocery shopping and cooking.  His mother was a noted chef and cookbook author in Carmel and he was taught from an early age to be masterful in the handling of sauces and herbs.  He told me that some of the most vitriolic arguments he’d had with his wife throughout their disastrous brief marriage were about who controlled the kitchen.  In contrast I had segued from my parents’ house to the college dorm, back to my parents, then a mercifully brief span alone during which time I typically ate a full meal only on dates.  The rest of the time it was take-out standing over the kitchen sink.  By the time Aaron came along I was more accustomed to being fed than to feeding.  I was content to let Aaron take the helm at the stove.  Instead I did the laundry, dishes, and quite a bit of dusting.  All those objets d’arte. 

            Aaron with his full-time professor’s salary easily assumed responsibility for our bills.  My slim income went toward the little luxuries we both enjoyed; the best coffee, whale-watching at a bed and breakfast overlooking the sea.  I simply handed my paychecks over to Aaron.  If I needed money for some personal luxury – a hand-embroidered blouse from an artist in North Beach, some highlighting in my hair – Aaron gave back what I needed. 

            Bridget, my best friend and former college roommate, was not among the many who envied me.  “You have nothing in your own name?” she said.  “What if he gets hit by a truck?  And he gives you an allowance?  That’s reckless.” 

            But nothing would go wrong.  I was cherished and secure in the arms of a man everyone adored.  I wanted nothing more in life than to go on appreciating the bounty.   That was until Aaron announced he was leaving me for the beautician who did his hair.

Marsh Rose is a freelance writer, psychotherapist and college educator. Her short stories have appeared in a variety of publications including Cosmopolitan Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, Carve Magazine, Hippocampus Magazine, and New Millennium Writings where she took first prize for creative nonfiction in 2018. This is her second novel. She lives in the north San Francisco Bay Area with her greyhound, Adin.

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A HILL COUNTRY TREAT

 By Caroline Clemmons

 The Texas Hill Country, where I set my latest series, Texas Hill Country Mail Order Brides, is a favorite destination of our family. One of the loveliest and most unique cities in that area is Fredericksburg. The area was settled primarily by German immigrants. If you hate history—I can’t believe you do—you may want to skip the next couple of paragraphs.

John O. Meusebach

In 1846, under the leadership of John O. Meusebach, 120 German immigrants arrived at what is now Fredericksburg. Meusebach had renounced his title as Baron Otfried Hans Freiherr von Meusebach to lead the immigrants as a "commoner" and the commissioner general of the Adelsverein, the Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas. Most of this group was from the Rhine River Valley. The site he chose was on Barons Creek (named for Meusebach) four miles north of the Pedernales River. (As an aside, I must tell you that no matter that an early mapmaker misspelled the name as Pedernales, it is pronounced purr-den-alice as it has been for several hundred years.)

Meusenbach named the town Fredericksburg after Prince Frederick of Prussia. The town was laid out like the towns of the Rhine with a broad avenue and a town square. Each family received a plot in town and ten acres nearby to farm. On the town square, they built the octagonal Vereneine Kirche, the Society Church, which was shared by different denominations on alternating Sundays. The church also provided a town fortress and a place for community meetings. During the Civil War, the Germans were Union sympathizers and none of them owned slaves.

Octagonal Vereneine Kirche

Here’s something I found fascinating: The land the Germans settled was the range of the Penateka Comanche, a fierce group. Many other white men tried to make the Comanche move away. The Germans asked permission to live on the land and share it with the Comanche. The Germans said the Indians would always be welcome in town and businesses. Just shy of 34 years old, Meusebach was 6 feet 2 inches tall with a bright red beard. The Comanche called him El Sol Colorado, the Red Sun. He negotiated the signing of the Meusebach-Comanche Treaty with Santa Ana, which eliminated the threat of Indian attack, and is still unbroken to this day!  Another thing I found interesting was that many Germans refused to speak English, hoping that would keep them out of politics and local problems. Didn't work that well, but I suppose it's good to hang on to your native language. One of our friends had not heard English spoken until he entered first grade. Big culture shock for him.

End of history lesson. <g>

A substantial Sunday house, 

some were much smaller

Each time I have been to Fredericksburg, I have found new things to love. One of those is the Sunday houses. Farmers who lived too far to travel to church on Sunday morning sometimes built a small house in town. The family drove in on Saturday morning and spent the weekend. This allowed for shopping and possibly a party on Saturday. After an overnight rest, the family could attend Sunday church services. Sad to say, I have heard that many of them have been torn down to make way for so-called progress. I found the houses picturesque.

Other area interests are numerous wineries. The area has become well-known for their fine wines. Many of them offer tasting rooms. There are delightful local inns in case you need to recover from too much tasting. <g>

Winery near Frederickburg

Antique shops pull me in like magnets. A branding iron I purchase came from a shop next door to the Admiral Nimitz Museum. The iron is actually a large Z on which is centered a smaller S. The effect is a dollar sign unless you look carefully. Hero said that was definitely my brand. Imagine the nerve of the man! <g> In spite of his comment, the branding iron is displayed in our living room with many other western and American Indian memorabilia and framed western prints of bluebonnets and windmills, etc. Looking at them makes me happy. 

Perhaps you can tell I love the Texas Hill Country. I hope you’ll help me celebrate it by reading my series. The last one released is KEITH AND THE MAIL ORDER BRIDE, Book 5. It's available in e-book and print and is in KU. The Amazon buy link is:

https://www.amazon.com/Keith-Order-Bride-Country-Brides-ebook/dp/B0CW7B2GZS/

I’m currently writing Book 6 about SIDNEY, owner of Garton’s Mercantile. It contains a litle more humor as well as some adventure. Stay tuned….

In the meantime, stay safe and keep reading!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whispers of the Nordic Draugr by Caroline Helenasdotter

 

 

In 16th-century Scandinavia, Katarina's fate intertwines with Ulrik's dark demonic past. Love and darkness converge in a captivating tale of redemption amidst ancient legends. 

Whispers of the Nordic Draugr

by Caroline Helenasdotter

Genre: Historical Paranormal Romance, Romantasy 

In the misty realms of 16th-century Scandinavia, where myths dance with reality, Katarina finds herself ensnared in a perilous dance between the mortal and the ethereal. Possessed by the elusive mare, her world fractures, and the shadows grow darker. But amidst the chaos, a reluctant guardian emerges - Ulrik, the enigmatic master of her estate, harboring demonic secrets darker than the midnight sea.

Haunted by a past veiled in blood and sorrow, Ulrik battles not only his own demons but the sinister machinations of Vasilij, his tyrannical draugr maker. Bound by an unholy pact, their fates entwine with Katarina's, as love and darkness collide in a deadly game of fate.

As Ulrik and Katarina traverse the treacherous landscapes of love and fear, they must confront not only the malevolent mare but the looming specter of Vasilij, whose hunger for power knows no bounds. In a tale woven with romance and terror, their journey unfolds, where every step taken could lead to salvation or damnation.

Enter a world where passion ignites amidst the howling winds, and where the line between hero and villain blurs in the flickering light of ancient legends. Prepare to be ensnared in the spellbinding tale of Katarina and Ulrik, where love defies even the darkest of shadows.

Experience a spellbinding blend of love, passion, folklore and mystique.

**Only .99 Cents! **

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As the night approached and darkness swallowed the surroundings, the room was illuminated by candlelight. October was on the horizon, with autumn's cold and merciless winds already making their presence known. Summer had been spent preparing for the inevitable arrival of autumn and winter. The harsh, unforgiving winters could mean the difference between survival and ruin for the household. The eerie howling winds outside served as a warning of the bitter night ahead, a harsh reminder that those who were ill-prepared would face grave consequences. 

Katarina pondered how to initiate a conversation, she felt hesitant in the presence of Ulrik. With insecurity gnawing at her insides, Katarina grappled with the uncomfortable silence that pervaded the room. The weight of unspoken words flowed rhythmically in the air. Ulrik continued to stare into space, seemingly lost in his own world, his gaze fixed upon some unseen horizon. In the suffocating stillness of the night, the boundaries between reality and nightmare blurred, casting a curtain of uncertainty over the promised nightfall. 

"I remember," she said, her gaze fixed on Ulrik, her words infused with gratitude. 

"You remember what?" Ulrik inquired, his voice echoed with an unnerving calmness, devoid of any traceable emotion. 

"Everything," Katarina replied, stumbling over her words like a startled deer. Ulrik remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the candlelight. Suddenly, with a fluid grace that disguised his towering stature, he rose from his chair. Striding towards Katarina with purposeful steps, Ulrik came to a halt right in front of her. His presence seemed to command time itself, catching Katarina off guard. She knew he was a dangerous man, yet she couldn't bring herself to fear him anymore. Instead, a curious blend of apprehension and fascination coursed through her veins. After years of working for Ulrik, if he had intended harm, he could have inflicted it easily. An intense longing emanated from his eyes, his desire to protect her rooted in their childhood acquaintance. Over time, his feelings had evolved into something deeper, and Katarina could sense the passion coursing through his veins. 

"Tell me, what do you mean by 'everything'?" Ulrik's voice was a low, rumbling growl, his scent and energy made her nervous. 

"The mare is trying to claim my soul, and you are trying to protect me from its foul grip," Katarina almost whispered the words, her voice hoarse. She met Ulrik’s gaze, his eyes delving into the depths of her soul. Katarina could clearly see the reflection of a man willing to slay all demons and devils to rescue her from harm. He was a man haunted by the phantoms of his past yet fuelled by an unquenchable flame that burned within the hollows of his tormented soul. A man who would not bend or yield, invigorated by a fire that would consume all who dared to threaten those he held dear.  

"You should not be able to remember that." Ulrik said in a low voice, his words slithered through the air like a serpent's hiss.  

"I do remember," Katarina continued, her lips caressing the words. Each syllable was filled with an eerie certainty. He had given her hope within a dangerous situation.  

"Are you not afraid?" Ulrik asked, curiosity etched in the darkness dancing across his face. 

"The mare is a very dangerous creature," Katarina began, her blond hair catching the light from the flickering candles. "I do fear for my life and the state of my soul." 

"I mean, are you not afraid of me?" Ulrik asked, lingering on his words as he took a step closer, standing just centimetres from Katarina. She could feel his presence, every ounce of his character leaning in towards her. Everything that was dangerous about him, and everything that was good about him, echoed within her soul. There was something truly perilous about him, the abilities of a demon combined with the past of a vicious monster. But there was also something safe about him, the memory of an innocent boy with hopeful dreams and a kind heart, blended with the ideals and morals of a noble man. Cruel and gruesome experiences had extinguished the light in his once hopeful eyes. Was Ulrik capable of killing her and every villager with his powers? Without a doubt. Had he committed heinous crimes during the war? Undoubtedly. He wore the suffering of his victims like a mask of shame. Ulrik was no longer human, he was a draugr, a demonic creature swallowed by darkness. It would be foolish not to fear him. And yet, Katarina felt no fear when looking into his eyes. Not anymore. She was confident that he would not wield his abilities to cause her harm or injury. The fear she once felt had transformed into a calm assurance. Now it seemed like Ulrik held the key to her salvation. Despite the darkness that cloaked him, she sensed a kindred spirit, a beacon of light among the endless darkness. 

"No," Katarina uttered, surprising Ulrik, who found contentment within her words. 

"Why not? You know my true nature; you know that I am a draugr. What is a draugr?" Ulrik's inquiry lingered in the air.  

"A demon," Katarina replied in a low voice, each syllable heavy with the weight of forbidden knowledge. "A demon with powers capable of transforming into a vicious monster that devours humans. A monster with the strength, speed, and abilities of twenty men. A demon weakened by the sun, dwelling in the dark, often feeding on humans and capable of turning whomever it desires into one of its own. A creature of the night that prowls the shadows in search of prey " Katarina whispered, her response was scarcely more than a breath. 

"And still, you do not fear me?" Ulrik paused, his question swayed in the air, a fragile thread poised on the precipice of oblivion.  

"You said that you wanted to protect me, you said that you would fight for me," Katarina said honestly. "I trust that you will not harm me, even though you easily could." 

"No, I will not harm you," Ulrik affirmed, sitting down on a chair, running his hand through his dark hair. 

Caroline Helenasdotter is a Swedish author born in 1986, living in the south of Sweden with her partner and two small children aged 3 and 6. She holds a bachelor's degree in political science and language from the University of Lund. Helenasdotter has lived and worked in Switzerland, Norway, Portugal, and Russia, and she is fluent in Portuguese. When not writing or spending time with her family, she enjoys practicing yoga, martial arts, and running.

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The Knight's Rebellious Maiden by Ella Matthews

 

 

He’s her protector…

She’s his forbidden temptation! 

The Knight’s Rebellious Maiden

The Knights’ Missions Book 1

by Ella Matthews

Genre: Historical Medieval Romance

He’s her protector…

She’s his forbidden temptation!

Part of The Knights’ Missions. Sir Leopold’s first mission is supposed to be a chance to prove his valour. But, tasked with safely escorting Lady Arianwen to her husband-to-be, Leo finds he is little but a glorified bodyguard. Only the seemingly simple mission goes awry when Ari proves that she’s willing to do anything to get away from her impending nuptials. As attraction sparks between them, can Leo choose knightly duty over love and deliver Ari to her wedding?

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Intro to the extract: Sir Leopold is tasked with escorting a maiden to her wedding, little does he know that Lady Arianwen has plans of her own. In the below extract the pair have just begun their journey and are testing one another out. 

 

She laughed again and the sound was like the sun coming out after days of rain. ‘What would you talk about to your fellow knights?’ she asked. 

‘Um…’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘Anything. Everything. Nothing that would be of interest to you.’ 

‘Why don’t you let me decide that?’ 

He scratched his chin. He didn’t want to talk about the problems they’d faced recently, which was the topic that had dominated all their talk over the past month. He also didn’t want to discuss his plans for his future because it didn’t feel right, but that left his mind strangely blank. ‘Swords. We talk about swords.’ Did they? He couldn’t remember but it seemed like something a maiden might believe a knight talked about a lot. 

‘Really? What about swords?’ 

‘The quality.’ 

‘I see.’ 

He glanced across at her again. Her eyes were shining as she looked at the path ahead. ‘I fear you are laughing at me again.’ 

‘Never.’ But he didn’t miss the way her shoulders shook. 

‘I speak the truth.’ Now he was just talking nonsense but he was enjoying the way she was laughing, even if it was at him. He would keep going so long as she was entertained. 

‘Is the sword your weapon of choice?’ she asked. 

‘It is.’ 

‘What do you look for in a blade?’ 

‘The quality of the metal used, the craftsmanship and the balance.’ 

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Does your current sword match these criteria?’ 

‘It does.’ 

‘May I see it?’ 

He leaned down and loosened it from its scabbard where it was tied to Bosco’s side. He pulled it free, the familiar weight an extension of his arm. 

‘May I hold it?’ Lady Arianwen was reaching out her hand as if she expected him to hand his blade over to her. 

He barked out a laugh. ‘What sort of knight would that make me if I handed my blade over to someone I barely know?’ 

‘You don’t trust me?’ 

Their gazes met and something hot and powerful simmered between them, something he had to ignore. ‘I only trust two people and I am afraid you are not one of them. Not yet anyway.’ 

She dropped her hand, a look passing across her face. ‘That seems fair enough.’ She turned back to face the direction they were traveling, and he had the feeling he had passed some sort of test, one he’d had no idea he had been set. 

He sheathed his sword and then leaned back in his saddle, allowing Lady Arianwen to pull ahead of him slightly. She really was a good rider, her slender frame swaying comfortably with her horse’s gait. She pushed her hair away from her shoulders, pulling it away from the nape of her neck before allowing it to fall slowly back down. He realized he was staring and forced himself to look away, only to find his eyes pulled back. The urge to spur Bosco forward until he was closer, to lift her heavy strands of hair away and let them fall through his fingers, was almost overwhelming. He gripped his reins tighter and this time succeeded in tearing his gaze away. 

Ella Matthews lives and works in beautiful South Wales. When not thinking about handsome heroes she can be found walking along the coast with her husband and their two children (probably still thinking about heroes but at least pretending to be interested in everyone else).

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WHAT ELSE HAPPENED?

 By Caroline Clemmons

Do you wonder about what was going on in the world at the time of a series you’re reading? Okay, I’m a history nut, so I do. Some of those events affect the book’s characters, even if it’s remotely.

For instance, so far the books of my current series, The Texas Hill Country Mail Order Brides, is set in 1876. What a time that was! Part of the Reconstruction era after the Civil War, it was also a part of the Gilded Age and faced a national depression. Not the time that comes to my mind when I hear the words “national depression” a la Grapes of Wrath. However, my mother said that was the one in which her mother’s family supposedly suffered great financial losses.  

As you can imagine, I am especially interested in what was happening in the West. The answer is, a lot!

That was the year Wild Bill Hickock (James Butler Hickok) died in Deadwood. Dakota Territory in an altercation during a poker game. The cards he held were two pair of black aces and eights, now commonly known as the “dead man’s hand.” Modern historians agree Bill greatly “embellished” his accomplishments. Sad that he should die at about 39.

Wild Bill Hickock

Wyatt Earp started work as a deputy in Dodge City, Kansas, serving under Marshal Larry Deger.

In Northfield, Minnesota, Jesse James and the James-Younger Gang attempted to rob the town’s bank. Must have been badly planned, because they were surrounded by an angry mob and almost wiped out. You probably know that if your money was stolen from a bank back then, there was no way to replace it. The Federal Government did not begin guaranteeing deposits until after 1933.

Sitting Bull

The Indian Wars were in full force. Crazy Horse led 1500 Sioux and Cheyenne at the Battle of Rosebud on Rosebud Creek in Montana Territory to beat back General George Crooks’s forces of the Army, with Crow and Shoshone allies helping the Army. This was in early June, but in late June, General George Custer suffered over 300 casualties (including himself) when he met the same forces led by Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse at the Battle of Little Big Horn.

In November, the Army retaliated. General Ranald McKenzie led Army troops to sack the camp of Chief Dull Knife, at the headwaters of the Powder River. The soldiers attacked the sleeping Cheyenne’s winter camp. Soldiers destroyed Cheyenne’s winter clothing and food supply. Some sources say the soldiers slit the throats of their ponies. Others say they drove 200 horses over the edge of the cliff. I can understand how he came by the name of Black Hand.

General Ranald McKenzie

I have to admit I hate what Ranald McKenzie did, but I try to remember that (1) he was given the job of ending the Indian Wars, and (2) we cannot assign modern principles and points-of-view to the past! I’m still not fond of the idea that my hometown of Lubbock, Texas named their lovely city park after the man. 

Transcontinental Express

Railroad travel was finally becoming coast to coast. In June, while Indians were gathering to defeat the Army, the Transcontinental Express arrived in San Francisco, California, only 83 hours and 39 minutes after leaving New York City. Currently, the 2563 miles takes about 77 to 81 hours. I love train travel, but have never ridden the express train. From Lubbock, we went to join the San Francisco Chief at Clovis, New Mexico. There, we would always be told it would be 30 minutes before our car joined the Chief, but it was always 5 hours. I haven’t ridden in decades, so I’m sure travel has improved. I hope so. Somewhere, our railcar was changed to send us toward Los Angeles, with us debarking at Long Beach, California, where my oldest brother and sister-in-law lived. I miss train travel, even with the delays.

Santa Fe Chief

So much happened in 1876 alone, to say nothing of the decade, that covering it all in one blog would go on ad nauseum. I hope you’ve enjoyed the reminder of our past. Don’t forget to read The Texas Hill Country Mail Order Brides: GENTRY, JESSE, QUINN, LEVI, and KEITH.

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Texas+Hill+Country+Mail+Order+Brides+series&i=stripbooks&crid=235D0CTO4WN5Y&sprefix=texas+hill+country+mail+order+brides+series%2Cstripbooks%2C107&ref=nb_sb_noss

Thanks for stopping by. Stay safe and keep reading!

Land of the Free Trilogy by Mimi Barbour

 

 

 To escape the dysfunction of city life, Demi Fedora leaves behind everything she knows to move to her deceased grandfather’s derelict cabin in the wilds of Alaska. There she encounters true adversity that puts her life in danger more than once.  

Irresistible Freedom

Land of the Free Book 1

by Mimi Barbour

Genre: Romantic Suspense, Adventure

 Escape… a new beginning.

That’s what Demi Fedora yearns for. And so, she leaves everything and everyone she knows to move to her deceased grandfather’s derelict cabin in the wilds of Alaska, the one he left her in his will.

Meeting Whittaker Hart isn’t in her plans. Though the ruggedly handsome gold prospector does everything to win her over, she keeps her distance until her need to survive a life totally foreign to her nature overcomes her desire to do everything herself.

After rescuing a young drunk and taking on the tough life of a greenhorn, she realizes one thing. Between fixing up the place to make it livable for the coming winter and learning how to exist in a land filled with vicious storms and treacherous wildfires, she can’t cope alone.

No matter how much she yearns for independence, she needs help…. a lot of help.

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Unforgettable Freedom

Land of the Free Book 2

 Demi has been consistently warned that the northern winter would be perilous, yes. Yet nothing in her wildest imagination could prepare her for the reality. In book two, she will go through incredible and frightening adventures where the little bastard (as she calls her wild wolf pup) will be instrumental in not only driving her crazy but saving her life… more than once.

Her ongoing belief that Whit will survive being lost in the fire he and Glen went to fight becomes a huge conflict. She refuses to accept any other ending… but should she?

And Glen, the young native friend she saved in book #1, will be a challenge that can’t be ignored. Life isn’t easy by any means. Thankfully, the awe-inspiring land, many call God’s country, has a way of soothing those in need.

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Ultimate Freedom

Land of the Free Book 3

 Conquering conflicts and battles, Demi and her Alaskan family face more unexpected adventures. Battling for her life is just the beginning. Before she has a chance to catch her breath, she’s deep in a fight for her best friend’s future.

Nothing comes easy in this wild country. Even with the support of the handsome gold prospector, her new brother, and her wolf, life in the North continues to challenge her every step of the way.
If she fights with everything in her, will she finally find the peaceful existence she craves?

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NYT & USA Today, best-selling, award-winning author, MIMI BARBOUR, has nine romance series to her credit. She also has a new Trilogy, many single titles and a huge number of box sets – her own and multi-author collections.

Mimi lives on the East coast of Vancouver Island with her small dog, Charli, and writes her various romances with tongue in cheek and a mad glint in her eye. She’s been known to say: “If I can steal a booklover’s attention away from their everyday grind, absorb them into a fantasy love story, and make them care about the ending, then I’ve done my job.”

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