Ruth Ann Nordin's Blog, page 84

Sunday Story Sample: His Abducted Bride (A Forced Marriage)

Today’s sample is taken from Gavin making sure Sandy has no choice to marry him.  It starts off with her watching him during sword practice while she’s walking along the wall that surrounds the courtyard.

King Blackheart gestured to the guard beside her.

The guard nodded and turned to her.  “Your presence is required in the throne room.”

“Required?” she asked, thinking that was an odd way of saying she was wanted in the throne room.

“Yes.  You have to go.”

“I have to?”

“Yes.  The king won’t let you refuse.”

“Oh really?  And what is he going to do if I refuse?”

He stared at her, unblinking.  “Are you refusing?”

She almost asked him, What do you think? but resisted the urge.  Instead, she said, “I have to tend to some personal matters.”

“That can wait.”

“I’m afraid it can’t.  Not unless you want me to make an unpleasant mess.”

“I don’t believe you need to go to the privy.”

Before she could respond, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.  Stunned, she didn’t fight to get away from him as he carried her down the stairs.  The men around her chuckled, and her face flushed in embarrassment.  If King Blackheart thought her guard could treat her like a wayward child in front of his men and get her to agree to whatever he wanted, he had another thing coming.

The guard strode across the courtyard, and as they passed the king, she noticed a slight smirk on his face.  Aggravated, she yelled out, “I won’t do it!  Whatever it is you have planned, I won’t do it!”

“We’ll see,” he called out.

She grunted.  She hated how certain he was that he could get her to do anything he wanted.  It only made her more determined to resist him.

The guard carried her into the castle and to the throne room, bouncing her on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  When he set her down, she realized he had placed her in front of a man with a long blue satin robe and matching hat.

Her eyes grew wide.  “The magician?” He looked exactly the way she’d pictured him while she wrote the book, but…  “Didn’t King Blackheart kill you for betraying him to one of my knights?”

“In your version of the story, that was true, but we’re not in your version anymore,” the guard told her.  Turning to the magician, he added, “You know what to do.”

“What?  What does he have to…”

A blue haze surrounded her, and she forgot the rest of her question.  She knew he was putting a spell on her.  She felt the magic reach out and penetrate her mind, dispelling all protests from her.  In its place was a very pleasant sensation.  Though a part of her realized she should be alarmed, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The door to the throne room opened, and she turned in time to see King Blackheart stride across the room with a priest, that knowing smirk still on his face.  As much as she wanted to narrow her eyes at him, her body wouldn’t obey.  She felt a smile form on her lips.

“You see, Father Augustine,” King Blackheart began, motioning to her, “she’s quite agreeable to the marriage.”

“Yes, I am.” She blinked in shock.  Good heavens but did that phrase just come out of her mouth?  And was she really smiling as if this was the best thing that ever happened to her?  She looked at the magician.  She had no idea she made him that powerful.

Father Augustine’s shoulders relaxed.  “I’m relieved.  While I understand much is at stake, my own life included, I can’t bring myself to marry a man or woman against their will.” With a smile, he stepped between the two thrones, one for Blackheart and the other for her.  “Please, come.”

To Sandy’s horror, she hurried over to him, still smiling as if this was the best thing that ever happened to her.  She glanced at the magician and mentally grumbled.  Who knew magic could be so powerful?  Blackheart walked toward her at an annoyingly slow pace.  She wished she could groan or roll her eyes, but the magic only permitted her to give him a ridiculous grin.  The whole thing made her want to puke.

“Please, join hands,” Father Augustine said.

Blackheart reached out and took her hands in his, and as much as she wanted to pull them away, she clasped her hands around his.

“The uniting of two lives is a splendid thing,” the priest began.  “You are joining more than two kingdoms.  You are joining your hearts, your lives, your hopes, your dreams.  From this moment forward, you will no longer be two, but you will be one.  It is a blessing.”

It was a curse, Sandy thought, but she couldn’t say it.  All she could do was smile like an idiot.  She tuned out the rest of Father Augustine’s spiel about the beauty of marriage.  Granted, she used to dream of being a bride.  She was almost one, long ago.  She shoved the memories back into the recesses of her mind.  Josh was in the past, and that’s where he’d always be.  The jerk didn’t deserve to be remembered.

Her gaze focused on Blackheart, and she wished she could slap that stupid smirk right off his face.  The thought crossed her mind that she could give him the same news she gave to Josh shortly after he proposed to her.  That would be the easiest way out of the marriage, but what was the point?  Blackheart was a character in her story.  He wasn’t real.  None of this was actually happening.

As real as it felt, this world and the people in it stemmed from her imagination.  This was all fake, and when she found her way back to reality, everything that happened here would be null and void.  So it didn’t matter if she was married.  She was only married in the story, and any story could be rewritten.  Even so, it irked her that he dared to force her into something she specifically said she didn’t want.

Father Augustine finally finished talking and clasped his hands over theirs.  “From day to day may your love flourish and grow stronger, regardless of what happens, good or bad.  You have my blessing and are now husband and wife.” He let go of their hands and motioned to the magician.  “You may hand the king the bride’s crown.”

The magician stepped forward with a delicate gold crown with a few rubies embedded in it.  Blackheart let go of her hands and accepted the crown.  She wanted to run off and get out of this wretched castle, but the magic held her in place.  He put the crown on her head.

“Let your kingdoms prosper and your subjects know peace,” Father Augustine said before he bowed.

“Thank you for coming,” Blackheart told him.

“It was an honor to be here for this blessed event.”

Sandy inwardly groaned and averted her gaze from the jovial men.  Blessed event, indeed!  It was something alright, but blessed wasn’t the word she’d use to describe it.

Once Father Augustine left, Blackheart instructed the magician to undo his magic spell.  The instant he did, she was able to scowl at Blackheart.

“It’s good to have you back to your normal self,” Blackheart dryly commented before turning to the magician and guard.  “I have it from here.  You may leave.”

The two men bowed and hastened out of the room.

She crossed her arms and glared at him.  “Don’t think you’ve won.  This was but one battle.”

“I did what was necessary,” Blackheart replied, placing his hands behind his back.  “As we speak, word is being sent to your kingdom that Crystaline and Havenshire are united.”

“I hate to admit it, but even with all the things you’ve done to keep me prisoner, I never thought you’d use magic to force me to marry you.”

“Now you know what it feels like.”

“Now I know what it feels like?”

“You had me slaughter innocent people and destroy villages against my will.  I protested it each and every step of the way,” he pointed to her, “but you made me do it.  So yes, now you know what it feels like to be forced to do something against your will.  It’s not very pleasant, is it?”

Changing the Title and Cover for Lassoing Her Groom

I have gone back and forth on this for the past two months, but I’m just not happy with the cover.  There’s nothing “wrong” with it, but I just wan’t satisfied.  So I combed through all the stock photo sites I frequent.  Finally, I found images that worked for my vision of the book.  The heroine had to be blonde and fun looking (and historical western looking) and I wanted a suitable background and guy.

What I found has required me to change the title of the book since there is no lasso on it. I might use the title in the future but make it Lassoing His Bride because I can find a ton of cowboys with lassos.  I can’t find any suitable historical western women with lassos.  All of the women I found with lassos were either comedic in nature or contemporary.

So after some brainstorming with a writer friend, we decided on Catching Kent for the title.  I decided to put Kent in the title to help people know it complements Kent Ashton’s Backstory.  Since the heroine, Rose Larson, does a ton of pursuing and eventually wins Kent, we decided on Catching for the first part of the title.

Without further ado, here’s the change:

Old Cover and Title

New Cover and Title

Complaints From My Characters

Little did I know that when I posted the sample for Rose Gordon’s The Officer and the Bostoner, that my characters (one in particular) would feel the need to send me this email:

Subject: Remove Offensive Post At Once

I am appalled–appalled, I say!–to open up my inbox and find a promotion for another author’s characters.  Ruth, seriously, you have your own books and those characters to post about, not some other characters out there in another author’s book.  I have given you the best years of my life (at least the best three months), and this is how you treat me?  I patiently waited until you got done with those samples from The Stagecoach Bride and Bride by Arrangement because they were your books.  Okay.  They really aren’t completely yours.  You are co-authoring them.

But as I was saying, this post last Sunday was too much.  I tried in vain to get it removed, but WordPress said I didn’t have any rights since I was a fictional character.  Can you believe that?  As if being a fictional character lowers me to the status of a non-real entity or something.  So I am coming to you directly to demand you remove the offensive post at once.

If you refuse my request, I’ll be forced to go on your blog with this:

Disgruntled,

Mister Christopher Robinson (hero in His Reluctant Lady)

Needless to say, I deleted the email.

Christopher: You deleted my email?

Ruth: Yes, I did.  And I deleted that horribly cropped picture you included as an attachment.

Christopher: I’ll have you know it took me over an hour to dig up the picture of Dave Larson holding a poster asking people to ban your books.

Ruth: Well, you could have spent another ten minutes making it look like you were actually the one holding the poster.  Dave isn’t going to like knowing you’re going through his folder where he keeps all his pictures and documents.

The original picture with Dave Larson.

Christopher: You’re going off topic.  I demand you take down the post at once.

Ruth:  Nope.

Christopher: Why not?

Ruth: Because you’re just a character, Christopher.  You’re a figment of my imagination that I put on paper.  Well, in a Word document on my computer anyway.

Christopher: I’m not “just a character”.  As soon as your wrote me, I took on a life of my own.

Gavin: Don’t waste your breath.  This is what authors do.  They create us and refuse to acknowledge we have any rights.  I’m going through the same thing with my author, Sandy Davis.

Ruth: Sandy is my character, Gavin, and both of you are in His Abducted Bride.  So if you think about it, you are a character of my character.

Christopher: That reasoning is more complicated than a soap opera.

Ruth: It’s easier to understand when you read the book.

Gavin in battle attire.

Gavin: Well, whatever the case, I’m not going to let Sandy kill me off like she wants to.

Christopher: Kill you off?

Gavin: Yes.  Sandy’s plan is to kill me off in the final scene of her fantasy novel.  I have to find a way to stop her.

Christopher: Is that why you’re wearing a knight costume?

Gavin: It’s not a costume.  This is battle gear.  I’m the king and warrior of Havenshire.

Christopher: I don’t see how your book is a romance novel.  This is what a romance novel is supposed to look like:

Christopher continues: You have a gorgeous lady on the cover, preferably one who’s showing a little extra on top, if you know what I mean.  Then you have a passionate color like red and use font that is feminine looking.  That’s what a romance novel is supposed to look like.

Gavin: You can have a man on the cover, too.  See, there’s a bride and a warrior/king on the front.

Christopher: With non-romancy colors like yellow.

Gavin:  It’s supposed to be gold, like the color of a wedding band.

Christopher: That reasoning might work if there wasn’t that stupid looking thing in the background.

Gavin: It’s a castle.

Christopher: If you say so…   But you’re missing the point.   You are aware that Ruth gave up writing fantasy years ago once she realized romance is a lot more fun, right?

Gavin: Sandy is writing the fantasy, not Ruth.  Ruth is writing the romance that includes an author who is writing a fantasy.

Christopher: Like I said, that is more confusing than a soap opera.  I can tell you right now that more people will want to read my book than yours.

Gavin: Just because your cover has a woman showing cleavage?

Christopher: No, because my book is clearly defined.  Not to mention, I’m an awesome, witty, and good looking guy.  I mean, really.  What lady in her right mind could resist a face like this?

Christopher

Agatha (heroine in His Reluctant Lady): Any lady can resist a face like that, Christopher.

Christopher: You know you want me.

Agatha: I want you like I want the plague.

Gavin: Christopher, speak to me when you have muscles and looks.  I work out every day to make sure I’m in top physical shape.

Gavin

Agatha: Wow!  I’m in the wrong book.

Gavin: *snickers at Christopher*

Christopher: You know what they say.  Better to work out your mind than your body.

Agatha: Nobody says that.

Christopher: They do at White’s.

Gavin: White’s?

Christopher: It’s a gentleman’s club.  You wouldn’t be interested.  We don’t play with barbels there.  We engage in higher pursuits like thinking strategically in a chess game, things that would only confuse you.

Agatha: And they also gamble, gossip, and make childish bets.

Christopher: I seem to recall you aren’t immune to gossip, my dear Agatha.  Do the Tittletattle and Gerard Addison ring a bell?

Agatha: This conversation is boring me now that there are no new pictures of Gavin being posted.  I’ll be on my way.  Don’t follow me out, Christopher.  *hurries off*

Christopher: When she says that, she’s hoping I will follow her.

Gavin: *rolls eyes* Sure, she does.

Dave Larson

Dave Larson:  I’ve been getting some messages on my cell about someone named Christopher Robinson who was insinuating that he’s the best hero Ruth ever wrote.  Who is this twerp?

Gavin: The twerp is over there.

Ruth: Dave, this post is getting too long.  You can’t barge in here at the last minute and take over.

Dave: I have a title to defend here.  We ran a legitimate poll on this blog and I won.  I am the best hero of all time.

Christopher: That was before I came along.

Dave: I don’t think so.

Ruth: Debate this another day, guys.  I’m closing this particular post.

Dave: I am coming back.

Ruth: I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Dave.

*ends post*

Photo Credits

Christopher: © Vanessa Van Rensburg | Dreamstime.com

Gavin: © Alexei Tacu | Dreamstime.com

Dave Larson: © Yuri Arcurs | Dreamstime.com

Story Sample Sunday: The Officer and the Bostoner by Rose Gordon

For today’s Story Sample Sunday, I asked Rose Gordon if I could post a sample of her newest release, The Officer and the Bostoner.  Since she said yes, I’m excited to pass along this really funny historical western romance with a surprising twist toward the end.  From time to time, I get asked if there’s a historical western romance I’d recommend.  So I thought I’d pass along this book that I had the pleasure of beta reading.

What it’s about:

Basically, Allison Pierson is on her way her meet her intended when her stagecoach leaves her stranded at a military fort.  Captain Wes Tucker happens to see the whole thing and decides to do what he can to keep her safe until she can get safely to her intended.  And the way he’s going to do that is to temporarily marry her.

I love marriage of convenience plots and know some of you do, too.  :D

Below is part of the scene where Wes proposes:

Wes ran a hand over the gristle that covered his chin, racking his brain for just how to put this so she’d understand the situation, but not panic. He blew out a breath. “Miss Pierson, I do believe you’ll make a beautiful bride.”

She jumped out of her chair. “Mr. Tucker, has the heat gotten to you?”

“No. But if you don’t do as I say, something will be getting to you—and it won’t be as kind as a bit too much sun.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, moving toward the door.

Wes took to his feet and reached for her arm to stay her. “I know. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” He raked a hand through his brown hair. “Miss Pierson, the way I see it, there are three ways out of here.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I’m listening.”

“The first one is the stagecoach.”

Miss Pierson heaved a sigh. “Well, it’s quite apparent I’ve already missed that option.”

“I know, I just wanted to remind you it was an option.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment.” He flashed her a quick grin. “The second option is not advisable.”

She glared at him.

“You could steal a horse and ride away.”

She pursed her lips and stared at him as if he were addled for suggesting such a thing.

“But I wouldn’t recommend that method, either. People ‘round here take horse thievery seriously.  It’s a hanging offense, wouldn’t you know? Just last summer—”

“And what is my third option, Mr. Tucker?”

“You could walk.” He dropped his gaze down to her shoes. They weren’t heeled or bejeweled as he half-expected them to be, but being white leather half boots that couldn’t possibly have more than a quarter-of-an-inch thick sole, they were still unsuitable. “You’ll either wear a hole in the bottom of those or have a nasty blister before you reach the Indians.”

She started. “Indians?”

“Indians,” he confirmed with a quick nod. “I don’t know what that drunkard who was driving your stagecoach told you, but you’re in Indian Territory.”

Her eyes doubled in size. “Indian Territory as in where the government has moved hundreds of thousands of Indians?”

“Very good. You must enjoy reading the newspaper with your morning meal.”

She frowned. “How did we get here? I thought we were in Kansas.”

Wes shook his head. “Your stagecoach driver took a wrong turn somewhere around Freedom, Missouri, and got off of the Santa Fe Trail and onto the Texas Trail. Huge difference.”

“Freedom?” She cast him a dubious expression. “We were in Freedom three days ago. How did he not know he’d taken a wrong turn until now?”

“Don’t ask me, I wasn’t the one driving.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sir, do you have a serious bone in your body?”

“Don’t rightly know. But what I do know is, unless you want to be captured by the Indians, you’re staying right here in Fort Gibson until the next armed stagecoach comes through.”

“Stay in this outlandish place a month? Absolutely not.”

“Oh? Do you think you’ll take your chances against a tribe of Indians, then?”

“No. We’ll take our chances against a tribe of Indians,” she said with a dazzling smile.

“Pardon? Who exactly are you including in this ‘we’?”

“You and me,” she said easily. She adjusted her frilly, pink shawl, still smiling in a way he was certain turned many heads in Boston. But they weren’t in Boston.

“And why should I do that?”

“Because I need to get to Santa Fe.”

“Then you can wait for the stagecoach to take you.”

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

“Marry me.”

***

If you’d like to read more, you can buy The Officer and the Bostoner from any of the links below:

Amazon

Barnes &Noble

Kobo

Smashwords

Those are the stores at the moment.  I know this book will be at the Apple iBookstore and Sony soon.

***

I saw somewhere that someone thought I might be Rose Gordon.  I wish that was true because she’s got excellent books out there!  But the truth is, we are two different people and to prove it, I have a picture of the two of us taken at the RT Convention.  :D

Ruth Ann Nordin and Rose Gordon
(I’m on the left; Rose is on the right.)

I don’t use pen names anymore.  It’s too much work.

Winners Announced for the Garden Variety Giveaway

The winners of the Garden Variety Giveaway are listed below.  We already emailed the winners, so look at your inbox or spam folder.  :-)

Marie Davis won the books and the wheelbarrow with artificial flowers

Mary A. Pitzer won the books and the beach bag

Betsy Thomas won the books and the earrings

*Winners were picked using random.org.

Another Sample from Pete’s Wife (A Scene from Pete’s Point of View)

I got a request to give a sample from the hero’s point of view, so I decided to do that instead of make a post on what inspired this book.  The reason it took so long for me to post was because I was only halfway through with chapter 3 and wanted to finish it before I posted it here.

The Anthology Janet Syas Nitsick and I Are Working On

This is in Chapter 3 and I introduce him here:

Pete had no idea what his brother was up to.  He stood in the parlor, his gaze going from his brother to the preacher who held a book in his hands.  With a glance out the window, he scanned his brother’s wagon.  His brother always came out with some items, be they food staples, clothes, paints, or something else Pete needed.  But it didn’t look like he brought anything with him today except the preacher.  And the last time the preacher came out to the house, it was to bury their mother.  He couldn’t think of why the preacher should be here now.

His brother patted him on the shoulder, so he turned his attention back to him.  While his brother opened his mouth in a way that told Pete he was trying to communicate with him, Pete focused on the wide smile on his face and way he clasped his hands.  Assured that the preacher was here for a good reason, Pete relaxed.

Pete’s brother turned toward the doorway in the parlor and Pete followed his gaze.  Two women entered the room, one he recognized as the woman who often came out here with him, along with their boy.  That boy was currently playing outside with a frog.  But he didn’t recognize the dark-haired beauty standing next to his brother’s woman.  Interest piqued, he took a moment to inspect the stranger whose face flushed a pleasing shade of pink as she made eye contact with him.  He liked the way she looked.  Her eyes were a lovely shade of green, complimenting the dress she wore.  Her rosy lips were turned slightly into a smile, indicating that she was nervous about something.  Her skin was fair and smooth, not at all like his skin which was tan from all his time working outdoors.  Then there was the rest of her, and a man had to be blind not to appreciate the curve of her breasts and hips.

He tried to memorize her in hopes he’d be able to paint her in the future.  Often, he liked to paint the land, but he could painting her for hours and losing himself to the simply joy of it.  None of the trees, lakes, rivers, or prairie lands he’d painted came even close to her.

His brother waved her forward and she stepped toward him, his brother’s woman close behind.  Feeling self-conscious, he ran his fingers through his light blond hair and straightened the collar of his plaid shirt.  If he’d known she was coming by, he would have paid more attention to how he looked.

His brother took his hand and placed it in the dark-haired beauty’s.  Eyebrows furrowed, he studied his brother’s face to figure out what was going on.  His brother moved his mouth as he pointed to the woman holding his hand.  Ignoring his brother’s mouth, his gaze went to the woman and then to their hands, wondering what it meant.  Usually, he could figure out what people wanted, but in this case, he couldn’t.

His brother gestured to the preacher so he looked at the older man who proceeded to open his book.  Pete glanced at the woman.  Did she know what was going on?  She seemed focused on what the preacher was doing.  He knew that when people moved their mouths, other people understood something he didn’t.  So she probably knew what was happening.

His brother nudged him in the side and nodded.  It took Pete a moment to realize that his brother wanted him to nod to the preacher so he did.  The preacher and his brother seemed satisfied.  That was good.

The preacher turned to her and after a minute of watching him move his mouth, she nodded and moved her mouth, too.  Pete wondered what this whole thing was about.  The hand holding, the nodding…  Then his brother separated his hand from hers, something he didn’t particularly care for since he had enjoyed the physical contact.  It seemed that besides his brother and his parents, no one had touched him.

He’d seen his brother, his woman and their boy touch each other and often thought it’d nice to have that kind of familiarity with someone.  And there was no denying that when his brother and his woman touched, there was something special about it.  They belonged together.  For the past year, Pete struggled with the uncomfortable feeling of jealousy whenever he saw them together.  He had wanted something like what they had.

As his brother and his woman turned their attention to the dark-haired beauty, he wondered if she was for him, if maybe his brother had noticed that all the paintings in the world hadn’t eased the loneliness that had become his companion.  He hoped so.  He’d like to have his own woman, and this one pleased him immensely.

His brother turned back to him then pointed to the woman and him.  The woman moved her mouth and smiled in a way that indicated she was happy.  He returned her smile, feeling both hesitant but thrilled at that same time.  He was sure this woman was his woman, his dark-haired beauty.

His brother’s woman hugged his dark-haired beauty then moved her mouth before she turned to him and moved her mouth as well.  He nodded because he knew it would tell her that he agreed with her, even though he didn’t know exactly what she was trying to tell him but knew it was something good by the way she was relaxed and smiling.

When his brother, his woman, and the preacher began heading for the door, he watched his dark-haired beauty to make sure she’d remain with him and breathed a sigh of relief when she did.  Good.  So she did realize she was his brother’s gift to him.  Since he knew she wasn’t going to leave, he felt safe in taking her hand and leading her to the door.

He let go of her hand and ran across the yard to meet up with his brother who was halfway to the wagon.  His brother stopped, a question in his eyes, but then Pete hugged him to express his gratitude.  His brother hugged him back.  When he let go of his brother, he stepped away from him and noticed the boy. He ruffled the boy’s hair, a gesture he often used to say hello and good-bye.  The boy moved his mouth and pointed to the spot he’d been playing, so Pete surmised the boy was telling him something about the frog he’d been playing with.

Without enough gestures, Pete never could tell what someone wanted him to know and since his brother’s woman waved for the boy to get into the wagon, Pete figured it didn’t matter.  He waved to them and waited until they were on the wagon before he headed back to the house.  The dark-haired beauty’s gaze went to the wagon, so he glanced over his shoulder and saw his brother’s woman moving her mouth.  He paused, his gaze going between the two, wondering what the exchange meant.

Disappointed since there was no way he was going to find out, he continued on his way to the house.  Though it sometimes frustrated him that he couldn’t understand some things that others said or get them to understand him, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  It’d been that way ever since he could remember and would likely continue to be that way for the rest of his life.  But he’d really like to know what his dark-haired beauty was thinking.

He walked up the porch steps and studied her.  She stood in the doorway of the house, an apprehensive expression on her pretty face, and she twirled a stray strand of her hair around two fingers.  She was nervous.  Well, that was silly.  She had no need to be nervous around him.  Deciding she might feel better if he helped her get more acquainted to her new home, he stepped toward her and offered her his hand.

She glanced from his hand to his eyes, her eyebrows furrowed, as if she was trying to figure something out.  He gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile and motioned for her to join him.  After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and took his hand.  She moved her mouth, but it was the curious expression on her face that got his attention.

She wanted to know something.  He shrugged, wondering if she’d give him more information to discern what she had a question about.  She paused, shook her head, and then moved her mouth again.  When she stopped and looked at him expectantly, he settled for squeezing her hand to let her know everything would be alright.  She had to be scared.  He knew he’d be scared if he settled into an unfamiliar place.

Though he couldn’t figure out why, she seemed intent on staring at him, as if she was trying to figure him out.  Well, there was only one way she was going to learn more about him and that was to see what he did.  Since he couldn’t tell her, he’d show her.  He led her down the porch steps and across the yard.

They reached the barn and showed her everything that was in it, including the stray two cats and the milking cow he had in a stall.  Feeling inspired, he decided to show her how he milked the cow.  When he was done, he held the pail out to her, and he was pleased to see that she seemed delighted to see fresh milk.

Since he’d already shown her everything in the barn, he held the pail with one hand and used his other to guide her to the chicken coop.  After that he took her to his garden.  In addition to a few fruit trees he had, he was proud of the rows of food that were doing well.  Potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, celery, lettuce, broccoli, and tomatoes were each divided up in their respective rows.  They wouldn’t be ready for a while yet and he had no way of telling her what they were but in time, they’d grow out of the ground and she’d know.

Letting go of her hand, he pulled out a weed by one of the potato plants and scanned the rest of the gardens to make sure no other weeds were coming through.  So far, so good.  Everything was as it should be.

He took her hand again so he could lead her to the fenced pasture where his cattle were grazing the grass.  Then in another fenced area, he showed her his sheep and in another was a horse.  With nothing else to show her for the outside of his house, he took her back inside.  She might like to sample some milk, so they went to the kitchen where he strained the milk, noting the way she carefully watched the process.

When he was done, he dipped a cup into the pail and held it out to her.  She accepted it from him and took a tentative sip.  Her eyes lit up and a wide smile crossed her face before she drank the rest of it.  Pleased, he offered to fill the cup again.  She bit her lower lip and glanced at the cup then nodded and held it out to him.  More than happy to oblige her, he gave her another cup.  Then time she didn’t drink it so fast.

He wondered how long she’d been thirsty.  He then wondered if she was hungry.  Without knowing where she came from or how long it’d been since she ate or drank, he had to guess.  He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw the long and short hands at the location they usually were when it was two hours away from supper.  But if she was hungry, he couldn’t show her the house until she ate.

Pulling a chair out from the table, he motioned for her to sit.  Still holding the cup, she went to the chair and sat down, looking surprised.  He gathered a skillet and some eggs he’d gathered that morning.  Eggs were a good, quick meal, and he’d only make two so they wouldn’t spoil her appetite for supper.  He had the eggs ready in short time and placed them on a plate.  Digging out a fork from the utensil drawer, he gave her the meal.

He wasn’t sure what the expression was on her face but knew she was struggling to figure something out.  If only he knew what she needed to know, he’d tell her.  But all he could do was sit across from her and watch as she ate her eggs.

When she was done, she finished her milk and rose to her feet, ready to carry the dishes to the sink, but he stopped her so he could do it for her.  He’d never had anyone in his house that he could do something for.  In the past, everyone had done it all for him.  He was glad his dark-haired beauty was willing to let him take care of her for a change.

After he took care of the dishes, he held his hand out to her.  She accepted it.  Holding her hand was already becoming familiar to him and he liked that.  Now he knew why his brother liked holding his woman’s hand so much.  He stood at the bottom of the stairs.  She’d already been in the parlor and kitchen.  While he was sure she hadn’t seen the mudroom, it wasn’t the most interesting room in the house.

But he figured he better do it now so she could be assured he wouldn’t be making their home a mess.  His mother had seemed happier when the house was clean, so his father had learned to do what he could to make sure he got all the dirt and grime off of him in the mudroom before entering the house.  From that, he learned that women preferred things clean and did what he could to make the house presentable in case he ever got a woman of his own, and as luck had it, he finally got her today.

Decision made, he led her to the back of the house where the mudroom separated the main house from the outside.  He showed her the sink and bucket of water, the mat for his work boots, and everything else he thought she might be interested in.  At one point, he glanced at her to see if she was pleased, and she smiled at him so he knew she was as happy as his mother had been about the mudroom.

Done with the mudroom, he led her back into the house and up the stairs.  He led her into the room where he hung some of his paintings.  He had more but had saved them in some trunks which were in the attic, and he had a feeling that she wouldn’t care to go up there.  Ever since he was twelve, he made it a habit of painting every day when he got the chance.  Painting was his way of recording what he saw, and those that were his favorites, he made frames for.

His dark-haired beauty tapped him on the arm, and when he looked at her, she laughed despite the uncertain expression on her face then moved her mouth and gestured the paintings along the wall.  She continued moving her mouth, but it was the way her face lit up with excitement and she pointed to his work that drew his attention.

He wished he knew what she was saying because whatever it was, it had to be good.  He had a suspicion that she liked his paintings, and that made him feel like he was ten feet tall.  He continued watching her, wishing more than ever that he knew what she was trying to tell him.  But at least she was smiling and, better yet, she was smiling at him.

When she was at the portraits he’d done of everyone he knew, he reached for her arm to get her attention.  She stopped moving her mouth and focused on him.  He touched her cheek, admiring how soft her skin was.  Her hands weren’t so soft, telling him that she’d been used to working with her hands.  But he guessed it was mostly work around the house where she used to live since they were similar to his mother’s.

Suddenly feeling shy about touching her, he stepped back, his face warm.  Her eyebrows were furrowed once again, her eyes searching something in his, once again trying to figure something out, something that hadn’t been answered while they’d been in the kitchen.

Despite his curiosity, he turned from her so he could retrieve a blank canvas made from an off-white linen material and showed it to her.  He touched her cheek again, allowing his fingers the pleasure of feeling her soft skin for a couple seconds before he touched the canvas.  Then he pointed to the portraits he had lining the wall and retrieved his paint set from his brother’s old dresser.  He waited for her response, wondering if she’d let him paint her.

Her eyes grew wide as she gestured between the canvas and her face.  A flattering shade of pink rose in her cheeks and she pressed her hand to her chest, a questioning look on her face.

Figuring she was making sure he intended to paint her, he nodded.  Then, to get her to fully understand what he wanted, he set the canvas and paints on the dresser, got a chair from his bedroom and set the chair next to her.  He sat her down and placed his canvas on the easel he kept in the corner of the room.  After he took the paints and paintbrush, he pretended to paint on the canvas and pointed the brush at her.

Her smile widened and shook her head, moving her mouth.  The shaking of a person’s head usually meant no, but in this case, he picked up on the pleased expression on her face and the way she tucked a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear.  So while she might be shaking her head, she was also very happy he wanted to paint her.  Since he had some time before he had to make supper then check on the animals, he decided he’d start the portrait right away.  This was going to be the most pleasant thing he’d ever get to paint.  He motioned for her to wait for him to return before he hurried to get water.

Sunday Story Sample: Pete’s Wife (a novella in the Bride by Arrangement anthology)

This weekend, I thought I’d post a sample from my novella “Pete’s Wife” and talk about the inspiration behind it in tomorrow’s post.

This story takes place in 1876.  Janet Syas Nitsick’s character, Opal Preston, is the heroine in the other novella in this anthology.  You can think of this anthology as the story about two women who meet on a train that goes to Lincoln, Nebraska where they will find love (just in different ways).

The Anthology Janet Syas Nitsick and I Are Working On

Below is the beginning of the novella I’m writing.  My character is Ada Wilcox.  (This is in first draft.)

***

With a glance over her shoulder at the door of the train, Ada Wilcox fought the urge to get right back off.  But as much as she wanted to avoid this, she couldn’t.  Her destiny was set and there was no turning back.

The conductor motioned to a seat in the front row.  “Please sit here, Miss.”

Sighing, she thanked the conductor and sat down.  She didn’t know whether to cry or yell about the unfairness of it all.  She glanced out the window and saw her brother give a hesitant wave.  Forcing herself to be polite, she returned the gesture then shifted so that she didn’t have to look out the window again.  She knew it wasn’t nice of her to do, but at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to do what was right.  She was much too upset.

The conductor leaned forward and smiled.  “If you two need anything, let me know.  Miss Preston, this is Miss Wilcox.  Miss Wilcox,” he told Ada, “this is Miss Preston.  You two won’t believe it, but you’re both headed for Lincoln, Nebraska.  It’s a small world.” He chuckled and headed to the door to assist other passengers.

Miss Preston turned toward Ada.  “So you’re going to Lincoln?  How unusual for us to be traveling to the same place.”

“Yes, it is.” Ada retrieved a handkerchief out of her drawstring purse, tears welling up in her eyes.  She forced a smile at the pretty young lady beside her who wore a lovely green and white shirtwaist and matching skirt.  “I worried about traveling this distance by myself.” But all things considered, that was the least of her worries.

The train jerked forward, and Ada ventured a glance at her brother who at least had the decency to look guilty.

Miss Preston leaned toward her, eyebrows furrowed.  “Are you okay?”

“I,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes again, “I suppose I’ll be.” She’d never seen Miss Preston until today and judging by the quality of her clothing, she was better off than her.  Not that anyone would know it since Ada had on her best dress.  She didn’t know what she could possibly have in common with such a refined lady, but it probably didn’t matter since they’d most likely never see each other again.  “Are you scared?”

“Yes, I’m leaving my beloved Virginia for an unknown place.  It’s disconcerting.”

Ada nodded.  “It is.  I don’t want to leave, but my brother worried about me and,” she grimaced and wiped more tears away, “arranged a marriage to secure my future.  I’m sorry.  I can’t seem to stop.” She sniffed. “I’m Ada, by the way.”

“Opal.”

“So may I ask why you are going to Lincoln?  I-I don’t want to pry, but since we’ll be traveling together, I thought it might be nice to-to talk.” And it would take her mind off her situation, if even for a few hours.  She could use the reprieve.  She hadn’t enjoyed a moment’s peace since her brother gave her the news.

Opal turned toward her.  “Of course, you can and I’ll be happy to talk about it. I’m taking a governess position for two children.”

“Oh?” A governess.  That made sense.  Opal seemed educated.  “How old are they?”

“Abigail’s six and Theodore’s eight.”

“Those are good ages,” Ada said, finally able to take a deep breath to help settle her nerves.

“It is.” Opal paused. “That’s very perceptive of you.”

“Well, I come from a large family.  I have five brothers and two sisters.”

“I have five brothers and two sisters too.” She laughed. “I can’t believe the things we’ve got in common. It’s uncanny.”

Ada gestured to Opal’s dress.  “Even to the point of our choice in colors.”

Opal nodded. “I noticed right away that we were both wearing green.  I’m glad the conductor put us together.”

“I am too.” And she was.  Now she wouldn’t have to spend the whole trip in dread.  “Who are you meeting once we reach Lincoln?”

“My employer, Alexander Boyer.  And you?”

Ada gulped and clasped her hands together so she wouldn’t start crying all over again.  That’s all Opal needed.  A traveling companion who cried more tears than the Mississippi River could contain.  When she could answer calmly, she said, “Pete Kelly.  That’s all my brother told me about him.  Oh, he did say Pete’s well off.” But she doubted Pete Kelly was as well off as Opal.  Then again, to her brother, anyone who didn’t have to worry about eating supper was prosperous.  “So, you’re going to work as a governess?  Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, but I’m going to miss my Virginia.  What about you?”

“Not really. I’m just afraid of what kind of man my brother arranged for me.”

“It’s going to be difficult for both of us.”

Opal reached out to squeeze her hand in silent encouragement.  Ada returned the sentiment then turned to the window, hardly noticing the scenery.

***

With each mile that separated Ada from Virginia, she didn’t know if she felt better or worse.  She kept telling herself that her brother wasn’t a bad man.  He’d made the arrangement with Pete Kelly because he needed the money and because it would ensure she’d be provided for for the rest of her life.

But even as she tried to console herself with such logic, knowing her brother had seen fit to sell her to a stranger out in Nebraska—far removed from anyone she’d ever known—hurt.  And just what kind of man needed a wife so badly he’d post an ad offering to buy one?  Surely, a man who had to buy a wife wasn’t the kind of man worth marrying.

What had her brother been thinking?  Even if Pete promised her brother he’d take good care of her, she didn’t know if that was really true.  And her brother should have known better than to take Pete at his word.  For all any of them knew, Pete was lying.  Maybe he had something other than marriage in mind.  What if he had a brothel and was looking for more women?  As much as she struggled not to consider the possibility, it could very well be the case.  Or it could be something as equally horrendous.  She didn’t know what could be as bad as working in a brothel, but she was sure men could think of all kinds of ways to use a woman.

No, she had no reason to be lenient with her brother.  Her brother should have had the decency to make sure Pete was a good man before he made the transaction.  He never should have sold her without knowing what it was exactly that he was forcing her into.

Maybe she could run away.  But how?  And where would she go?  She had no money, no way to get back to Virginia, no one to go to.  She was trapped.  If this Pete Kelly wasn’t the honorable young man her brother believed him to be, her life was good for nothing.

From beside her, someone gently nudged her arm.  She stirred in her seat and saw her traveling companion smiling at her.  “We’re approaching the station,” Opal said.

Ada stared at her for a moment then returned her smile. The only source of solace she had during the long and heartbreaking journey was having Opal to talk to.  Now they would part: Opal to be a governess and Ada to be with someone who would either be good to her or not.  “I will miss you.”

“Me too.  I’m so glad we got to know each other.”

Ada pulled out her damp handkerchief and wiped more tears from her eyes.  With a glance out the window, she saw the Lincoln station as the train slowed.

“Don’t forget to write,” Opal said.

Ada blinked back more tears and nodded.  If Pete Kelly was the kind of man who’d allow her to write, she would.

The train came to a stop, and the conductor called out, “Lincoln!” Then he turned to the two women.  “Stay here and I’ll make sure Mr. Kelly and My Boyer are here to greet you.”

Ada pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, hoping her nerves wouldn’t make her vomit.  This was it.  There was no turning back.

The passengers started departing from the car, and the conductor waved to them.  Opal gave her an encouraging smile, and while it did little to ease the tension, Ada took some comfort in it.  She reluctantly got out of her seat and trudged to the door.  With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she took a shaky step off the train.

She glanced back at Opal who seemed so at ease with being in this new and unfamiliar place as she stepped off the train.  Ada wished she had her ability to display such confidence.

“Are you Miss Ada Wilcox?” a man who appeared to be in his late twenties asked.

Her gaze went from him to the woman and child beside him.  Surely, this couldn’t be Pete Kelly.  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded.  “I am.  You’re not Pete Kelly, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied.  “I’m his brother, Jimmy.  This here is my wife Cheryl and my boy Ron.”

“I’m six,” Ron said, making the others laugh.”

With a chuckle, Jimmy motioned to an older man whose hair was starting to gray.  “And this is Preacher Thompson who’ll marry you and my brother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cheryl said with a smile that helped to ease some of Ada’s nerves, though not all of them.

“Is Pete here?” she asked, scanning the busy station.

“No, he’s waiting for you at his house,” Jimmy replied.

One of the baggage handlers came over to her.  “Ma’am, do you have a brass tag for me?”

“Oh, yes.” Ada quickly opened her purse and dug in it, feeling the heat of everyone’s stares on her as she fumbled around for it, and finally retrieved it.  Goodness but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.  “Here it is, sir.”

The youth nodded and went to get her small wooden trunk.

“Do you have anything else?” Cheryl asked.

Ada shook her head.  “This is it.” All the things she owned were in a trunk so small that it wouldn’t hold much more than Ron if he wanted to hide in it.  This was just another reminder of why her brother said this was her best chance at a better life.  She examined Jimmy as he lifted the trunk for her then turned her attention to Cheryl, the boy, and the preacher.  They seemed like nice enough folk, at least they didn’t seem like the kind who’d haul her off to a brothel.

“What did your brother tell you about Pete?” Jimmy asked as he led the group out of the station.

“Um, not much.” Ada squinted in the sunlight and adjusted her hat to protect her eyes.  “Just that he’d be a good provider.”

“He will be,” Cheryl quickly assured her.  “He’s a hard worker.  He tends to the animals and his gardens with fine dedication.  You’ll never want for food.  And he does good with fixing up the place.  The home is in good condition.  He also has some money set aside.  Jimmy will often take whatever food Pete doesn’t need to eat and sells them.  Pete doesn’t buy anything, really, so you’ll have some money.  This all very important to remember.”

Ada’s eyebrows furrowed.  Wasn’t it strange that Cheryl felt the need to say all of that?  If she guessed right, there was an uncertainty in Cheryl’s expression.  Her steps slowed as they neared a buckboard wagon.  Maybe she shouldn’t do this.  She took in her surroundings, specifically the other people and saw Opal get into the wagon with the man who had employed her.  Should she run over to them and pray upon their kindness to take her with them?  She might not know anything to teach children, but she could cook and sew.  Maybe she could do that?

“It’s hard to explain the situation,” the preacher said.

Ada turned her attention to him.  “I’m here to be Pete Kelly’s wife, right?  He doesn’t have another wife or illegitimate children or engages in immoral pursuits, does he?”

“No,” the preacher said.  “Pete lives by himself on a farm.  He’s tender and kind.  He’s a good man.”

Jimmy placed her trunk in the wagon then came over to them.  “The situation with Pete is a delicate matter.”

Her stomach tensed and her grip tightened on her purse.  “What is his situation?” she forced out.

He glanced at Cheryl and the preacher who nodded.  “Alright, I’ll tell you now.  It’s best to be prepared.” After he took a deep breath, he said, “Pete doesn’t have normal intelligence.”

“What?” Ada asked, not sure she understood him right.

“There’s nothing else wrong with him,” Cheryl quickly added.  “He doesn’t harm anyone or anything.  He’s very gentle.  You needn’t worry about your safety.”

“But…?  I don’t understand,” Ada said, glancing from one person to another.

“He’s a good friend,” Ron finally replied.  “We ride horses together and play horseshoes.”

Jimmy patted his son’s shoulder.  “Think of Pete as a child.  You two will have your own bedrooms.  You’ll be like a mother to him.”

“A mother?” To her own husband?  Ada didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“There are worse husband you could have,” the preacher said.  “Some men get drunk, hit their wives, sleep with other women…  You won’t have to worry about that with Pete.”

“And I’ll come by to check on things, to make sure you get everything you need from town,” Jimmy added.  “I go to the general store once a month to get the things Pete needs.  I’ll do the same for you.”

“It’s just that we need someone to look after him,” Cheryl said, turning to Ada with a hopeful look in her eyes.  “I’m expecting another child and Jimmy acquired more land and cattle for our farm.  It’s just not as easy to check up on Pete as it used to be.”

“And it wouldn’t be right to have you out there by yourself without being his wife,” the preacher added.  “It’s easier this way.”

Ada didn’t know what to say.  It wasn’t as bad as she feared.  She wouldn’t end up in a brothel or in some other precarious situation.  But it wasn’t ideal either.  As a little girl, she had envisioned marrying a young, handsome man who’d be her companion.  Pete Kelly would not be that companion she’d hoped for, someone to share the good and bad moments life would offer.  He’d be someone she’d have to watch after and care for.  But she supposed of all possibilities, this wasn’t so bad.  She could live with this.  At least she’d never have to go to bed hungry or wear mend clothes for the tenth time.  She’d also have a warm place to sleep in the winter.  There was something to be said for not having to sleep on the floor with one’s brothers and sisters to stay warm.

She released her breath.  “Alright.  I’ll marry him.”

Updates on What I’m Working On

It’s taking me longer to get to comments, emails, and messages.

At the moment, I am feeling overwhelmed.  Part of it has to do with summer and my kids being out of school (which means we try to do things as a family and this takes away from my work time but I’ve heard the song “Cat’s in the Cradle” enough to realize that time spent with kids is necessary).

So while I am usually busy, I am feeling especially strained for time.  If it takes me a while to email you or reply to a Facebook message or comment, please understand that I’m not ignoring you.  I try to get through a couple a day to try to clear up my inbox, but it seems as soon as I send an email out, I get five more in.  It’s a very slow process for me right now.  I just ask that everyone be patient with me.

Okay.  All of that aside, I did want to post an update on what I’ve been doing.  :-)

His Abducted Bride and His Reluctant Lady

Both are back in my hands.  Thanks to those who worked on it for me!  I am going through the final read through phase.  I am turning these in to Mark Coker (founder of Smashwords) who will then turn them over to the Apple iBookstore so there will be a sample of each book available for anyone who wants to sample it or pre-order it.  I’m working under a deadline (one I did impose on myself because I like to give myself deadlines so I can stay on task).  I hope to have information up sometime in July about pre-ordering the books on iBookstore if you happen to buy books from there.  I can’t release the books to Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Kobo, Sony, Diesel, etc until the official release date set at the iBookstore.  I believe we’re looking at July 30 for His Abducted Bride and August 6 for His Reluctant Lady.

The Stagecoach Bride

Book Stephannie Beman and I are working on.

I’m very happy and excited about this book.  The story has been a lot of fun to write.  I’ve had some questions about how this works.  Stephannie and I are online chatting when we work on this book.  I will take one chapter (which is the heroine’s point of view) and she’ll take another chapter (which is the hero’s point of view).  We alternate chapters so chapter 1 was me, chapter 2 her, chapter 3 me, and so on.  I actually do write out everything in a Word document when it’s my chapter.  I’ll add in all of Lillian’s thoughts and feelings and actions.  Then when she speaks to Mic or another character Stephannie is in charge of (Mic’s family), I’ll have Lillian say something to the character and add what Stephannie says.  Stephannie will usually tell me what one of her characters is doing so I can add the actions, too.  Based off this, I’ll write Lillian’s response (whether it be actions, thoughts, feelings or something she says) and show it to Stephannie who will, in turn, write down what her characters do or say.  So it is a back and forth exchange and the immediate feedback granted on a chatting program makes this happen fast.  Stephannie, I’ve noticed, will be more likely to do the dialogue and go back later to fill in the gaps with thoughts, feelings, actions, etc.  So we have a slightly different way of approaching it, but it’s a way that works out very well.

Bride by Arrangement

I can’t speak for Janet Syas Nitsick since I don’t exactly where she’s at in her novella, but I am now in chapter 3 and am also very excited about this story.  I finally decided to call my story “Pete’s Wife”.  Originally, I thought the heroine (Ada) was going to also think Pete had less-than-average intelligence, but as it turns out, she figured out right away that Pete is actually a smart man but does know there’s something different about him (that different thing being he’s deaf).  I guess that makes sense.  An outsider can often come in and see a situation for what it really is because they haven’t gotten so used to things they overlook the clues.  When I was 3, my parents thought I was mentally retarded because I didn’t respond to people like other kids my age did.  A daycare worker was the one who noticed I didn’t hear.  It turns out I was deaf in one ear but had wax build up in my other ear.  Once the wax in the one ear was removed, I had normal hearing in that one ear.  From there, I had tubes, hearing tests, and speech therapy.  I remember my last speech therapy session when I was in kindergarten because I was going to miss the person who helped me adjust to hearing.  I also remember doing a phonics program in the early 1980s (now you all know how old I am) when I was in the first grade on an Apple computer.  So yeah, I think a new person entering a situation can often see things a lot better than those in it.

The Earl’s Scandalous Wife

I have started it.  Christopher Robinson will be the one who arranges the scandal that gets Perry married (at long lost).  Sorry, guys, but I just couldn’t see how Perry was ever going to get married unless someone with a mischievous streak like Christopher intervened.  :-)   I tried to think up ways Perry could manage it on his own but kept coming up blank.  I don’t know why but Perry is just not very smart when it comes to getting a lady.  All this time, I thought it was the situations that led ladies to other gentlemen, but now I know Perry is one of those people who needs fate to give him a big shove.

***

Kent Ashton’s Backstory and Lassoing Her Groom

These are still on hold.  I can’t figure out where to go next in those and that is usually a sign that I need to wait until the stories are ready to be picked up again.  Apparently, there’s something in the back of my mind working on something.

Garden Variety Giveaway

When you look at your garden, you see a variety of flowers.  In the same way, each romance book comes with a different love story from the sweet fragrance of lilacs to the passionate aroma of roses.  For this giveaway, we are offering a variety of romance novels plus a gift to celebrate the beginning of summer.

What will you win?

Lockets and Lanterns by Janet Syas Nitsick -  historical western romance (heat level: sweet)

At the Water’s Edge and Beneath the Crashing Waves by Melanie Nilles - contemporary romantic fantasies (heat level: sweet)

His Contract Bride, His Yankee Bride, His Jilted Bride, and His Brother’s Bride by Rose Gordon – historical romance (heat level: passionate)

Eye of the Beholder, His Redeeming Bride, and Loving Eliza by Ruth Ann Nordin – historical western romances (heat level: passionate)

PLUS

One of the following:

A.

Wheelbarrow with artificial flowers

OR

B.

Beach bag

OR

C.

Earrings

How many people will win?

Three

How to enter?

Fill out the form below:

[contact-form]

When will winners be announced?

Tuesday, June 25.

Inspiration for the Book: The Stagecoach Bride (According to Lillian Christian: Heroine in the book)

The next giveaway will be posted on Wednesday.  I was originally going to do tomorrow, but I wanted there to be more time between today’s post and the next one, especially since I’m getting to this one so late in the day.  :D

For fun, I thought I’d have Lillian Christian, the heroine, give the background information to the book.

Book Stephannie Beman and I are working on.

Hi, everyone.  While Ruth Ann Nordin’s off doing important things (which is code for laundry and taking care of her kids), she asked if I would come here and talk about the concept for The Stagecoach Bride.  Well, believe it or not, it didn’t begin too long ago.  Last month, Stephannie Beman asked Ruth if she’d like to co-write a book.  They sat down and brainstormed about what romantic genre to do.  It was a toss up between a Regency, a fairytale and a historical western.  Well, the historical western won and here I am telling this story today.

Well, actually it wasn’t as simple as just writing the story.  They had to have a plot first.  With brainstorming, they ended up picking Wyoming as the location for the book.  Why Wyoming?  Because Ruth hadn’t done any books in Wyoming yet and Stephannie lives there so she has firsthand knowledge of what the area looks like.  Stephannie also lives on a ranch so you can attribute all accuracy to gardening and tending to livestock to her.  Ruth is a city girl so all the stupid questions I have to ask in the story like, “What’s a cow?” is Ruth’s influence.  Okay.  I didn’t actually ask, “What’s a cow?” but I do end up asking some pretty lame things that a lot of people probably already know.  I mean, Ruth didn’t even know how what a saddle horn was.  Will her future historical westerns be better since Stephannie is guiding her along and explaining all these things to do?  Probably not because Ruth ends up having me ask the same questions over and over.

Lillian Christian

But anyway, that’s how Stephannie and Ruth chose the location for the book and decided the hero, Mic Lewis, would have his own ranch nestled into the side of a mountain.  I can’t tell you exactly where it is because the bad guy in the story (who happened to be the man I was supposed to marry) will find Mic and his brothers.  I don’t know the details of why Mic and his brothers and sister became outlaws.  Only Mic knows that and he’s not really saying a whole lot to me about it.  I figure he will at some point but so far, all I know is that the bad guy has lied about me stealing money from him.  So now I’m an outlaw, too.  I guess I’m in a pretty good crowd since I’m hanging out with other outlaws.  Not that I asked to be there to begin with, but since Stephannie and Ruth thought it’d be fun to terrify me by having bandits kidnap me, what else could I do?  It was one of me against five of them.  They had guns.  My driver and his assistant had to drop their guns and the lady I was riding with was as helpless as I was.  So there you go.  I ended up in a cabin on a ranch in the middle of nowhere as an outlaw.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to contend with that Wade guy.  Words can’t express how much he annoys me.  Noah might be a little on the naive side (I am too but not like he is), but at least he’s sweet.  If it weren’t for Mic, the whole thing would be unbearable.  Sure, the guy doesn’t answer all of my questions (especially those pertaining to why he and his kin kidnapped me), but at least he’s helping me stay safe from the man I was supposed to marry back East.

What?  You thought Mic had all the secrets?  No, he doesn’t.  I have some of my own, and I don’t think I can trust anyone with the truth, not even him.  Let’s just say there’s a good reason I left Virginia and that being an outlaw isn’t the only reason why I’m hiding.  But I’m sure Stephannie and Ruth will force me to divulge everything before the end of the book.

I’m guessing someone wants to know what I think of Mic.  At first, I was too scared to even think of him as a man.  I mean, he had this bandana masking most of his face when he pulled me out of the stagecoach.  I thought he might try to take liberties with me, which he shouldn’t because I’m a lady, and I believe in acting like a lady.  I mean, there are a bunch of things a lady worries about when she’s kidnapped.  Thankfully, my fears were for nothing.  Well, minus the dove Mic shot for me to eat.  Sorry but I can’t bring myself to eat that.  But it turns out he was nice.  Like I said, I don’t know he kidnapped me, but there has to be a good reason.  And yes, he’s kind of cute.  Well, maybe a lot cute. But I’m not sure if he likes me in that way.  Men aren’t that easy to figure out.  One minute he’s teasing me about my hair and the next he’s talking about me marrying some guy “out there” when I’m no longer an outlaw.  So yeah, definitely confusing.  But then I guess there wouldn’t be a romance if everything came easily.  I guess I’ll have to stick with it and see what happens.

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Picture of Lillian Christian: © Anna Yakimova | Dreamstime.com