Favorite Writing Tools on the Frontier by Caroline Clemmons

 I write using a desktop computer now.  In fact, I like to listen to classical music while I write. On the frontier, writing wasn’t as simple as popping open a laptop! Historians and fiction writers know that the tools of the trade shaped how stories, records, and letters were created in the Old West. Let’s explore the everyday implements that kept the West in touch and paved the way for modern storytellers. 

Quill Pens and Reed Pens 

In the 1800s, quill pens—made from large bird feathers—were the most common writing tool before steel nib pens became mainstream. Quills needed regular cutting and dipping, but their fine lines suited everything from ledgers to heartfelt letters. Reed pens, used earlier, fell out of favor but are still worth a mention for their influence on writing’s evolution. 

Metal Nib Pens 

By the mid-nineteenth century, steel-nibbed dip pens had mostly replaced quills. These pens offered better durability, were less expensive, and were easier to use for people living far from trading posts or towns with stationers. A steel pen, a bottle of ink, and a steady hand—those were the tools of many a frontier correspondent. 

Pencils—Yes, Even Mechanical! 

Pencils were surprisingly common in the Old West—both the classic wooden type and early mechanical pencils! Easier to use on the go, they required no ink or sharpening on the spot (especially the mechanical kind). Soldiers and travelers preferred graphite for convenience and legibility, keeping stubs in pockets for everything from making notes to sketching a map.  Plus, letters written in pencil didn’t smear if they got wet, an important plus for travelers who might get caught in a rainstorm or have to ford a river or creek. 

Ink and Inkwells 

Powdered or liquid ink, usually black or dark blue, paired with a small glass or ceramic inkwell was a standard desk accessory. Ink was precious on the frontier; spilling it meant a delay in correspondence until the next shipment arrived—sometimes by stagecoach or telegraph delivery wagons. 

Paper and Notebooks 

Paper could be scarce and valuable on the frontier, with folks often using scraps, ledger books, or folded sheets for letters. Some writers reused envelopes or stitched their own paper together into makeshift notebooks, especially in Army regiments or remote settlements. 

Why This Matters for Western Readers

For today’s historical and romance readers, seeing the right details in a romance when the heroine pens a letter to her beau adds depth and authenticity to the characters and their world. Next time the heroine pens a secret letter or the cowboy tallies supplies, you’ll know just what’s lying on their desk—or tucked into their pocket. 

What writing or communication details do you love seeing in Old West stories? Share your favorites in the comments! 

GATHERING THE FACTS

 By Caroline Clemmons

An author friend and I were talking recently about starting a new book or series. It's always an exciting time, but there are many factors that go into laying the background for a series. For instance, in my recent book SHAD, for the Guns For Hire series, I deliberated where to have the action happen. Back in the Depression (the big one), my father-in-law as a young man worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps, the CCC. This was about the time of the Works Progress Administration, the WPA. My father-in-law felt lucky to be assigned to a work crew up in the northern New Mexico forest. He had photos that showed how pretty it was there. The pictures were black and white, but you could visualize the beauty.

A friend had a cabin at Questa. She talked about how much she loved the area. She would sit on her front porch and watch the wildlife. She even saw a bear go by, but it didn't bother her, fortunately. Her description sold me on that location. I got off the beaten path and started checking locations that would work,  chose the area, then made up the town.

 You see, if I used a small town that was real, I'd have to be careful to put in the right streets, the right buildings, and so forth. If I make up the town, I can place the buildings I want just the way I need them. So, that's what I usually do for my books—with a few exceptions, such as Santa Fe and San Antonio. It's fun to create a new community.

I have been to northern New Mexico, but not the exact place where I said in the book. I've been to Taos. As I mentioned, one of my friends has a cabin at Questa, a town I used in SHAD. I looked online to see what features it had. (The internet is such a blessing for research.) I was surprised to find Questa has a walled downtown that sounded interesting. But I didn't want my main set there. I made up the town of Ben Rock. I visualized a large rock shaped like a flat bench, sort of hanging on the side of a mountain over this town, like a bench for a giant.

 Next, I had to learn the type of ranching and farming, or whatever was going on in that area. Goats as well as cattle stock the ranches. Another aspect I must consider is the weather—the temperatures, the rainfall, when the first snow falls, and when the last snow falls. Frequently, I use weather in my books as I did in SHAD. You might think I do too much research, but having actual things correct in my fictional stories is very important to me.

 You can see that there's often a lot of research before authors begin writing, and more popping up while they’re immersed in the world they’re creating.

 Thanks for stopping by. Stay safe and keep reading.

THE MAN IS BACK!

 By Caroline Clemmons

SHAD is back, new and improved!

That may sound like a laundry detergent or a new form of stress reliever, but it is the corrected and revitalized Book 7 in the popular Guns For Hire series. If you aren’t up to date on the misfortune of SHAD’s journey, let me just say that in the first edition, anything that could go wrong did. What a headache that was!

Come to think of it, SHAD is a stress reliever for readers. Curl up with the ebook, print, or  the audio version. Let your cares slip away as you immerse yourself in those of Avonleigh Adams and Shad Stone. Avonleigh is a strong woman who has lost almost everything and is determined to regain the ranch that is rightfully hers and her father’s—if only she had a plan that might work. Shad is a bounty hunter after a dangerous murderer with a high price on his head—and a gang of gunfighters willing to do whatever he asks.

Click HERE to purchase SHAD

 

Here’s the blurb:

Shad Stone is a bounty hunter with a mission. His uncle’s shenanigans have cost him the nest egg he had saved to buy a ranch and hang up his guns. Now he has to start over, so he wants to bring in a high-dollar capture. Shad’s sheriff cousin provides him with the wanted posters and a warning—dead men can’t buy anything. Shad is still determined to capture a man wanted for murder and a string of other offenses. The problem is the criminal keeps a dozen gunfighters with him and pays the local lawman to cooperate. 

 When Shad arrives near the culprit during a storm, he takes shelter in a cave where he discovers Avonleigh Adams. She was badly injured in her escape from the murderer and her most serious wound is septic. The last thing Shad needs is the complication of any woman yet he can’t abandon a wounded and virtually helpless person. He learns the man he seeks has stolen her family’s ranch and bushwhacked her father.

 How can one man win against more than a dozen gunfighters? Can the woman he saved now save him by teaching him to love?

 

I hope you’ve kept up with this series. I have loved each unique book.

99¢ FOR MAIL ORDER MORIAH!

By Caroline Clemmons

I’m pleased to share with you that MAIL ORDER MORIAH is now only 99¢, book one in the Pearson Grove trilogy available in ebook and in print. This is a sweet, wholesome historical western romance with plenty of adventure and action. The cover is a recent change from the original.

When I was a girl, my dad (who was old enough to be my grandfather) used to tell stories about events in his family’s history—from the time the family came to Texas in 1876 up through the time he and my mom married. Dad was a fascinating storyteller and I was a mesmerized listener—no matter how many times I’d heard that particular story. Is it any wonder that I love writing books set in that time period?

Dad was next to the youngest in a family of one girl and seven boys plus an older half-brother. (Don’t you feel sorry for the girl?) According to my father’s stories, the brothers were a bit… um… shall we say rowdy? He often included tales of other kin, neighbors, and ancestors. That made for interesting tales that became fodder for a writer’s stockpile of images and characters.

I love the contemporary West as well, but there’s something about the historic West that keeps characters and plots churning in my mind. I’m grateful Kirsten Osbourne let me use her Brides of Beckham matchmaker, Harriett Long, for my MAIL-0RDER MORIAH. Kirsten’s series is a favorite of mine and I’m thrilled to be associated even distantly.

MAIL-ORDER MORIAH is set in North Central Texas in a fictional town named Pearson Grove. My dad’s first name was Pearson and he was born in Pilot Grove in Grayson County, Texas. Being a writer is such fun—we can make up people and places at will.

In MAIL-ORDER MORIAH, Scott Ferguson is the owner of a mercantile store in Pearson Grove. He bought the store using an inheritance. His management has improved the store. Now he needs a helpmate, a wife who will be a true partner and help in the store as well as keep the home in the rooms over the mercantile. A brief engagement with the town’s social butterfly has left a bad taste in Scott’s mouth.

Moriah Singleton emigrated from England with the intention of finding a job in a shop. She planned to send money home so her sister could join her.  So far, life has not gone as planned and she soon finds herself with no job. Fortunately, she learns of Harriett Long and visits the matchmaker.

Life in Pearson Grove presents numerous obstacles to Moriah and Scott. After all, we want them to overcome roadblocks, successfully build their romance, and live happily ever after.

If you haven’t yet read MAIL-ORDER MORIAH, I encourage you to read it now. The buy link at Amazon is http://getbook.at/MORIAH

Stay safe and keep reading! 

MY VOYAGER

By Lyn Horner

Don't miss the giveaway at the end of the post!

INSPIRATION and RESEARCH

I was inspired to write MY VOYAGER by a writing class project and my desire to set a romance in Galveston at the height of the island’s glory, before the devastating hurricane of 1900. I thought what fun I’d have pairing a proper Victorian woman with a bedraggled man who falls out of thin air dressed like a pirate. Including a precocious child would make it even more fun.

While researching the 1890s era, I grew fascinated by the historic Tremont House, a grand hotel now in its third incarnation. In its heyday, the second hotel of that name hosted presidents and celebrities. It’s the main setting for MY VOYAGER and inspired me to turn this into a series of Old West hotel romances titled Legendary Rendezvous. I’m working on book two, which features the Menger Hotel in San Antonio, said to be the most haunted hotel in Texas.

 

Imagine a 17th Century buccaneer's thunderstruck reaction to "modern" marvels such as streetcars and horseless carriages. Experience his shock when he sees a steamship with no sails that runs as if by magic.

Swept forward in time by divine power to 1895 Galveston, Raphael Marquez is on a quest to retrieve the sacred relic he stole and return it to its rightful place. If he fails, his soul will be doomed to the firest of hell. The death of his wife and daughter at the hands of ruthless pirtes has left him bereft and vengeful. 

Victorian widow Julia Reynolds and her young daughter, Livvy, accompany Julia's wealthy father on a trip to Galveston. They stay in the opulent Tremont House, a legendary landmark. Since being lied to and cheated on by her deceased husband, Julia distrusts men and is not looking for love. Yet, when a strange looking, injured fellow falls practically at her feet in the hotel lobby, she takes pity on him.

Raphael is enchanted by Livvy, who reminds him of his lost little girl. Her beautiful, kind-hearted mother also wends her way into his tattered heart. Attraction grows on both sides, but Raphael's deception as he pursues his mission, and Julia's unexpected connection to it stand in their way. A rare, historic Valentine's Day blizzard brings high drama.

Julia may hold the key to Raphael's redemption, but can she forgive his lies?

Amazon Buy Link: https://www.amzn.com/B08L5N576F

 

Galveston, Texas; February 1895

Julia Reynolds stepped out of the Tremont House’s steam-powered elevator, clutching her six-year-old daughter Olivia’s small hand and her own fragile composure. Heels clicking on the hotel lobby’s marble floor, she pasted a smile on her face and tried not to think about the letter she’d received a short while ago.

“Mama, you’re hurting my hand,” Livvy complained.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie.” Julia immediately loosened her grip. “I didn’t mean to squeeze so tight. Is this better?”

“Uh-huh. Can we go to the ice cream parlor after the doctor? Please.”

“Yes, if you’re a good girl for Doctor Harmon.”

“I’ll try, but I hate when he puts that stick in my mouth. It almost makes me throw up.”

“I know, honey, but he needs to hold your tongue down so he can look at your throat. Remember how sore it was the last time we saw him? We want him to make sure it’s all better now.”

“But it doesn’t hurt anymore. He doesn’t have to –” Livvy shrieked just as a thud and a cry of pain sounded nearby, off to their right. “Mama, that man fell out of the air!”

Julia pivoted and gasped at the sight of a man lying curled on the marble floor several feet away. He wore strange clothes and his face was hidden by long, tangled black hair. And he was sopping wet.

“Stop pointing at him, Livvy. That’s not nice,” she said absently. After a pause she asked, “Mister, are you hurt? Do you need help?”

 Through a pain-filled haze, Raphael realized the female voice was speaking to him. Groaning, he struggled to sit up, holding his sagging left arm against his chest. He raked hair from his eyes and lifted his aching head. Brilliant light stung his eyes, making him blink fast as he struggled to see. When he was able to focus on the strange woman and girl staring at him, he returned their stares, struck by the woman’s odd attire.

She wore a narrow, bell-shaped gray skirt and short black velvet coat belted in at her slender waist and flaring over her nicely rounded hips. The coat sleeves were hugely puffed from shoulder to elbow and tight from elbow to wrist. A high-necked white bodice showed at her throat. These garments were nothing like the women’s gowns he was familiar with.

She was quite lovely, he also noticed, with upswept blonde hair and a tiny hat perched above her heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes.

Then his gaze swung to the little girl. Dressed in a sky-blue coat over a frilly frock, white stockings and shiny black shoes, she was blonde like the woman – her mother, Raphael assumed. She was also very pretty like her madre, with long, bouncing curls, pink cheeks, and a rosebud mouth, open in an “O” of astonishment.

She made him think of his own small daughter, lost to him along with her mother, his dear Louisa, murdered by MacKenzie and his bloodthirsty pirates. His throat tightened at the memory.

“Do you need help?” the woman repeated. When he didn’t answer, because he did not trust himself to speak, she crossed her arms beneath high breasts and frowned impatiently. “Do you not understand English, sir?”

“I speak your language,” Raphael said, voice raspy from emotion and sea water. In truth, he found her accent as odd as her appearance. It sounded nothing like the English he had learned as a child while living in his mother’s homeland. “I do not need your assistance,” he added, levering himself onto his knees and pushing to his feet. He swayed but managed to remain upright, again cradling his arm.

She eyed him critically. “Then I suggest you go to your room, or wherever you came from and change into dry – less bizarre garb. Come along, Livvy, let’s go or we will be late for our appointment.”

While Raphael glanced down at his wet shirt and breeches, the child – Livvy – resisted her mother’s effort to draw her away. “But how did he do that, Mama?”

“Do what?” the woman asked, forcefully dragging her inquisitive offspring away from Raphael.

“How did he fall out of the air?”

“Don’t talk nonsense. The man tripped over his own feet and landed hard, that’s all. Alcohol does that to a person.”

She believed him drunk, Raphael realized, offended. He wanted to storm after her and deny her false assumption, but his head and shoulder throbbed unmercifully, and he was still somewhat unstable on his feet. He watched her and the child walk toward a set of heavy doors that evidently led outside. Only then did he pay attention to his surroundings.

The large space was brightly lighted by peculiar devices hanging on the walls and from the ceiling. They held no candles that he could see. Turning in a slow circle, he gaped at the opulent room. Obviously the antechamber of a prestigious residence, it was lavishly appointed with marble, dark polished wood and potted palms. A sweeping staircase climbed to a curved balcony that must lead to inner rooms.

He also noticed several people standing around, staring at him. A middle-aged couple eyed him in disapproval and crossed the room to a tall mahogany desk. Behind it stood a soberly clad man, el portero – the concierge – Raphael deduced.

Like Livvy’s mother, everyone Raphael saw wore outlandish attire, increasing his suspicion that he had landed in some strange, unknown land. Dios! He could not believe the whirlwind had carried him aloft and set him down in one piece, much less in such a place. How could this be?

“It is so because the Madonna wishes it this way, you dolt,” he muttered. She had sent him here, causing him to “fall out of the air” as young Livvy said. Thinking of her, he heard her high-pitched voice and wheeled toward the outer doors, growing dizzy with the sudden movement. He stumbled, nearly falling, and gasped as fresh pain shot down his arm. Clasping it to his body, he managed to regain his balance.

“See, Mama? He hurt his arm. We have to help him,” Livvy declared, tugging her mother’s skirt, attempting to lead her toward Raphael.

Lips set in a thin line, the woman walked back to him. “Sir, my daughter is correct, you are clearly injured. I will call for a doctor. Meanwhile, you need to get out of those wet clothes and lie down. Are you staying here at the hotel?”

Raphael opened his mouth to say no but realized she would insist on knowing where he was staying. Before he could concoct a reply, el portero marched up. “I am so sorry if this man has offended you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

The scowling fellow looked Raphael up and down. “Mister, I don’t know what happened to you, but you cannot stand here dripping in the lobby. Are you a guest of the Tremont House?”

In a quandary, Raphael stammered the only thing that came to mind. “I-I do not know. That is, I do not remember.”

“You don’t remember!” Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed. “I suppose you don’t remember how you got here or why you’re all wet either, hmm?”

“I am sorry, I do not.”

“I know how you got here,” Livvy blurted. “You fell out of the air.”

“Livvy, stop saying that,” her mother reprimanded. To him she said in a caustic tone, “Are you asking me, I mean us – she gestured at the hotel man – to believe you have amnesia?”

He frowned. “I do not know this word. What does it mean?”

“It means to lose your memory.”

“Ah, I see. Perhaps I do suffer from this amnesia.”

She studied him closely, one hand on her hip, the other wrapped around Livvy’s small hand. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

Raphael knew it was possible to lose one’s memory after a blow to the head, and so did she, it appeared. He touched a tender spot on the back of his head. “I must have. It aches,” he said, wincing involuntarily. His fingers came away coated with blood.

She sighed. “Well, I supposed Doctor Harmon can determine if you are being truthful. For now, let’s get you a room.”

“Wait a moment. He can’t stay here looking like that,” el portero protested, shaking his hand at Raphael. “Our guests would be scandalized.”

“Of course, Mister Bagly, exactly why you must see him to a room right now and find some decent clothes for him to wear. While you do so, I shall call Doctor Harmon and ask him to come and tend the man’s injuries.”

“B-but, Mrs. Reynolds, I really cannot –”

“Need I remind you who my father is, sir?” the lovely Mrs. Reynolds asked with an imperious lift of her chin.

Bagly’s narrow jaw tightened. His thin brown mustache twitched. “No, Madam, I know who he is.” He stiffly bowed his head to her. “I will show the gentleman to a room immediately.”

“Excellent.” Raphael’s benefactress smiled and turned to him. “Bagly will take care of you, Mister . . .” She laughed. “Goodness, I don’t even know your name.”

“Uh, I don’t –”

She waved him to silence. “I know, I know, you don’t remember it, correct?” She cocked a slim dark blonde eyebrow.

He shook his pounding head and stared uncomfortably at the floor. He had trapped himself in a lie, a position he might live to regret.

 

 

Lyn Horner, Author

Lyn Horner resides in Fort Worth, Texas – “Where the West Begins” – with her husband and a pair of very spoiled cats. Trained in the visual arts, Lyn worked as a fashion illustrator and art instructor before she took up writing. She loves crafting passionate love stories, both historical and contemporary. Lyn also enjoys reading, gardening, genealogy, visiting with family and friends, and cuddling her furry, four-legged children.

The author’s Texas Devlins series blends authentic Old West settings, steamy romance and a glimmer of the supernatural. This series has earned multiple awards and nominations, including Crowned Heart reviews and a Rone Award nomination from InD’Tale Magazine.

Lyn’s paranormal-romantic suspense series, Romancing the Guardians, combines her trademark flashes of psychic phenomena with Irish folklore, chilling apocalyptic prophesies and captivating, far-flung settings. Along the way, readers are treated to thunderous action, terrifying suspense and sizzling romance.

Lyn Horner is giving away an e-book of HER VOYAGER to one person who leaves a comment on this post. 

HER SECRET COULD CAUSE HER DEATH!

MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN Blurb:

Pampered Margarita McIntosh is not used to being forced to do things she doesn’t want to do—but when her father, Jock, sends her away for her own safety, she has no choice. The long journey from Flagstaff to Durango tests her personal strength of will as never before, and the secret she carries in her saddlebag could be the death of her.

A rough Irish gunman, known to her only as “Rafferty”, is entrusted with getting her to her destination “safe and intact”—something he fully intends to do to claim the reward he’s been promised by Jock McIntosh. With a price on his head, the promised money is Rafferty’s ticket to a new life, and he’s not going to jeopardize that for anything—not even love.

But there are steamy nights and dangers all along the arduous trail for MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN, with deadly secrets between them that passion cannot erase. With her father’s enemies after her and the secret she conceals, will Rafferty’s protection be enough to save their lives? And will the heat of their passionate love be enough to seal their future together—if they do survive?

MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN Excerpt:

Margarita’s attention was drawn to the stairs again. A man in a fancy brocade waistcoat under a black jacket was making his way down the stairs. He had long silver hair and a mustache curled up at each end, defying gravity with the aid of mustache wax. Catching her eye, he tipped his hat to her.

“He’s older than I expected,” she whispered to Homer, who turned to look over his shoulder.

“That ain’t him,” he said, as the gentleman joined the card game in progress.

 After a beat another man appeared at the railing overlooking the saloon.

He was a tall man with black hair. Leaning on the railing, with his arms stretched out at full span he took in the room below with a predatory gaze. He was powerfully built with broad shoulders and long limbs. Like a bird of prey, he held his head still while his eyes shifted around the room. Margarita felt like he was deciding which one of them he would swoop down to pick off first.

 Although nobody moved, there was a change in the air. It felt like the very air grew hot and dry in his presence, charged with a heaviness that wasn’t there a minute ago.

 When he saw Homer the man’s eyes came to rest for a second. Then his eyes shifted and met with hers. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, fixing her with such an intense stare; Margarita slunk back in her seat.

“Rafferty,” said Homer, nodding his head in the direction of the man, who was now moving toward the stairs, eyes still on her.

He walked slowly, swinging one long leg after another, a slight swagger in his shoulders.

Unable to bear up under his direct gaze any longer, Margarita looked down at her coffee. Her ears were burning and her throat was constricted in anticipation, but still he moved down the stairs and across the room at an unnervingly slow pace. When he arrived on the scene, the women at the table stopped talking and looked expectedly at him. He didn’t register their presence as he walked past them to their apparent disappointment.

The men playing poker watched him with wary eyes. One of them touched the gun in his holster, nervously.

The cowboys stopped talking and drew closer together.

Without a word or invitation the tall man pulled out the chair across from her. The gun sticking out of his waistband put a lump of fear in her stomach.

He jerked his head in her direction, looking at Homer. “Why is she here?” he asked in a deep voice, speaking in the same slow pace as he walked. He had an Irish accent, she noted.

Homer poured out a cup of the thick, dark liquid for him. “Rafferty. This is Margarita McIntosh, Jock’s daughter.”

“And she’s here for what reason?” he asked, again in a brusque tone.

Margarita looked up, her face burning with indignation. She was met with quite a sight.

The man across from her had a few days growth of black whiskers covering the lower part of his face. Jet-black hair stood in loose curls around his head in an uncombed mass. His hair was in need of a wash, strands clumping together with something she didn’t want to dwell on. It was hard to guess his age. Older than she, certainly, but she couldn’t discern much beyond that.

He was without a jacket or shirt, and his long john’s undershirt was pushed up at the elbows, showing long, muscular forearms. Worse, the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, exposing the patch of black hair on his chest. The tight, sweat-stained garment showed every bulge and indent in his lean torso, including his nipples. He was as good as naked. Margarita tried to hide her shock at this unseemly display. She’d never seen so much of a man’s body before so close up.

His eyes bored into her. They were steely eyes the color of indigo set in bloodshot orbs. Her discomfort seemed to amuse him. He narrowed his eyes at her, a smirk forming on his lips as he observed her observing him. Other than his lips and eyes, he was as still as if he’d been carved in stone. Very economical in his movements, Margarita observed.

“Well, here’s the thing. She’s the job. Jock wants his daughter delivered to his sister in Durango. He wants you to make sure she gets there. Safe--and intact,” Homer said in a way, which embarrassed her.

The man called Rafferty grinned rakishly, displaying surprisingly even, white teeth.

 

Patti and husband, Bob

Patti Sherry-Crews lives with her husband, two children, a bad dog, and a good cat in Evanston, IL. She studied anthropology and archaeology at Grinnell College and the University of North Wales, UK.

Under the pen name Cherie Grinnell, she’s written four steamy romances that take place in Dublin and Wales.

Whether it is because she watched too many western TV shows with her grandmother or because her bag of cowboys and Indians was her favorite toy, Patti also writes historic western romances. MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN is with Prairie Rose Publishing and came out April 2016. Patti has two novellas out now in anthologies by the same publisher.

ESCAPE TO TOWN FOR KENDRA MURDOCH

Thank you to those of you who bought my recently released WINTER BRIDE. For the rest of you, I’m posting another excerpt to (hopefully) tempt you into buying your copy. WINTER BRIDE is about Kendra Murdoch and Sheriff Butch Parrish.

When her sister dies, Kendra is left to raise her eight-year-old nephew Caleb and two nieces, ages two and six, Mittie and Abby. Kendra loves the children and wants to give them a loving and secure life. All the men in her life have been bullies and she refuses to put her fate in the hands of a man like that. At the same time, she dreams of the kind of man she could trust. Knowing her brother in law Gus beat her sister so badly that Glenna may die reinforces her desire to gain independence.

Sheriff Butch Parrish has been drifting through life since the death of his beloved wife, Annie. He’s protective of those in his care, and that includes Kendra and her charges. Here’s a scene when he rescues her from the isolated cabin where she lived with her sister and brother in law.

After eating, they decided to leave for town. They loaded their belongings on the mule. Caleb appeared to realize they wouldn’t be returning, and gathered all their toys and clothes. Not that there were many of either. 

Kendra packed her clothes and her sister’s. Let Gus get his own if he wasn’t in jail first. She hoped he’d be in prison for a long time, maybe hanged for stealing a horse from the livery.

“I guess there’s no way we can take Mama’s rocker, is there?” She looked sadly at the only remaining furniture from her and Glenna’s family.

He scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “We can’t overload Clemmy. What we can’t pack, I’ll come back for once you’re settled.”

“Why are we taking our stuff?” Mittie asked.

“We’re going to live in town now, angel. Do you remember all the children you saw in town at the Christmas party?”

The little girl’s eyes widened. “Will there be more toys?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Only at Christmas, but there’ll be playmates your age and others Caleb and Abby’s ages. I’m sure you’ll like living in Radford Crossing.”

Her nephew nodded. “And we can see Mama soon as we get there, can’t we?”

The sheriff came into the house. “That’s right. Everyone put on a coat and let Miss Murdoch and me bundle you up in a quilt before we set you on a horse.”

Using the best quilts, they wrapped each of the children for travel. She hated she’d be leaving as much as she was, but wanted to get to her sister as soon as possible. And she’d be relieved to get safely away from the isolation of the cabin and trail to town. The thought of Gus returning while they were here filled her with terror.

The sheriff would be an easy target even with Caleb behind him. Two additional men increased their security. Surely even Gus would hesitate to attack three armed men.

When they were ready to leave, Sheriff Parrish spoke quietly. “Sound travels in cold weather. We need to save all out talking until we get to town. Can you children be quiet that long?”

All three nodded. Each face was swathed in a scarf and knit caps pulled to their eyebrows. They were such good kids. No wonder she loved her nephew and nieces as if they were her own.

Sheriff Parrish set Caleb on his horse. “My deputies are going to ride with us, but they need to be ready to chase anyone who tries to stop us. You kids will ride with your aunt and me.”

Abby rode in front of Kendra. Mittie sat behind her and held on to her waist. Kendra asked the sheriff to tie Mittie to her so the little girl wouldn’t bounce off. Still, they couldn’t go fast or they’d be in danger of one of the children being hurt. Speed would increase the risk to the horses and mule as well.

Snow had a crust of ice on top with tall drifts. Thank heavens she hadn’t had to carry Abby and walk with the other two children. Holding the sleeping child in front of her while riding was tiring enough, especially since every muscle in her body clenched with fear. Would she have succeeded? Maybe, but there was as much chance they’d all have frozen part way there.

Even with two deputies beside them, Sheriff Parrish appeared to be on guard throughout their trek. He’d needed more time to recover but had insisted he could travel. At least there’d be a doctor to treat his wounds when they arrived. That is, if Gus Tucker didn’t bushwhack them on their way.

Their pace was slow but the depth of snow decreased as they descended from the high valley where the cabin was located and drew nearer to the settlement. Relief flooded her when she spotted buildings signaling the outskirts of town by early afternoon. Surely for now they were safe.

Ah, but we know they aren’t safe yet, don’t we? Kendra’s brother in law Gus is determined to have her then kill her. He wants to take his son with him, but cares nothing for his daughters. Gus is a sly and devious villain who won’t stop as long as he’s alive.

Here’s the Amazon link: http://amzn.com/B00VC9C31W It’s also at Apple, Kobo, and Nook.

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WESTERN ROUNDUP CONTINUES WITH KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN

Continuing with the Western Roundup Giveaway Hop, today I'm featuring a book by Carra Copelin, one of my critique partners. Carra is the author of the Code series, which is contemporary. However, she has planned a historical introduction to the families in her contemporary series. The first of these is a short novella titled KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN. I love this story and want to share part of it with you. In addition to the copies of my books I'm giving away on August 1st, I'll give away two copies of KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN.

Here is the information about Carra's book: 

KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN Blurb:

Dermot McTiernan is determined to move on with his life after losing his one and only love to another man. He decides to try his hand at ranching in North Central Texas with his friend, Ian Benning. He figures if that doesn't work out, there are many other opportunities in the booming post-war state. When the luscious red-head from County Cork, Ireland shows up in Dallas, can he retain the courage of his convictions and move on without her?

Kathleen O'Donnell made a monumental mistake marrying, Kelsey Gilhooley. Her decision for entering the union, no matter how honorable, had made her life a living hell. Even though still married, she holds out hope for finding the man of her dreams. When she comes across her tall, dark-eyed Irishman in Dallas, Texas, will she be able to abandon happiness and walk away a second time?

Isn't this a gorgeous cover?

         KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN Excerpt:

Dermot looked around the room and its many patrons. Most were men dressed in black business suits. He noticed two women serving food and drinks, one a tall brunette, the other had red hair worn in a long single braid down the center of her back. He sincerely hoped the brunette served them because he wanted nothing else to remind him of Katie O'Donnell What-ever-her-married-name-was.

He closed his eyes to the memory and swore he caught a whiff of her scent. His imagination was playing a cruel trick. He thought to get up and leave, but before he could tell Ian he'd changed his mind about eating, a female voice whispered in a familiar brogue. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

Kathleen O'Donnell Gilhooley almost swallowed her tongue. The very moment she'd prayed for since the day she'd left Ireland a year ago had materialized, yet she wanted to run as far and as fast as she could. She'd hoped to meet Dermot McTiernan dressed in her best, but obviously the saints had other plans.

Hands shaking, she smoothed the humidity-laden curls back from around her face, and blotted the perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her apron. Trying her best to hide her nervousness, she stepped forward, shoulders squared. "Dermot, is it really you?"

"It would appear so, wouldn't it?" He stared past her to the window apparently fascinated by the activity on the street.

There was no way she could've known how he'd react to seeing her for the first time in almost ten years, but his tone took her aback none-the-less.  She wondered if he'd gotten her letter explaining the circumstances surrounding her union with Kelsey Gilhooley.  From his reaction this morning, she guessed he hadn't. Either that or it hadn't made a difference.

Well, that was okay. They were here now and, hopefully, with time on her side, she could make him understand. "How many eggs for ye?"

Dermot's friend and the taller of the two by a couple of inches, spoke up first. "I'll have four, please."

Kathleen waited patiently for Dermot to speak. He took so long, she wondered if he'd gone mute in the last minute and a half.

Finally, he lifted his head, looked her straight in the eye but spoke to his companion, "Ian Benning, this is Katie O'Donnell."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." The man stood, offered his hand in greeting.

She shook his hand, correcting her name, "Kathleen Gilhooley, 'tis my pleasure." She directed her attention back to Dermot. "Will ye be havin' four eggs, as well?"

"Sure."

After turning in the order, she checked on the pan of biscuits she'd left cooking in the oven. She'd placed them in to bake just before going out to help Sarah take orders. Normally she liked to help out in the dining room instead of being cooped up in the over-heated kitchen. This morning, however, turned out to be a different story.

Following what just happened in the dining room, she certainly questioned her decision to leave her homeland. She might've expected anger when they met, discomfort to be sure. What he'd exhibited had been much different. He'd been distant and sullen. That scared her more than any outburst.

She put two biscuits on each plate and took them to the table. The man introduced to her as Ian, thanked her. Dermot said nothing until she grabbed the pot and poured each of them a cup of coffee. The hurt and betrayal in his eyes wounded her far more than any physical injury she'd endured in her marriage to that drunken monster Gilhooley.

As she turned to walk away, he grabbed her hand demanding, "What're ye doin' here?"

His tone set her off and, while she knew it wasn't rational, that he was trying to defend himself by making the first strike. But she'd learned to protect herself, too, and rose to the bait. "'Tis a free country and I can be here if I want." She backed away in an effort to pull her hand from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip.

"I want to know why you're here," he demanded through clenched jaws. "How could ye've done such a thing to me?"

Ian stood. "McTiernan, calm down and let her go."

"I'll let her go when she gives me a good answer."

Kathleen looked about the large room in a panic. Every one of the café's patrons watched the scene with interest including the owner, Mr. Browder, who was walking in their direction. She feared what Dermot might say and she needed this job to keep her room above the establishment.

"Can we talk outside?" she pleaded. With one last great tug, she wrenched her hand loose but the motion sent her reeling backwards into the table behind her where she sat in a plate of fried eggs and a bowl of strawberry jam. A couple of gentlemen, their mouths agape, helped her stand, after which they returned to their seats. Her face heated with humiliation, she straightened to face her boss.

"Mrs. Gilhooley, please return to the kitchen. I'll handle the situation from here." He turned to Dermot and Ian. "I apologize for the interruption to your meal. Let Sarah or me know if there's anything else you require."

Kathleen entered through the kitchen door, as Mr. Browder aided the diner who'd lost his eggs to her backside. The whole incident had been embarrassing enough without having to sashay through the dining room with bright yellow yolks streaming down her green skirts.

Mrs. Browder waited for her with a wet soapy rag. "What in the world caused all that commotion?"

"A reunion with an old friend that didn't go as well as I'd hoped."

"I see."

Sarah came into the kitchen carrying the customer's empty plate. Her look was one of wary amusement. "Mr. Browder said to replace Mr. Smith's breakfast right away."

Kathleen took the egg soaked rag from Mrs. Browder and, while the older woman fussed over cooking the gentleman's eggs, she found she didn't care if her dress could be saved. She really didn't even care if she lost her job.

The only thing that mattered to her more than her livelihood or a place to lay her head at night was Dermot. She had to talk to him and make him understand she'd married to ensure a good future for her parents. After that, well, she didn't know yet but, being the optimist she was, something was bound to turn up. 

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KATIE AND THE IRISH TEXAN, The McTiernans, ia available on Amazon in ebook and print.    http://tinyurl.com/qg8wssx

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About the author

Carra Copelin

Carra was born in Dallas, Texas and raised a few miles to the west just a stone's throw from where the Dallas Cowboys now call home. Unlike other authors, she didn't write from childhood or read long into the night beneath the covers, but discovered romance novels as an adult. Little by little, as she read her way through hundreds of books, she discovered there were many people residing in her head. With all of them demanding their stories be told, she decided to give writing a try. From that day she was hooked, and, even though life took over for a while, she's busy bringing her characters to life. 

She is a member of Romance Writers of America and President of the Yellow Rose Romance Writers. When she's not writing she loves creating and plotting with her fabulous critique partners [ta da! one of whom is moi], watching NCIS and NASCAR, and visiting with her three beautiful grandchildren. She and her husband reside in Arlington.

You can find her on the web at http://carracopelin.com and at her blog, Under Texas Skies, at http://CarraCopelin.blogspot.com 

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Don't forget to stop by the other blogs in this Western Roundup Giveaway Hop!

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1. Books and Benches (Int)	2. My Devotional Thoughts (WW)	3. MYTHICAL BOOKS (INT)
4. LOVE. WITHOUT YOU	5. Romancing The West with Jacquie Rogers	6. Bookworm Lisa (Int)
7. Susan Heim on Writing (US)	8. Batch of Books (Int)	9. Deal Sharing Aunt (USA)
10. 3 Partners in Shopping (USA)	11. Rockin Book Reviews	12. Dare to Dream
13. Diane Estrella @ Thats What Im Here For. . . (US)	14. I Love to Read and Review Books : ) (INT)	15. Elisabeth Grace Foley - The Second Sentence
16. Shanna Hatfield	17. BookHounds	18. A Writer's Life

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