By Caroline Clemmons
I’m happy as a new colt to discuss my historical western romance, HIGH STAKES BRIDE, Men of Stone Mountain, Book 2, in print and e-book. Of course, it's also in KU.
I love this book! And readers have, too. I especially
love the heroine—her best intentions sometimes result in near catastrophe. Hmm, reminds me of myself. <G>
I
developed the premise for this series while visiting the historic
Belding-Gibson Ranch in Palo Pinto County, Texas. This is a large ranch, but
only a fraction of the original size due to divisions among family members. The
original home site stands, added on to over the decades since 1854. The late Barbara Belding Gibson and her husband, Charles
Gibson were active in preserving the history of the ranch as well as Palo Pinto
County’s history. The occasion of the first opening of their ranch about which
I was aware was the release of Barbara’s book about the ranch, PAINTED POLE. I
am so happy that I was able to tour this historic property in the beautiful (to
me) Palo Pinto Mountains. The Gibsons were good stewards of their heritage. I also am lucky enough to own a copy of PAINTED POLE.
In the first Men of Stone Mountain book, BRAZOS BRIDE, the ranch was the setting for Hope Montoya’s ranch, but with a Spanish-style hacienda instead of a western ranch house. The smaller ranch owned by Micah Stone cozied up to the vast Montoya acreage, but without access to the river. Most ranchers at this time did not use wire to enclose their land, but Hope’s father had fenced in all of his property except that adjoining the Brazos River. When he was murdered, Micah was accused, and barely escaped with his life. For convenience, I slipped in the fictional town of Radford Crossing a few miles away. There are (in my opinion) numerous delightful and a few vicious supporting characters to add humor and danger and pathos to the story.
Zach Stone has the sweetest ranch in all of Texas, at least he thinks he does. All he needs is a wife to build his family of boys and girls to carry on his ranch and name. He’s been jilted and vows he will never even speak to a woman again unless she's a relative. Then he comes across Alice Price and comes up with a crazy plan. He’s figured everything out, and is sure nothing can go wrong with his plan.
But life holds surprises for Alice and Zach...
Doesn’t
it always?
HIGH STAKES BRIDE has several incidents based on specific real life events, a first for me. Characters and stories pop into my head unbidden, and I don’t use anything specific from life. I qualify the statement because I believe our subconscious is a pool of combined experiences from our lives and those of people we know or have heard about. In other words, a writer’s muse steals from a writer’s subconscious well.
https://www.amazon.com/STAKES-BRIDE-Stone-Mountain-Texas-ebook/dp/B009F7JLTK/
Now
here’s an excerpt from HIGH STAKES BRIDE:
Zach slipped into the bedroll and waited, pistol in hand. He feigned sleep, wondering what kind of man tarried nearby. Whoever it was could have picked Zach off, so the sidewinder must not have murder on his mind.
Probably up to no good hiding out like that, though,
because any Westerner would share his campfire and vittles with anyone who rode
into camp. Zach wriggled into a comfortable spot and lay motionless. Anger at
recent events helped him remain awake.
The footfalls came so softly he almost missed them.
He opened his eyes a slit, but enough to see a thin shadow move toward the
fire. About then heavy clouds overhead parted and the moonlight revealed a boy
who scooped up a slice of bacon and slid it into his mouth.
The culprit set Zach’s tin plate on the ground near
the fire, ladled beans into it, and picked up a fork. He squatted down and
balanced the plate on his knees before he commenced eating. Zach noticed he
kept his left hand in his pocket the whole time.
Something must be wrong with the thief’s left
arm. Looked too young for it to have
been a casualty of the War. Lots of other ways to get hurt out here. Whatever
had happened to his left arm, his right one worked well enough. He forked food
into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week.
Zach let him shovel beans for a few minutes. Crook
or not, anyone that hungry deserved a meal. When the kid stopped eating, Zach
couldn’t figure out what he was doing.
It looked as if he used the fork to scratch around on the ground, so he
must have eaten his fill. Zach slipped his hand from beneath the cover and
cocked the pistol.
“Hold it right there, son. I’d like to know why
you’re eating without at least a howdy to the man who provided the food.”
The boy paused, then set the plate down slowly. “I
left money here on a rock to pay for it.”
Odd sounding voice, but the kid was probably scared.
Zach slipped from his bedroll and stood, but kept his gun pointed at the food
robber. “Maybe.”
Zach walked toward the kid, careful to train his
gaze so the firelight didn’t dim his eyesight. Sure enough, he spotted a couple
of coins on the rock beside his pot of beans, or what remained of them, and his
empty plate.
He faced the intruder. “Why not just come into camp
earlier instead of sneaking in after you thought I was asleep?”
“I—I was afraid you weren’t friendly.”
Zach thought he also heard the kid mutter what
sounded like “...or maybe too friendly.” Must be the wind, he thought, as he
neared the boy.
Zach motioned with his free hand. “I don’t begrudge
anyone food, but I hate dishonesty and sneaking around. Stand up so I can see you.”
The kid stood, hat low over his face and his good
hand clenched.
Zach reached to push the brim back. “What’s your
name?”
The kid stepped forward. “None of your business,
mister.”
A fistful of sand hit Zach’s face. He heard his
assailant run. Mad as the devil, Zach brushed grit from his eyes and set out in
pursuit. The kid was fast, he’d give him that, but so was Zach. His longer legs
narrowed the distance between them. With
a running lunge, he tackled the kid.
“Oof. Let me go.” The lad was all wriggles and
kicking feet as he squirmed trying to escape.
Zach wasn’t about to let that happen. They rolled in
the dirt. In one move Zach pinned the boy’s good arm. The hat fell aside and a
mass of curls spilled around the kid’s face.
His jacket parted and unmistakable curves pushed
upward where Zach’s other hand rested. Zach stared in disbelief. Registering
his hand pressed against a heavenly mound shocked him and he jerked his paw
away.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re not a boy.”
The woman glared at him. “Right, and you’re not
exactly a feather. Get off me.”
Zach stood and bent to help her but she curled into
a ball where she lay. “Ma’am, you okay?”
“Just dandy.” She sat up, moving like a
hundred-year-old. She glared at him while holding her stomach with her good
hand. The other arm dangled uselessly. “You’ve likely broken the few uninjured
bones I had left.”
His temper flared. “Hey, lady, don’t try to put the
blame on me. If you’d been honest and come into camp like any other traveler,
I’d have shared my food with you.”
“Yeah, well a woman on her own can’t be too careful
and I don’t know you or anything about you.”
Zach saw her point. Though most Western men would
respect a woman, it wouldn’t help if she ran into one of the exceptions.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
She glared at him and appeared to debate with
herself before she said, “Fell out of a tree. My arm caught in the fork of a
branch. Pulled it out of socket and I can’t get it back.”
Well hell. As if he didn’t have enough on his mind.
Now that he’d decided not to speak to another woman unrelated to him, this
bundle of trouble showed up needing a keeper.
Resigning himself to one more stroke of bad luck, he
said, “Take off your coat and come over here to my bedroll.”
The campfire sparked less than her eyes. “I’ll do no
such of a thing. Don’t be thinking you can take liberties because I ate your
food and I’m injured. I paid for the food.”
Zach exhaled and planted his fists on his hips.
“Ma’am, there’s not enough money in Texas to pay me to take liberties with you.
If you’ll move to my bedroll and lie down, I’ll put your arm back in place.
You’ll likely have to take off your, um, your shirt.”
She looked him up and down as if she weighed him and
found him lacking. “I figured you for a rancher. You a doctor then?”
“Ranchers have to know a good bit about patching
people.”
She straightened herself and swished past him as if
she wore a ball gown instead of a man’s torn britches. Watching the feminine
sway of her hips as she sashayed to the other side of the campfire, he wondered
how he ever mistook her for male. He followed her and tried not to appreciate
her long legs or the way the fabric molded to them like a second skin.
When she reached the blasted bedroll he’d been stuck
with, she slid out of her jacket. A grimace of pain flashed across her face as
the weight of the light coat slipped down her injured arm. In one graceful move
she plopped down on the bedroll.
“You’re sure you can do this?” she asked and looked
up at him.
Flickering firelight placed her features in shadow.
Moving closer, he figured the poor light played tricks on him, for he couldn't
tell the color of her hair. He decided she had light brown or dark blonde
curls. Whatever color her eyes were, maybe blue or green, they were big and
watched him with suspicion.
“Yes. Sorry, I don’t have any spirits with me to
deaden the pain.”
“I never touch alcohol. If you’re sure you can do
this, just get on with it.” She unbuttoned her shirt and winced as she slid the
injured shoulder and arm free, and then stuck her chin up as if she dared him
to make an improper comment or gesture.
He knelt beside her, keenly aware of the differences
that proved her womanhood. A chemise of fabric worn so thin as to be almost
transparent pulled taut across her breasts. He swallowed and willed himself to
ignore the dark circles surrounding the pearly peaks thrusting at the flimsy
material. The memory of the lush mound he’d touched briefly wouldn’t leave him.
He’d been alone too long and had better concentrate on the job at hand.
“Stretch out and try to relax. I’ll be as gentle as
I can, but this will hurt.”
“Hurts already, but I better put my bandana in my
mouth so I don’t scream. I’m not a whiner, mind, but wouldn’t want to draw
attention if there’s others nearby.” She slipped the cloth knotted around her
neck up to her mouth like a gag, then laid down.
She moaned but didn’t fight him. Zach had seen this
done numerous times over the years and had performed it twice. He probed her
shoulder gently, then rotated her arm to slip it back into place.
He listened for the snick of the bone reseating
itself in the socket. When he finished, he massaged the muscles of her upper
arm and shoulder. She’d likely be sore for weeks, but the harm she had done
wasn’t permanent.
“Have to give it to you, ma’am. You were the
quietest patient I’ve ever seen.”
She lay with her face turned away from him. When he
leaned over, he realized she’d passed out.
And
it’s no wonder, is it?
Stay safe and keep reading!
