A Stone Cold Murder by Kris Bock

A Stone Cold Murder

by Kris Bock

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The Reluctant Psychic Mystery series by Kris Bock launches April 28 with A Stone-Cold Murder! 
 
Petra Cloch has the psychic ability of psychometry – she can glimpse the history of an object by touching it. If Petra touches a watch or ring someone has worn for years, she can sense the wearer’s personality and what they care about most. If she touches an object used as a murder weapon, she might sense the emotions of the killer and the killed – but that doesn’t mean she can identify them.  
 
To save her sanity, Petra avoids close relationships except with her many pets. She studied geology, because rocks rarely speak to her. Her new job is supposed to focus on the rocks and minerals wing of a peculiar private museum in a small southwestern town. But she can’t avoid the echoes of violence all around her. If she doesn’t want murderers to go free, she’ll have to find evidence beyond her psychic senses.  
 

A Stone Cold Murder 

 
Everyone says her predecessor died in a car crash, but when Petra picks up a jagged crystal in her new office, flashes of rage, fear and death hit hard. What if Reggie Heap was actually murdered? Under normal circumstances, Petra would never become involved, but if the previous curator died because of something he did on the job, she could be next. Can she trust her chatty colleagues who invite her to lunch and to join a book club? And what about the far too watchful Sheriff who keeps showing up unexpectedly… 
 
“I really enjoyed the intro to all the people in this small community. So many interesting characters – so many ways this could go further.” – Reader review on BookBub 

Excerpt:

It’s no fun sorting through the belongings of a dead man. I assume that’s true for most people, except maybe antique dealers or historians. But I think it’s worse for me.  

That’s not because I’m a narcissist. (As far as I know. I admit I’ve never been tested.) It’s because of my psychometry. It might sound cool to pick up vibrations left behind on objects, giving me glimpses of the items’ histories.  

But I didn’t want to know more about the man who’d had my job before me. Everything so far suggested Reggie Heap was an ordinary man who had more chest pains and heart palpitations than he let on. I might have warned him to get that checked out, if he hadn’t already died of a massive heart attack that killed him even before his car ran off a mountain road. 

It was my office now, and I needed to scrub away all traces of the former occupant. Does that sound harsh? Think about it like this: It might sound cool to have telepathy, if you assume you could choose when and where to use it. But imagine if you had to hear every thought of every person nearby.  

Yeah, you’d probably just stay home. 

I was about as far from a people person as one could be, so I needed a job that paid well enough that I could live alone, just me and my pets (ten at the current count). Ideally, the job wouldn’t bring me into contact with a lot of other people or their stuff. I hoped I had that job now, working in a small museum in a tiny town in a state with something like twenty people per square mile.  

…  

I looked around the office. Besides the desk and file cabinets, it had wooden shelves along one wall. They held some rather nice geologic samples, though presumably not quite nice enough to make the main collection. I picked up a piece of smoky quartz. A prism, longer than my hand, thrust up like an obelisk from a cluster of smaller crystals at the base. A little label on the bottom confirmed my identification, while a clean spot on the shelf showed how much dust had piled up around the samples. 

I might as well clean the shelf and its displays. My boss had given me boxes for packing up Reggie Heap’s stuff. I grabbed an empty one and started loading rocks and minerals into it. I’d definitely keep the frothy, seafoam-green Smithsonite. Maybe not the stringy bit of copper, which was interesting but not all that pretty.  

A sample as big as two fists together was made up of cubic crystals in a lovely shade of lilac. Some marks showed where small pieces had broken off, which might be why it was in the office instead of on display. Fluorite, with some impurities to give it the purple shade? Tests could confirm that, but I wouldn’t need them if it was properly labeled. 

I picked it up with both hands. 

Rage. The desire to hurt. 

Fear. An explosion of pain. Panic dissolving into darkness. 

I staggered and dropped the mineral. When my vision cleared, I was leaning against the desk with both hands pressing down on it. Fortunately, I’d dropped the crystal cluster on the desk and not my foot. It would have been hard to explain breaking my foot in that manner.  

But not as difficult as explaining why I thought these crystals had been used as a weapon. 

  

Readers say:  

“Kris Bock has crafted a story that’s equal parts murder mystery, psychological deep-dive, and small-town gothic horror (in the best way).”  

“This story is a winner and a great start to the series. The mystery is captivating, with enough puzzlement to keep you on your toes, the characters are interesting and engaging (I love Petra and Liberty), and the worldbuilding is excellent. A must-read!”  

“A good old-fashioned murder mystery with a twist. The supernatural elements make this book interesting. I empathized with the main character, and she was genuine and reluctant as the title implies… it was suspenseful and kept you guessing until the end.”  

Author Bio:

Kris Bock writes mystery, suspense, and romance novels, many with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. In the Accidental Detective series, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty. This humorous series starts with Something Shady at Sunshine Haven, which made Barnes & Noble's list of “Handpicked Favorites You'll Love!” Her Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café. Watch as they fall in love with each other and shelter cats. In the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys series, a Texas ranching family wins a billion-dollar lottery. Can they build new dreams and find love amidst the chaos? Kris’s romantic suspense novels include stories of treasure hunting, archaeology, and intrigue. Readers have called these novels “Smart romance with an Indiana Jones feel.” She also writes sweet romance. Learn more at www.krisbock.com. 

 

Kris has over 100 books for children published under the names Chris Eboch and M. M. Eboch. Her novels for ages nine and up include The Eyes of Pharaoh, a mystery in ancient Egypt; The Well of Sacrifice, a Mayan adventure used in many schools; and The Genie’s Gift, a middle eastern fantasy. Kris also writes a series with her brother, scriptwriter Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the original screenplay for the movie Sweet Home Alabama. The Felony Melanie series follows the crazy antics of Melanie, Jake, and their friends a decade before the events of the movie. 

 

Prairie Schoolhouses: Teaching on the Frontier by Caroline Clemmons

When we picture frontier life, most of us imagine covered wagons rolling across endless prairie, families carving out a living with grit and plain determination. But the story of prairie schoolhouses is just as rugged, full of hope, laughter, and—sometimes—heartbreak. 

Let me tell you about my father, P.M. Johnson, and his adventure as a prairie schoolteacher. When Daddy was growing up, school meant eight grades in a one-room schoolhouse where one teacher did her best with every child in the district. Education was cherished, but it was also practical—just enough to give each student a good start in life. 

When Daddy graduated, he stepped into a pair of shoes many young people filled on the frontier: he became the school’s new teacher. Imagine the challenge! After sharing desks and secrets and even organizing classroom pranks with his friends, he returned just months later, tasked with leading them. My father loved learning, but the transition wasn’t smooth. Those same friends—the pranksters and troublemakers—just couldn’t see past the old classroom camaraderie to respect their new teacher. The result? My daddy lost his teaching job after just one year. 

He often told me, “I should have moved to another district and kept teaching.” And who knows? Maybe he would have flourished elsewhere. His story is a reminder that frontier teaching demanded more than book learning—it required resourcefulness, authority, and a dash of bravery. 

Prairie schoolhouses could be lonely, but they pulsed with the future. Teachers weren’t just instructors—they were leaders, mentors, and sometimes the only lifeline to the larger world for farm children. They juggled recitations, spelling bees, and recess—and sometimes, like Daddy, the nearly impossible task of teaching friends. 

Though my father’s teaching career was brief, his love of learning influenced our whole family. Every time I see an old photo of a prairie schoolhouse, I remember the laughter and mischief, and the dream of education that was at the heart of the frontier spirit. 

So here’s to the prairie teachers—each one a pioneer in their own right. And here’s to my daddy, who taught me that sometimes the hardest lessons are the ones outside the classroom. 

Do you have a frontier schoolhouse story in your family? Share it in the comments—I’d love to hear! 

My book Adeline is a lighthearted look at another hazard teachers, especially female teachers, had to survive:  matchmakers.  If a female teacher got married, she had to stop being a teacher.  If a male teacher got married, he could continue teaching.  Here is the blurb for Adeline:  Mix a woman in sorrow…A man’s longing…Two matchmaking girls’ mischief…Result-mayhem!  https://amzn.to/40qxyMQ 

 

The Lady and the Secret Lord by Kate Moore

The Lady and the Secret Lord

by Kate Moore

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BLURB:

In 1835 London, two stubborn souls from separate worlds collide and clash in the search for a missing child. When a threatening message warns Lady Phoebe Marchmont to stop searching for her missing younger brother, the Earl of Grafton, she rebels. Donning a disguise that permits her to move freely about London despite her youth and station, she entreats one of Scotland Yard’s secret detectives to assist her. The catch is that she must share in the investigation.

Former beat cop Robin Jones jumps at the chance to work a case that could prove him worthy to join the ranks of a secret group preparing to be Scotland Yard's first detectives. But finding the missing earl threatens to expose Robin’s youth as a troubled street urchin, a lost boy. Now Robin must face his past to help the determined and witty Lady Phoebe find her brother. The case will peel away all their disguises.

EXCERPT:

“What am I to call you?” he asked. Robin's voice sounded rough in his ears. 

Her chin came up. Her defiant gaze met his. “You mean if you decided to be polite and respectful and observe the distinctions of rank?” 

He took a step toward her. “I mean,” he said, “if you decided to observe the proprieties that govern a lady’s behavior, that keep her reputation and her person safe, Lady Phoebe.” 

“I don’t like lady,” she said. “It is a title tighter than this corset.” 

He laughed. “That corset would fall off you without the padding.” He wished it would. He wanted to see her true waist, to measure it with his hands. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You have no restraints. You come and go without anyone remarking your conduct or condemning it. No one requires you to hire a lady’s companion.” 

“True,” he said. “A lady’s companion would be a most inconvenient partner for a policeman.” 

She stepped out from behind the desk, advancing a little into the room. “If your brother went missing, you would not be obliged to hire a companion merely so that you could attend a musicale while other people searched for him. Well, I’ve had enough of that. Enough of well-meaning people telling me that I should abandon the search and have him declared dead so that I can return to society and take my place as a lady. So, no, you will not call me Lady Phoebe.” 

AUTHOR BIO:

Kate taught English lit to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate's books readers find characters battling undeniable mutual attraction. Through laughs and missteps, warm-hearted, practical women draw honorable, edgy loners into a circle of love in Regency England or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner, three-time RITA finalist and three-time Library Journal "top pick" in Romance, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her paddle-boarding husband, stray black cat, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves. 

 

 

Murder She Rollled by Shelly Jones

Murder She Rollled

by Shelly Jones

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Book Blurb:

Solving a murder can get dicey.

Wren Winters is thrilled when her gaming group is invited to join the town’s new superstar streamer Noelle Williams for a live demo—after all, a little publicity could put Wren’s board game shop, the Cardboard Sheep, on the map. But moments before they go live, Noelle collapses on camera, and by the time Wren arrives at her house, Noelle is dead and the police are swarming.

Detective Greene, who still remembers last summer’s murder at Wren’s shop, is back with questions—and suspicions. As Wren and her friends reel from the shock, secrets about Noelle’s life emerge: relentless online harassment, jealous exes, and a sister desperate to pull her offline. Then another member of the group falls ill with similar symptoms.

With danger closing in and a game board full of suspects, Wren refuses to sit on the sidelines. She’s determined to solve the puzzle before her friend’s game is over for good.

Excerpt:

Chapter One 

“Are you sure we’re not lost?” Charlie Reynolds moaned from the backseat. Looking out the car window, they removed their earbuds and shook their head. “Didn’t we pass this same spot a few minutes ago?” 

Wren Winters laughed as she eyed Charlie in the rearview mirror. She braked at a stop sign and searched for the road names posted at the intersection. Though she’d lived in Hollow’s Way since her college days, she wasn’t very familiar with this particular neighborhood, which was tucked out of the way along the hillside far beyond the college campus. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the driver.” Easing through the intersection, she veered toward the edge of the road and parked along the street, waiting for further instructions. 

“Oh fearless navigator, are you awake? Esther?” Jo Martin called from the passenger seat, twisting around to address the others. Instead of her normal nursing scrubs, this morning she rocked a burgundy button-down cardigan and gold hoop earrings that complemented her olive complexion. 

Esther Chambers stared out the window, her eyes glassy and far away. She seemed to barely notice that the car had come to a stop. 

Charlie gently nudged her with their knee, and Esther startled, jolting to attention. 

“I wasn’t asleep,” Esther insisted, her face reddening. “I was merely . . .” She paused, straightening her mussed pink hair. “Meditating.” 

“Of course.” Jo turned back in her seat with a smirk. “Well, could you meditate on where we are and if we’re going in the right direction?” 

“What’s Noelle’s address?” Wren asked, turning off the radio so she could hear better. 

“And tell us again how you know Noelle,” Charlie added, tapping idly on the car door. “You must know her better than just following her on social media if we’re invited to be on her show.” 

Esther’s friend, Noelle Williams, was an up-and-coming livestreamer who regularly recorded sessions of role-playing games on her Twitch channel, Need to Watch Games. She had reached out to Esther to see if she wanted to play through a new indie RPG called Among the Singing Stones. Ever up for a game—and attention—Esther had jumped at the opportunity and invited the others to join, thinking it would be a good chance to catch up with her old friend, and great PR for Wren’s board game store, the Cardboard Sheep. 

Esther fumbled for her phone in her oversized purse, dumping out a notebook, several receipts, and her keys onto her lap. She pulled up the text thread from Noelle, searching for the address she had sent her. “We went to grad school together years ago and were in a lot of the same library science classes. Noelle was interested in audio archival practices, and we instantly bonded over our mutual hatred of Edison, despite our professor’s obsession with him.” 

“The light bulb guy?” Jo asked, scrunching up her face. 

“The torturer of animals,” Esther huffed. “Do you know what he did to an elephant once?” 

Wren winced, having heard Esther’s rendition of the sordid, albeit historically accurate, tale before. “What am I looking for?” she asked, hoping Esther might focus back on the matter at hand. 

“Twenty Brookside Terrace is the address.” Esther pulled up the map app and looked out the window, scanning for street signs. 

“Have you stayed in touch with Noelle since grad school?” Jo asked, shifting the conversation away from Edison. She winked at Wren, who mouthed a thank you as she waited for further instructions. 

Esther shrugged, her attention still focused on her phone. “We graduated and mostly stayed in touch through the occasional email or DMing each other a quirky link to this or that like—” 

“Pebbling,” Charlie interrupted. 

Jo turned to look at them, confusion wrinkling her brow, unfamiliar with the term. 

“You know, like penguins,” Esther said, unphased by Charlie’s terminology. “I didn’t even realize she had started livestreaming games until last year when I came across a video of her talking about playing Goblinqueen.” 

Goblinqueen was a popular indie RPG Wren frequently had to reorder, selling out of it nearly every month. Players took on the roles of rulers of different goblin tribes, collaborating on how best to protect their members from increasing threats, like murder-hobo adventuring parties and ecological pollution from a nearby wizard’s magical experiments gone wrong. One teen group held a regular game in the shop, meeting once a week to play. Wren always knew it was Goblinqueen time when she’d spy five girls in the back room, wearing homemade crowns fashioned from pipe cleaners, construction paper, or even once, an embroidery hoop. 

“Did you play together when you were in grad school?” Jo asked. 

“Oh, definitely. We rolled up more characters than we rolled library carts,” Esther joked, still looking at her phone. “But I hadn’t thought she’d make a career out of it.” 

“Few did back then,” Charlie commented, as if eons had passed instead of only a decade. The rise of livestreamers playing games and earning a living off of it had certainly boomed in the past few years with YouTubers and Twitch streamers vying for followers of their content. 

“About two more blocks and then a sharp right onto Willow. That will take you to Brookside,” Esther instructed and sagged back in her seat, shoulders slumped. 

“Can do,” Wren said, studying Esther in the rearview mirror. Something was off, more than just the faraway looks and tired eyes. “You okay, though?” 

The neighborhood was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning. Down the block, an older man in a navy fleece with a fluffy white dog crossed the street. The dog yapped, leaping ahead on its lead, as its owner tried to keep up. With no traffic nearby, Wren pulled the car back onto the road. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” Esther ran her fingers through her pink-streaked hair and rubbed at her eye, careful to avoid smearing her pink eye shadow. “There’s something I need to tell you before we get to Noelle’s.” 

Wren glanced over at Jo in the passenger seat, the two sharing a concerned look. 

“Everything okay?” Wren asked again, slowing down the car, trying to elongate their journey in any way possible. If need be, she’d circle around the block or park the car at a store to give Esther more time. 

“Not really . . .” Esther hesitated. Jo turned around and gently patted Esther’s knee, encouragingly. “I’m fine. It’s Noelle I’m worried about.” 

Charlie clicked off their phone and stretched their long legs as far as they could in the cramped backseat. “Anything we can do to help?” 

Esther smiled weakly and sighed. “Well, that’s just it. To be honest, Noelle didn’t just contact me to have us come on her gaming livestream.” She bit her lip, smearing her bright lipstick, and straightened her skirt absent-mindedly. 

Jo and Wren exchanged glances again as Wren pulled the car over into a gas station. A couple came out of the convenience store with cups of coffee, and Wren realized she did not have enough caffeine this morning to deal with whatever this was going to be. 

“Then why did she contact you?” She looped a strand of dark hair from her face and turned sideways in her seat to face Esther, whose shoulders were hunched as if carrying the heavy weight of her worries. 

“Well, she does want us to play together. But, she . . .” Esther sighed and hugged her purse close to her chest. “She wanted my help because she thinks someone is stalking her.” 

“What?” Charlie blurted out, their eyes wide. 

“Is she safe?” Wren asked, trying to understand. She looked at Jo, whose normal calm demeanor seemed rattled by the news. 

“Are we?” Jo asked, a crease dividing her forehead. “How could you keep this from us?” Jo sat back against the passenger door, her arms folded over her chest. “This might be very dangerous.” 

Esther blanched and chewed her lower lip more. “I didn’t think about it that way. I just wanted us to help her however we could.” She reached out a hand toward Jo, her blue nail polish chipped and cracked as if she had been nervously picking at her fingers. 

Jo looked at Wren, who smiled sympathetically, before relenting. Esther squeezed her hand, her eyes turned up in a heartfelt apology. 

“But why didn’t you at least mention this before now?” Jo asked, apparently still upset that Esther had kept them all in the dark. “How can we help if we don’t know what’s going on? You shouldn’t just spring this on us, you know?” Jo’s tone was harsh and authoritative, but Wren caught a hint of fear behind her annoyance. 

Esther released her hand, a sheepish look crossing her face. “Noelle asked me not to mention it. She isn’t sure what to do.” She plucked a black cat hair from the seat cushion of the car, undoubtedly a stray bit of Pip, Wren’s beloved fur-baby. “But then I kept thinking about it and knew I had to tell you. Honestly, I think she’s in denial about this whole thing.” 

“A coping mechanism,” Jo said, the tension in her shoulders and arms easing. 

“Has she tried to get a restraining order?” Charlie asked, ever logical. 

“Does she even know who this stalker is?” Wren chimed in. “Like, is it a random person from the internet or someone she actually knows?” 

An SUV pulled into the gas station and parked at the pumps. A bearded man in a gray flannel suit started to fill up his tank, stretching his neck as he waited. Wren guessed he had been driving for a while. She knuckled her own aching back and returned her attention to Esther. 

“I’m really not sure. She hasn’t wanted to put much in writing.” Esther clicked on the thread of messages from Noelle and scanned them, looking for a specific one. “She just said someone sent her some creepy messages. But she didn’t say if it was online or in person, or if there was more to it than that.” 

Esther had always preferred communicating by text or maybe the occasional email. She wasn’t big on long phone calls. If she could, she’d text 911 in an emergency . . . anything to avoid talking on the phone. 

“I was hoping she’d open up more in person. And especially once she knew we all understood.” Esther looked up at Jo and Wren and then back to Charlie. 

Jo sighed and broke the silence. 

“Of course we understand. And we’ll help if we can. But next time, maybe just let us know before we’re about to walk into a potentially dangerous situation? Maybe give us a heads-up before we get added to a stalker’s radar?” 

“Or at least time to prepare,” Wren added. “I could have brought a knitting needle, or threaded my keys in my hand like Wolverine, or something.” A sly smile tugged at her lips and she winked at her friends, breaking the tension. 

“If she’s having issues online, maybe I could help.” Charlie tapped at their phone and began searching for something in the app store. “There’s a few new apps that could help keep her passwords safer and alert her when her accounts are being accessed on unfamiliar devices.” 

As usual, Wren was impressed with Charlie’s tech savvy. She knew how to set up a two-step verification on her online banking, but hadn’t really gone too much further than that when it came to cybersecurity. “Can you show all of us how to do that?” 

“Yes, sign me up for the advanced online safety lessons, too, please.” Jo raised her hand, a reluctant smirk spreading across her face. 

“I’m not sure what has happened,” Esther confessed. “Whether it’s cyberstalking or in person. All Noelle said was that she no longer felt safe and needed to talk. She didn’t feel comfortable giving me more details online. And I get the sense she’s uncomfortable going out in person much. I told her we could play at the store, but she felt more comfortable staying at home.” 

“Then we better get there,” Wren said, turning around in her seat to face the steering wheel once again. “Anyone need anything while we’re here?” She pointed at the convenience store attached to the gas station. “Or I could reroute us back to Outrageous! for something fancier? Why didn’t we plan ahead and stop there first?” The Outrageous! Bakery was the group’s go-to spot for delicious treats. 

“No can do. Anne is closed today to prepare for a wedding,” Charlie announced. “She told me when I went to pick up the café’s usual order earlier this week.” 

Wren’s mouth salivated at the thought of an Outrageous! wedding cake. Anne’s creations were always decadent and extravagant. A fall-themed cake full of autumnal spices would be extra-delicious. 

Esther and Charlie decided to go inside to buy refreshments to bring to Noelle’s. While she waited, Wren filled up the gas tank so she wouldn’t have to stop on the way home. 

“Do you think it’ll be all right?” Wren asked Jo through the passenger window as she waited for the gas to pump. 

“Noelle, you mean?” Jo was distracted, checking her phone messages in case there was an emergency at the hospital. 

Wren nodded and twisted close the gas cap on the car with a click. 

“Hard to say.” Jo slipped her phone back into her bag. “We don’t really know anything yet. This could play out in a lot of different ways.” 

“I know. That’s what worries me.” Wren climbed back in the car and anxiously waited for the others, tugging at her wedding ring. A few minutes later, they emerged from the store carrying bags of gummy candy and a twelve-pack of seltzer. Charlie handed Wren Styrofoam cups of hot coffee with a nod. “Not exactly Flavor Text Café quality, but I thought some caffeine might be called for.” 

Wren laughed and thanked them for the sweet gesture. The coffee was definitely not as good as the robust brew that Charlie made at the new café at the Cardboard Sheep, but with the mention of a possible stalker lurking, any caffeine would do. 

Author Bio:

Shelly Jones is a professor by trade and a nerd by design. Woefully introverted, their pockets are full of post-it notes and their head is full of (unsaid) witty come-backs and un-won arguments from years past. When they aren’t grading papers or writing new cozy mysteries, Shelly can often be found hiking in the woods or playing a board game while their cats look on.

 

 

Courtship, Love, and Happily Ever After Under the Lone Star Sky by Caroline Clemmons

 

When I think of the rugged cowboys, resourceful ranchers, and spirited heroines who populate my Texas-set novels, it’s the dance of romance on the dusty frontier that lingers sweetest in my memory. History may remember the hardships, but I love to weave in the joys—especially the age-old rituals of courtship, proposals, and weddings under the wide Lone Star sky.

Barn Dances and Stolen Glances

Social gatherings were the heartbeat of rural communities, and nothing stirred excitement quite like a barn dance. Imagine lanterns swinging overhead, fiddles singing into the night, and young women twirling in homemade gowns. For many, these dances offered a rare chance to meet someone new—or perhaps steal a shy smile from the neighbor’s son across the hay bales!

Chaperones kept a watchful eye, and etiquette mattered: holding hands during a waltz was the closest most couples got to intimacy in public. Still, plenty of secret notes and glances were exchanged over lemonade before the last song.

Courtship, Texas-Style

Romance on the frontier took determination. Suitors braved muddy rivers and wide, lonely miles simply to pay a visit. Calling hours—usually on Sunday afternoons—were observed with formality. More than one nervous cowboy practiced a proposal speech as he rode to her door, hat in hand.

Young ladies embroidered handkerchiefs or baked tea cakes for the gentlemen they favored, sending subtle signals of affection. And while arranged marriages weren’t the norm, practicality often guided the heart as much as passion. The capable ranching wife was admired as much as the pretty belle.

Popping the Question: Proposals on the Prairie

Proposals reflected the times—sometimes earnest, sometimes sweetly awkward. Favorite tales from my research and my own stories include tokens like carved wooden boxes, hand-picked wildflowers, or family heirloom rings. The words themselves held as much weight as any gift: “Will you make this place a home with me?” had all the promise a prairie couple needed.

Weddings Under Wide Texas Skies

Weddings could be elaborate affairs when supplies allowed, but more often they were simple, heartfelt ceremonies in a church, a family parlor, or under an ancient oak. Neighbors gathered with food and laughter, and the celebration went on into the night. Afterwards, couples might honeymoon on horseback—literally—riding back to their new lives together.

Love Stories That Inspire

These true tales of courtship and love are what inspire every “happily ever after” in my books. Whether it’s a barn dance kiss or a sunrise proposal, the heart of Texas romance still beats strong today—and I’ll keep writing it as long as readers keep turning the pages.

So, dear friends, if you ever wonder where my sweethearts and heroes find their courage and hope, look no further than the traditions and dreams that shaped our Texas past.

Sign up for my newsletter and get more glimpses into my inspiration and into the Texas past.  Get a free novella, Happy is the Bride, as a thank you. Sign-up form in the widgets.

Yours on the trail to romance,
Caroline

Outlaw Ever After by E. Elizabeth Watson

Outlaw Ever After

by E. Elizabeth Watson

Buy Links:

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Book Blurb:

They took everything. Now he’s come back to claim it—and her—in this broodingly intense and sexy Highlander romance that will delight fans of Karen Marie Moning and Lynsay Sands. 

 

When she was just a lass, Peigi Grant attended a wedding—one that quickly turned into a night of bloodshed and grief. Through it all, there were whispers of the Comyn heir, a boy accused of the crime, who mysteriously disappeared. 

 

Now it’s fourteen years later, and Peigi’s never breathed a word to a soul about that fateful night…or her role in helping the boy escape. But she never would have dared imagine that sweet boy turning into a roguish warrior who could shatter her heart and her reputation. 

 

Alexander is drawn to Peigi by her clear, sweet voice. Her loveliness—along with an uncanny sensation of fate—tempts him to lay down his war scythe forever. But his clan, his lands, and his very birthright were stolen by the Grant clan…and vengeance still calls to him. 

 

They don’t know his true name. But the Grants will come to fear his wrath…even if it destroys the one person who could tame his wild, Highlander heart. 

 

Outlaw Ever After is an intoxicating, enemies-to-lovers romance between two people fated to fall for each other…even if it sets all of Scotland ablaze. 

Excerpt:

The entire village roared with laughter at the man in the song’s folly for flirting so shamelessly, the children laughing because the adults were laughing, and a muscled arm swung around her shoulders, pulling her tight between his legs as Alex guffawed.

“Such a rogue still got what he deserved.” She giggled, leaning into his embrace.

“A good thing he never met yer brother, songbird,” he jested to more laughter.

She looked back at his bruised face and sewn coat, proof of how close he’d come to that. Yet she saw nothing but affection sparkling in his eyes. He laughed so heartily as if he had not a care, in a world that punished so unfairly.

And she wanted his kiss again. Wanted it so badly. Wanted to believe his declaration that he’d win. Wanted to reverse the wheel of time. She reached up. Cupped his cheek.

His breath hitched against her wrist, as if disbelieving her touch. His gaze holding hers, he turned his lips into her palm and pressed a kiss there.

Song after song, the evening progressed. Her hair was limp from melting flakes, her slippers kicked free and her toes tucked beneath her hem, nestled into the straw. The snow accumulated but the bonfire melted it in its inferno. The songs grew easy. The folk grew merry and danced, ate their bread and drank their ale and chanted Samhain blessings, in preparation for going Souling on the following eve.

“More, mi lady! More!” called villagers.

“Sing the one about the fox and crow!”

“Nay, a good country reel would do!”

They volleyed their choices at her like arrows upon an adversary, as ewers of ale made rounds and splashed into tankards and the folk linked hands around the fire.

“Sing something gentle,” warbled a voice through the commotion.

Joslyn? Why was she here? Peigi looked about and spotted the woman holding a babe on her hip, rubbing its eyes. Joslyn did live in the healer’s hut when not helping at the castle.

One lullaby popped to mind: Alex’s song. The song that had lured him to her.

She strummed a soft chord.

“Lullaby sweet bairn of mine...”

The chatter hushed.

Strummed the next chord.

“Sleeping sweetly in the pine...”

Her cheeks felt hot from the flame. The flute remained silent, and she let herself slip back to that greenwood, let herself think about that summer day when the man at her back had begged her to see him again, had lain in the grass beside her.

That wind whipped again, the bonfire roaring. Her eyes closed as the bone flute finally joined in and fluttered in her ear. Snowflakes twirled through the air like those playful leaves.

“Bright green eyes, rest peacefully...”

She opened her eyes, could see reverence twinkling in Joslyn’s gaze.

“For the world isna what it’s meant to be...”

Alex’s flute trailed away. Only the crackling bonfire, burning low, spoke into the night. She looked up at him— him chewing his cheek, his eyes glistening. His thumb touched her mouth, his fingers slipping into her hair over her ears to cradle her cheek. He studied her lips, uncaring of their audience, and in sooth, she’d become so relaxed, she’d forgotten any discomfort.

The sky dark as pitch was studded with celestial crystals, the clouds having long since moved on.

His lips descended to hers. Brushed like a breeze, always gentle, belying the exuberance with which he seemed to live his life.

And she sank. Into memories. Months of missing him and feeling unworthy crashed over her as a tear slipped down her cheek. It was only lips touching, and yet, she writhed within for more, desperate to feel wanted as a soft growl of desperation reverberated through him, caged in his chest. A taste of what he’d been missing, poured into a simple touch as his breathing came in and out erratically, as if holding everything back...

His forehead again rested to hers, eyes pinched tight in pain. “I need ye,” he gruffed. “Like Pan needs his nymph, like a body needs air, for I’ve been suffocating—”

A whistle whirled. Laughter and clapping erupted.

She yanked back and touched her mouth. Her cheeks were hot. Barely a brush of skin and yet, her lips stung, when her shame receded as Joslyn’s soft smile and misting eyes met hers. Here, among these folk who seemed to accept Alex so, away from the trappings of fanfare and notions of noble honor, she felt...at home. Like this was their wee village on the shore, like she’d once set her heart upon having.

Author Bio:   

Award winning and bestselling author E. Elizabeth Watson is convinced life is better with good coffee, chocolate, and a pair of hiking boots. A former archaeologist and biomed research coordinator, Elizabeth spends her days penning heroes ranging from kilted Scottish warriors to Texas cowboys crowned with Stetsons. Whether in kilts or pearl snaps, her heroes wear plaid!

Get swept away to the Highlands of Scotland or the badlands of West Texas in her adventurous tales where love conquers adversity.

She currently lives on a mountainside in West Virginia with her husband, sons, and various pets. Always honored to hear from readers, make sure to follow her on Facebook, Bookbub, TikTok, Goodreads, and Instagram.