Julie Lence's Blog, page 9
January 8, 2017
Leon's Story (Free Short Read)
Wooded Acres Ranch, CO
Christmas Eve Morning 1876
The wind howled down from the north, nearly robbing Leon Weston of breath as he trudged through the heavy snow, his old bones groaning in protest. In his younger days, he’d made the short trek from the house to the family cemetery without complaint. This morning the walk felt akin to ten miles. Even the hinges on the gate squeaked in complaint as he pushed open the wrought iron and stepped toward the lone headstone.
Removing his Stetson and bowing his head, Leon inwardly recited the Lord’s Prayer then returned his hat to his head and tied his scarf tighter around his neck. Lifting his gaze, he noted the several inches of snow lining the top of the marble and the frost covering the inscription.
“Good morning, Emily,” he said to the stone representing his wife who’d passed twenty-three years ago. “Merry Christmas Eve to you.”
He shoved his gloved hands deep into his coat pockets and looked around for a place to sit. What he’d come to say to Emily would take a while, but the bench he’d positioned beneath the towering pine was swathed in snow, and hunkering down in the white powder caused his bones to groan even more. So he stood, his fingers gripping the lining of his pockets.
“Cade brought home a bride last Christmas. The Christmas before Tess married James.” He spoke of his grandchildren. “I like James. He’s a hard worker and takes good care of Tess. Lucas wouldn’t have allowed our granddaughter to marry a scoundrel.” Leon smiled fondly in remembrance of the ill expression on his eldest son’s face when Lucas had given Tess away in marriage. “It ain’t easy for a man to watch his daughter leave home. Good thing Tess lives on Wooded Acres. Lucas visits with her and James almost every day. James has become another son to him.”
A gust of wind pelted Leon’s back and he sobered as the face of his second son flashed across his mind. “Don’t think Royce will walk alongside Tabitha and hand her over to the man she wants to marry as quietly as Lucas did with Tess.” Leon cleared his throat with a cough. “Then again, Royce has a few years before his daughter sets her sights on someone. Now, Creel,” he paused and shifted his gaze toward the ominous snow clouds shrouding the mountains.
“Creel’s our youngest, Emily.” He returned his attention to the gravestone. “His wife is young, too. Racy told me she wants a passel of children. Her first one’s due to come into this world next month. Creel doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl so long as Racy and the babe are healthy. And Rachael’s little girl will be two tonight.”
A shiver moved through Leon’s weathered body, not so much from the cold as from his prattling. He was stalling, revealing tidbits he’d already told Emily while trying to form the words he’d come to say, the approval he sought.
Emily had died in a riding accident. She’d been galloping across the meadow when her mare had spooked and thrown her across a log. A sharp branch jutting out from the wood had pierced her chest.
“Why?” he croaked painfully. “Why did you leave home that day? Why didn’t you stay at the house? I told you nothing good would come if you found your way back to Boston, no matter how much you willed it. Why didn’t you believe me?”
Unbidden, heated arguments between him and Emily filled his ears. Spats behind the barn, squabbles behind closed doors… their children had overheard and had suffered greatly. Rachael had run away, and had stayed away for two decades. Royce had distrusted women for seven long, miserable years before Paige conquered his temper and tamed him. Missy had done the same with Lucas. Creel had been young when Emily had passed. He hadn’t cottoned to his brothers’ and sister’s beliefs Emily favored the comforts of Boston over them until he was older. Truth be told his children were wrong. And not once during the few occasions he’d happened upon them harping on their suspicions had he spilled the truth.
Emily wasn’t spoiled. While it was true she came from a wealthy family and wore vibrant gowns sewn from the best cloth, behind the closed doors of her grand home she felt her pa’s heavy hand nightly. The same was true for her ma. Emily’s fancy-pants attorney pa enjoyed terrorizing his family. She’d often said a crazed glow shone in his eyes each time his fingers curled around the strap.
Eventually, the time had come for Emily to marry. Her pa choose a man for her, someone older and of the same nature as himself. Unwilling to spend the rest of her life in torture, or allow the same to happen to any children she might have, she fled under the cover of darkness, pained at leaving her mother behind to suffer even more because of Emily’s defiance. On the outskirts of the city, she happened upon Leon and Earl Jansen, the man who had once been Leon’s friend.
“I couldn’t take you back to Boston. The detective I hired said your pa was more crazed than you remembered, and would’ve killed you soon as he saw you. Me, too, for helping you escape that night.” He swallowed hard. “You shoulda let me tell our children the truth. I know,” he held up a hand to silence her outburst echoing between his ears, “you’d rather they hate you than perish alongside you. That’s why you put up a brave pretense of disowning them for their mistakes, so none of them would follow you to Boston.”
Helplessly, he kicked at the snow before lowering his hand and shoving it back into his pocket. “You were a good woman, Emily. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife, even when you browbeat me to take you back to Boston to find your ma. The detective said she’d passed, but you didn’t believe that, either.”
A tear laden with regrets slid from the corner of his eye to freeze on his cheek. “I’ve come to ask a favor. I’ve kept your secrets, including how you fancied Earl Jansen until you and I were forced to spend the night together to keep warm and Lucas was born nine months later…” He sighed heavily at the memory of what had started a forty-year feud between him and his best friend. “I told you about Emma. She’s done right by me all these years. It’s time I do right by her.” His shoulders sagged. “But I can’t without your blessing.”
Another gust of wind pelted his back, knocking his Stetson forward. He caught it and fixed it firmly back in place. “Please, Emily, allow me this and I’ll continue to keep your secrets.” He pressed his lips together, thought a moment. “Our secrets.”
Squaring his shoulders, he turned and retraced his steps. Listened to the gate squeak again as he swung the wrought iron shut, his gaze falling on the headstone. “Merry Christmas, my sweet, sweet Emily. You’ll always be my first love, but Emma…” a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “I love her, too.”
Trudging through the snow, his bones again protesting the cold and his innards shivering, he ducked inside the barn and instructed the foreman to saddle his horse.
Jack eyed him uneasily. “Royce ain’t gonna like this, you going off alone. More snow coming. I feel it clear down to my toes.”
“Something I gotta do, Jack.” Leon narrowed his eyes. “No tattling to Royce. Or Lucas. Or Creel. Understood?”
Against his will, and better judgment, Jack agreed and saddled the mare.
Leon made it to town without incident. His first stop was Jasmine’s eatery where he drank down two cups of steaming coffee to thaw his insides. Next he paid a visit to the preacher, then to the seamstress to collect a Christmas gift. One last cup of coffee at Jasmine’s and Leon made the long trek home, where he encountered Royce’s temper and Paige ushering him inside to sit before the fire. She tucked a blanket around him and served him a cup of hot tea, and as the afternoon gave way to evening, sounds of laughter and merriment filled the house as, one by one, his children and grandchildren arrived. Leon rose to greet Emma and tug her aside.
“You old coot.” She swatted his arm. “I heard you went to town.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Were you hoping to catch your death in the cold?”
Admiring her gray hair pulled into a loose bun, the fine lines rimming her eyes and mouth, her concern for him touched his heart. “Had something important to take care of.” He winked at her before looking over his shoulder to ensure they were alone, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring. “Marry me, Emma. Tonight. The preacher’s on his way.”
“My stars!” She gaped at the diamond, the worry in her eyes giving way to longing. “Put that away,” she snapped. “We’re too old for such nonsense.”
“Bah! We’re never too old,” he smiled warmly, and slid the band onto her finger. “I love you, Emma. I have for a long time.” He glanced at the festive pine in the far corner. “Cade and Tess each married on Christmas Eve. Why not us?” He inched closer to her. “Say yes.”
Tears welled in her eyes, which was most uncharacteristic of her. She bowed her head and touched her forehead to his chest. “Yes,” she whispered.
And just like his grandchildren, Leon stood before the preacher on Christmas Eve, with the woman he loved beside him, and recited his vows. When he finished, a familiar voice echoed between his ears.
“Merry Christmas, Leon,” Emily whispered. “You have my blessing.”
Christmas Eve Morning 1876
The wind howled down from the north, nearly robbing Leon Weston of breath as he trudged through the heavy snow, his old bones groaning in protest. In his younger days, he’d made the short trek from the house to the family cemetery without complaint. This morning the walk felt akin to ten miles. Even the hinges on the gate squeaked in complaint as he pushed open the wrought iron and stepped toward the lone headstone.
Removing his Stetson and bowing his head, Leon inwardly recited the Lord’s Prayer then returned his hat to his head and tied his scarf tighter around his neck. Lifting his gaze, he noted the several inches of snow lining the top of the marble and the frost covering the inscription.
“Good morning, Emily,” he said to the stone representing his wife who’d passed twenty-three years ago. “Merry Christmas Eve to you.”
He shoved his gloved hands deep into his coat pockets and looked around for a place to sit. What he’d come to say to Emily would take a while, but the bench he’d positioned beneath the towering pine was swathed in snow, and hunkering down in the white powder caused his bones to groan even more. So he stood, his fingers gripping the lining of his pockets.
“Cade brought home a bride last Christmas. The Christmas before Tess married James.” He spoke of his grandchildren. “I like James. He’s a hard worker and takes good care of Tess. Lucas wouldn’t have allowed our granddaughter to marry a scoundrel.” Leon smiled fondly in remembrance of the ill expression on his eldest son’s face when Lucas had given Tess away in marriage. “It ain’t easy for a man to watch his daughter leave home. Good thing Tess lives on Wooded Acres. Lucas visits with her and James almost every day. James has become another son to him.”
A gust of wind pelted Leon’s back and he sobered as the face of his second son flashed across his mind. “Don’t think Royce will walk alongside Tabitha and hand her over to the man she wants to marry as quietly as Lucas did with Tess.” Leon cleared his throat with a cough. “Then again, Royce has a few years before his daughter sets her sights on someone. Now, Creel,” he paused and shifted his gaze toward the ominous snow clouds shrouding the mountains.
“Creel’s our youngest, Emily.” He returned his attention to the gravestone. “His wife is young, too. Racy told me she wants a passel of children. Her first one’s due to come into this world next month. Creel doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl so long as Racy and the babe are healthy. And Rachael’s little girl will be two tonight.”
A shiver moved through Leon’s weathered body, not so much from the cold as from his prattling. He was stalling, revealing tidbits he’d already told Emily while trying to form the words he’d come to say, the approval he sought.
Emily had died in a riding accident. She’d been galloping across the meadow when her mare had spooked and thrown her across a log. A sharp branch jutting out from the wood had pierced her chest.
“Why?” he croaked painfully. “Why did you leave home that day? Why didn’t you stay at the house? I told you nothing good would come if you found your way back to Boston, no matter how much you willed it. Why didn’t you believe me?”
Unbidden, heated arguments between him and Emily filled his ears. Spats behind the barn, squabbles behind closed doors… their children had overheard and had suffered greatly. Rachael had run away, and had stayed away for two decades. Royce had distrusted women for seven long, miserable years before Paige conquered his temper and tamed him. Missy had done the same with Lucas. Creel had been young when Emily had passed. He hadn’t cottoned to his brothers’ and sister’s beliefs Emily favored the comforts of Boston over them until he was older. Truth be told his children were wrong. And not once during the few occasions he’d happened upon them harping on their suspicions had he spilled the truth.
Emily wasn’t spoiled. While it was true she came from a wealthy family and wore vibrant gowns sewn from the best cloth, behind the closed doors of her grand home she felt her pa’s heavy hand nightly. The same was true for her ma. Emily’s fancy-pants attorney pa enjoyed terrorizing his family. She’d often said a crazed glow shone in his eyes each time his fingers curled around the strap.
Eventually, the time had come for Emily to marry. Her pa choose a man for her, someone older and of the same nature as himself. Unwilling to spend the rest of her life in torture, or allow the same to happen to any children she might have, she fled under the cover of darkness, pained at leaving her mother behind to suffer even more because of Emily’s defiance. On the outskirts of the city, she happened upon Leon and Earl Jansen, the man who had once been Leon’s friend.
“I couldn’t take you back to Boston. The detective I hired said your pa was more crazed than you remembered, and would’ve killed you soon as he saw you. Me, too, for helping you escape that night.” He swallowed hard. “You shoulda let me tell our children the truth. I know,” he held up a hand to silence her outburst echoing between his ears, “you’d rather they hate you than perish alongside you. That’s why you put up a brave pretense of disowning them for their mistakes, so none of them would follow you to Boston.”
Helplessly, he kicked at the snow before lowering his hand and shoving it back into his pocket. “You were a good woman, Emily. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife, even when you browbeat me to take you back to Boston to find your ma. The detective said she’d passed, but you didn’t believe that, either.”
A tear laden with regrets slid from the corner of his eye to freeze on his cheek. “I’ve come to ask a favor. I’ve kept your secrets, including how you fancied Earl Jansen until you and I were forced to spend the night together to keep warm and Lucas was born nine months later…” He sighed heavily at the memory of what had started a forty-year feud between him and his best friend. “I told you about Emma. She’s done right by me all these years. It’s time I do right by her.” His shoulders sagged. “But I can’t without your blessing.”
Another gust of wind pelted his back, knocking his Stetson forward. He caught it and fixed it firmly back in place. “Please, Emily, allow me this and I’ll continue to keep your secrets.” He pressed his lips together, thought a moment. “Our secrets.”
Squaring his shoulders, he turned and retraced his steps. Listened to the gate squeak again as he swung the wrought iron shut, his gaze falling on the headstone. “Merry Christmas, my sweet, sweet Emily. You’ll always be my first love, but Emma…” a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “I love her, too.”
Trudging through the snow, his bones again protesting the cold and his innards shivering, he ducked inside the barn and instructed the foreman to saddle his horse.
Jack eyed him uneasily. “Royce ain’t gonna like this, you going off alone. More snow coming. I feel it clear down to my toes.”
“Something I gotta do, Jack.” Leon narrowed his eyes. “No tattling to Royce. Or Lucas. Or Creel. Understood?”
Against his will, and better judgment, Jack agreed and saddled the mare.
Leon made it to town without incident. His first stop was Jasmine’s eatery where he drank down two cups of steaming coffee to thaw his insides. Next he paid a visit to the preacher, then to the seamstress to collect a Christmas gift. One last cup of coffee at Jasmine’s and Leon made the long trek home, where he encountered Royce’s temper and Paige ushering him inside to sit before the fire. She tucked a blanket around him and served him a cup of hot tea, and as the afternoon gave way to evening, sounds of laughter and merriment filled the house as, one by one, his children and grandchildren arrived. Leon rose to greet Emma and tug her aside.
“You old coot.” She swatted his arm. “I heard you went to town.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Were you hoping to catch your death in the cold?”
Admiring her gray hair pulled into a loose bun, the fine lines rimming her eyes and mouth, her concern for him touched his heart. “Had something important to take care of.” He winked at her before looking over his shoulder to ensure they were alone, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring. “Marry me, Emma. Tonight. The preacher’s on his way.”
“My stars!” She gaped at the diamond, the worry in her eyes giving way to longing. “Put that away,” she snapped. “We’re too old for such nonsense.”
“Bah! We’re never too old,” he smiled warmly, and slid the band onto her finger. “I love you, Emma. I have for a long time.” He glanced at the festive pine in the far corner. “Cade and Tess each married on Christmas Eve. Why not us?” He inched closer to her. “Say yes.”
Tears welled in her eyes, which was most uncharacteristic of her. She bowed her head and touched her forehead to his chest. “Yes,” she whispered.
And just like his grandchildren, Leon stood before the preacher on Christmas Eve, with the woman he loved beside him, and recited his vows. When he finished, a familiar voice echoed between his ears.
“Merry Christmas, Leon,” Emily whispered. “You have my blessing.”
February 17, 2015
Be Mine, Marshall Part 3 by Julie Lence
“There’s three of them,” Fannie said, as the Marshall made short work of hitching Georgia to the buggy. “Carl Boltz at the mercantile said they’re young, probably not even twenty years of age. One’s face is marked with pimples and another has a birthmark on his cheek. The third has eyes prettier than a girl’s. Mr. Boltz said his daughter erupted into tears at the sight of the fella’s emerald green orbs and long, dark lashes.” Fannie rolled her eyes. “Milie fancies herself the fairest face in Cold Spring. Maybe all of Idaho.”
“That right?” Daniel chuckled.
“I’m afraid so.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Anyway, those three ruffians are responsible for the fire. Maybe even Sophie’s injury. Stella told me last week three men of the same description imbibed in spirits and cards at her pa’s saloon. Before that, there was a ruckus in the street. Riders galloped their ponies up the main thoroughfare, shooting at water barrels and a wagon filled with hay in front of the livery.”
“Does Stella know for sure the men shooting at the water barrels are the same men she saw in her pa’s saloon?”
A nerve along Fannie’s jaw ticked. “Well, no. Stella was serving drinks when the ruckus occurred. By the time she got to the window, the men were gone.”
“I see,” Daniel said with no real conviction. He handed her up onto the seat and placed the reins in her hands. “Stay here. I’ll get Sophie.”
Fannie watched him amble across the yard toward the woodshed, noted his tall frame and broad back. Beneath his coat, his arms were heavy with muscle. More importantly, there was a swagger in his step that spoke of confidence. He ducked his head and entered the shed, and Fannie gently sank her teeth into her lower lip. His sudden appearance amid the charred ruins of Granddad’s old barn had alarmed her, but with Stella vouching for his character and Sheriff Deeks sending him here to help, Fannie truly hoped he’d track down the trio and arrest them for setting fire.
I don’t like assumptions, the Marshall’s words echoed between her ears as he approached cradling Sophie in his arms. With great care, he deposited the languid collie onto her lap, covered her with a blanket. “I’ll get her pups.” He went back to the shed.
“Thank you,” she called after him, cooing to Sophie and hugging her tight, her gaze falling on the Marshall’s bandanna tied around her pet’s neck. What if the Marshall is right? Other than a strong feeling in the pit of her stomach, she had no proof the evil threesome had set the barn on fire. Or had caused Sophie harm. Then again, no one else in Cold Spring would burn down Granddad’s property or hurt her dog. The Carter family was well-liked and respected among the townsfolk and nearby farmers. Most were grateful to her for having taken the teaching position last autumn… that is, except for Virgil Wells.
Virgil eked out a living doing odd jobs. With his noticeable limp, which pained him more and more each day, or so the rumors claimed, the most he managed was sweeping out the saloon. Or white-washing Mrs. Brachman’s front porch. Where he hung his hat at night was anybody’s guess. Some said he slept in a back stall at the livery. Others said that for a can of peaches and some jerky, he slept in the mercantile, guarding Mr. Boltz’s wares. One thing Fannie did know, Virgil was of the mind book learning was a waste of time. He’d told her so on numerous occasions. Fannie suspected his feelings stemmed from his own lack of schooling and quickly dismissed him as a suspect. Just because he was opinionated and cranky didn’t make him an arsonist. Did it?
The Marshall striding toward her with the crate of puppies shifted her thoughts back to him. He was a handsome man, polite and caring, evidenced by the way he’d cradled Sophie to his chest. Why wouldn’t he believe her suspicions surrounding the trio of hooligans? It’s not as though she didn’t have good reason to point blame in their direction. They took pleasure in wreaking havoc and scaring innocent people.
“Ready?” Daniel asked, setting the crate of sleeping pups on the floorboard near her feet.
“Yes.” She stroked Sophie, the carriage tipping to the left as he climbed onto the seat. Taking the reins from her, he gave them a flick over Georgia’s back.
With Ranger trotting along beside the buggy, the ride to Doc Hartworth’s clinic wasn’t long, and with the sun shining overhead in a cloudless sky, the winter afternoon was pleasantly warm. The Marshall pulled up on the reins outside the two-story building of red at the outskirts of Cold Spring, jumped down and reached for Sophie. Fannie followed him inside and gasped. Sitting behind her desk, her head of braided white hair bowed, wire-rimmed spectacles dangling limply in one hand, Doc Hartworth’s bony shoulders trembled beneath calico.
“Doc, what’s wrong?” Fannie brushed past the Marshall.
The older woman looked up, her gaze watery. “Someone stole my brooch. I left it in the top drawer of my bureau. When I went to retrieve it this morning to wear to church service, it was gone.” She sniffed back a wave of tears. “I’ve looked everywhere. It’s nowhere to be found.”
“Are you certain?” Fannie touched the older woman’s shoulder.
She nodded. “My mother gave that to me when I was a young girl.” Her voice caught. “She said it belonged to her ma.” She rubbed at her eyes then peered around Fannie toward the Marshall. “My stars!” She shot up from her seat. “What happened to Sophie? Did she get hurt in the fire? I saw Carl Boltz and his children ride past not too long ago. He told me you lost a barn.”
“We’re not sure what happened to Sophie, ma’am.” The Marshall came forward. “She’s either been shot or knifed.”
“Bring her in the back room.” Doc motioned to an open doorway behind her. “Set her on the table.”
“Please,” Fannie clutched Doc’s arm, the anger she’d felt upon discovering Sophie’s injury suddenly giving way to tears.
“I’ll take good care of her.” Doc patted Fannie’s hand. “You wait here. Your friend looks capable enough of helping me.” She disappeared into the other room, set her spectacles back on her face before untying the bandanna around Sophie’s neck. “It’s a knife wound.” She raised her eyes to the man gently stroking Sophie’s nose. “She’ll need stitches.”
“Thought she would,” Daniel murmured.
“You hold her steady while I do the stitching.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Daniel watched her gather supplies and thread a needle. “I’m Marshall Daniel Reid, Doctor Hartworth. Sheriff Deeks sent me here to look into the troubles plaguing Cold Spring.”
“Three imps,” she said, matter-of-factly, tying a knot at the end of the thread. “I’m of a notion they’re the ones who stole my brooch. I saw them standing around the mercantile this morning when I went to church. I didn’t think anything of it, but then, when I came home, I saw them again. They approached from the direction of the Carter farm. One of them caught my eye and smiled sinisterly. They didn’t say anything. Just kept walking toward the livery.” She stepped up beside him holding the threaded needle. “Ready?” She met his gaze.
Daniel nodded and held Sophie down, his thoughts churning. Coming from the direction of the Carter farm; Fannie’s suspicions of who burned down her barn held weight. But why would three hooligans terrorize two towns?
Susan Horsnell is writing Part 4, to be posted February 24th. Part 4 can be found here:
http://susanhorsnell.wordpress.com
“That right?” Daniel chuckled.
“I’m afraid so.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Anyway, those three ruffians are responsible for the fire. Maybe even Sophie’s injury. Stella told me last week three men of the same description imbibed in spirits and cards at her pa’s saloon. Before that, there was a ruckus in the street. Riders galloped their ponies up the main thoroughfare, shooting at water barrels and a wagon filled with hay in front of the livery.”
“Does Stella know for sure the men shooting at the water barrels are the same men she saw in her pa’s saloon?”
A nerve along Fannie’s jaw ticked. “Well, no. Stella was serving drinks when the ruckus occurred. By the time she got to the window, the men were gone.”
“I see,” Daniel said with no real conviction. He handed her up onto the seat and placed the reins in her hands. “Stay here. I’ll get Sophie.”
Fannie watched him amble across the yard toward the woodshed, noted his tall frame and broad back. Beneath his coat, his arms were heavy with muscle. More importantly, there was a swagger in his step that spoke of confidence. He ducked his head and entered the shed, and Fannie gently sank her teeth into her lower lip. His sudden appearance amid the charred ruins of Granddad’s old barn had alarmed her, but with Stella vouching for his character and Sheriff Deeks sending him here to help, Fannie truly hoped he’d track down the trio and arrest them for setting fire.
I don’t like assumptions, the Marshall’s words echoed between her ears as he approached cradling Sophie in his arms. With great care, he deposited the languid collie onto her lap, covered her with a blanket. “I’ll get her pups.” He went back to the shed.
“Thank you,” she called after him, cooing to Sophie and hugging her tight, her gaze falling on the Marshall’s bandanna tied around her pet’s neck. What if the Marshall is right? Other than a strong feeling in the pit of her stomach, she had no proof the evil threesome had set the barn on fire. Or had caused Sophie harm. Then again, no one else in Cold Spring would burn down Granddad’s property or hurt her dog. The Carter family was well-liked and respected among the townsfolk and nearby farmers. Most were grateful to her for having taken the teaching position last autumn… that is, except for Virgil Wells.
Virgil eked out a living doing odd jobs. With his noticeable limp, which pained him more and more each day, or so the rumors claimed, the most he managed was sweeping out the saloon. Or white-washing Mrs. Brachman’s front porch. Where he hung his hat at night was anybody’s guess. Some said he slept in a back stall at the livery. Others said that for a can of peaches and some jerky, he slept in the mercantile, guarding Mr. Boltz’s wares. One thing Fannie did know, Virgil was of the mind book learning was a waste of time. He’d told her so on numerous occasions. Fannie suspected his feelings stemmed from his own lack of schooling and quickly dismissed him as a suspect. Just because he was opinionated and cranky didn’t make him an arsonist. Did it?
The Marshall striding toward her with the crate of puppies shifted her thoughts back to him. He was a handsome man, polite and caring, evidenced by the way he’d cradled Sophie to his chest. Why wouldn’t he believe her suspicions surrounding the trio of hooligans? It’s not as though she didn’t have good reason to point blame in their direction. They took pleasure in wreaking havoc and scaring innocent people.
“Ready?” Daniel asked, setting the crate of sleeping pups on the floorboard near her feet.
“Yes.” She stroked Sophie, the carriage tipping to the left as he climbed onto the seat. Taking the reins from her, he gave them a flick over Georgia’s back.
With Ranger trotting along beside the buggy, the ride to Doc Hartworth’s clinic wasn’t long, and with the sun shining overhead in a cloudless sky, the winter afternoon was pleasantly warm. The Marshall pulled up on the reins outside the two-story building of red at the outskirts of Cold Spring, jumped down and reached for Sophie. Fannie followed him inside and gasped. Sitting behind her desk, her head of braided white hair bowed, wire-rimmed spectacles dangling limply in one hand, Doc Hartworth’s bony shoulders trembled beneath calico.
“Doc, what’s wrong?” Fannie brushed past the Marshall.
The older woman looked up, her gaze watery. “Someone stole my brooch. I left it in the top drawer of my bureau. When I went to retrieve it this morning to wear to church service, it was gone.” She sniffed back a wave of tears. “I’ve looked everywhere. It’s nowhere to be found.”
“Are you certain?” Fannie touched the older woman’s shoulder.
She nodded. “My mother gave that to me when I was a young girl.” Her voice caught. “She said it belonged to her ma.” She rubbed at her eyes then peered around Fannie toward the Marshall. “My stars!” She shot up from her seat. “What happened to Sophie? Did she get hurt in the fire? I saw Carl Boltz and his children ride past not too long ago. He told me you lost a barn.”
“We’re not sure what happened to Sophie, ma’am.” The Marshall came forward. “She’s either been shot or knifed.”
“Bring her in the back room.” Doc motioned to an open doorway behind her. “Set her on the table.”
“Please,” Fannie clutched Doc’s arm, the anger she’d felt upon discovering Sophie’s injury suddenly giving way to tears.
“I’ll take good care of her.” Doc patted Fannie’s hand. “You wait here. Your friend looks capable enough of helping me.” She disappeared into the other room, set her spectacles back on her face before untying the bandanna around Sophie’s neck. “It’s a knife wound.” She raised her eyes to the man gently stroking Sophie’s nose. “She’ll need stitches.”
“Thought she would,” Daniel murmured.
“You hold her steady while I do the stitching.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Daniel watched her gather supplies and thread a needle. “I’m Marshall Daniel Reid, Doctor Hartworth. Sheriff Deeks sent me here to look into the troubles plaguing Cold Spring.”
“Three imps,” she said, matter-of-factly, tying a knot at the end of the thread. “I’m of a notion they’re the ones who stole my brooch. I saw them standing around the mercantile this morning when I went to church. I didn’t think anything of it, but then, when I came home, I saw them again. They approached from the direction of the Carter farm. One of them caught my eye and smiled sinisterly. They didn’t say anything. Just kept walking toward the livery.” She stepped up beside him holding the threaded needle. “Ready?” She met his gaze.
Daniel nodded and held Sophie down, his thoughts churning. Coming from the direction of the Carter farm; Fannie’s suspicions of who burned down her barn held weight. But why would three hooligans terrorize two towns?
Susan Horsnell is writing Part 4, to be posted February 24th. Part 4 can be found here:
http://susanhorsnell.wordpress.com
February 10, 2015
Be Mine, Marshall Part 2
Be Mine, Marshall Part 2 by Paty Jager:
Written Fireside multiple authors story arc continues today and can be found here:
http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com/
Fannie stared at the blood on her hand and Sophie. The dog had escaped the burning barn, but what happened to her after that?
“Let me take a look.” Marshal Reid crouched beside her and Sophie, gently parting the hair on the dog’s neck. “Looks like someone either took a shot at her or sliced her with a knife.” He leaned closer, spreading the hair even more...
Written Fireside multiple authors story arc continues today and can be found here:
http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com/
Fannie stared at the blood on her hand and Sophie. The dog had escaped the burning barn, but what happened to her after that?
“Let me take a look.” Marshal Reid crouched beside her and Sophie, gently parting the hair on the dog’s neck. “Looks like someone either took a shot at her or sliced her with a knife.” He leaned closer, spreading the hair even more...
February 4, 2015
Written Fireside Round Robin
Lori Connelly's Written Fireside Round Robin blog has kicked off with a western romance theme. Several talented authors will each lend their voice to crafting a short story titled, Be Mine, Marshall.
Ms. Connelly begins the story. You can find it here:
http://writtenfireside.blogspot.com/2...
Ms. Connelly begins the story. You can find it here:
http://writtenfireside.blogspot.com/2...
October 23, 2014
Blog Tour with Western Romance Author Shanna Hatfield
Welcome to the
Cowboys & Christmas
Blog Tour!
A kickoff of new holiday romances by Shanna Hatfield
and a fundraiser for the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund
An Interview with Tate and Kenzie Morgan of The Christmas Cowboy
Two key characters from Shanna Hatfield’s contemporary holiday series Rodeo Romance visit us today. The series incorporates rodeo action, western settings, rugged men, and tenacious women. Tate and Kenzie Morgan share a little about themselves today.
Welcome Tate and Kenzie. Tell us a little about how you met.
Tate: (Grins, flashing the dimples in his cheeks) This girl saw me across a crowded room, launched herself over a table, and claimed me for her own.
Kenzie: (Rolls her eyes and playfully slaps Tate’s leg) You wish, cowboy. A few years ago, Tate and I both spent more time travelling than we ever did at home. He was a professional saddle bronc rider while I worked as a corporate trainer for a direct sales company. We both flew out of the same airport in Pasco, Washington, frequently and happened to notice each other in the crowd a few times.
Tate: I was running unbelievably late one morning and the only seat left was next to this beautiful woman. It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to sit beside her but I’m glad I did.
Kenzie: I’m glad you did, too.
Did you watch Tate compete when you were both travelling so often?
Kenzie: Just a few times the year we met. The first time I watched him ride, I was mesmerized by his skill and agility. Our schedules rarely meshed, but I did enjoy every opportunity I had to watch him compete. It was always fun with his friends there, including his travel partner, Cort McGraw.
Tate: (Chuckles) Cort kept things lively. Besides, the first year Kenzie knew me, she wasn’t even sure she liked me and convinced herself she wanted nothing to do with a cowboy.
Is it true you lost the championship title that year due to an injury the last night of the finals rodeo?
Tate: It is true. I’m never quite sure whether to be sad or glad about it.
What do you mean?
Tate: (Winks at Kenzie) Kenzie still didn’t want a thing to do with me then, but when I got hurt, she ended up flying home with me then taking me to her apartment to recuperate until I could take care of myself. We ended up getting married a few weeks later.
Kenzie: (Claps a hand over Tate’s mouth) Shh! That’s supposed to be a secret!
Tate: (Grins) So it is.
Kenzie: As sappy as this is going to sound, we just couldn’t bear the thought of being apart when we returned to work after the new year, so we ran off and got married and didn’t tell anyone. We had a big wedding ceremony in Las Vegas the following December after Tate won a gold buckle at the finals.
What can you tell us about the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund?
Tate: It’s an amazing organization that steps in to help injured rodeo athletes when they’ll be out of work for while and are facing financial hardship.
Kenzie: Fortunately, when Tate was injured, he had good insurance and the ranch income to see him through until he could get back into the competition. Not all cowboys are as lucky as mine. The JCCF is a lifesaver for some families.
What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?
Tate: Everything! The decorations, the food, the smells, the sounds, but most of all, my Christmas bride.
Kenzie: (Sighs with a soft look in her eyes) You always say the nicest things. The holiday season is just really special to us, particularly now that we have a baby. Gideon will be old enough this Christmas to really get into the presents.
Thank you for joining us. Any parting words for our readers?
Kenzie: Thank you for hosting us today. If you enjoy sweet holiday western romances, I hope you’ll consider reading our stories in The Christmas Cowboy and Wrestlin’ Christmas.
Where to Find The Books
Start the Rodeo Romance Series with The Christmas Cowboy.
Kindle | Paperback | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Apple | Audible
Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund®
Now through Dec. 24, Shanna will donate 10 percent of the net proceeds from all her book sales to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund. The JCCF is a non-profit organization that assists rodeo athletes who’ve sustained catastrophic injuries and are unable to work for an extended period.
You’re Invited to PARTY!
You’re invited to join in the online Cowboys & Christmas Facebook Party Thursday, Nov. 13 from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. (PST). Drop in anytime during those four hours to enter to win great prizes, chat with guest authors, and more! Here’s the link to the party: http://tinyurl.com/cowboychristmasparty
The third book in the Hardman Holidays sweet Victorian romance series releases that day! The Christmas Calamity takes readers back to Hardman just in time for the holiday season. Preorders are available now for just $1.99 on Kindle. You can reserve your copy here: http://amzn.com/B00OGOO994
In addition, the first book in the Hardman Holidays series, The Christmas Bargain, will be available free that day, as well!
Cowboys & Christmas
Blog Tour!
A kickoff of new holiday romances by Shanna Hatfield
and a fundraiser for the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund
An Interview with Tate and Kenzie Morgan of The Christmas Cowboy
Two key characters from Shanna Hatfield’s contemporary holiday series Rodeo Romance visit us today. The series incorporates rodeo action, western settings, rugged men, and tenacious women. Tate and Kenzie Morgan share a little about themselves today.
Welcome Tate and Kenzie. Tell us a little about how you met.
Tate: (Grins, flashing the dimples in his cheeks) This girl saw me across a crowded room, launched herself over a table, and claimed me for her own.
Kenzie: (Rolls her eyes and playfully slaps Tate’s leg) You wish, cowboy. A few years ago, Tate and I both spent more time travelling than we ever did at home. He was a professional saddle bronc rider while I worked as a corporate trainer for a direct sales company. We both flew out of the same airport in Pasco, Washington, frequently and happened to notice each other in the crowd a few times.
Tate: I was running unbelievably late one morning and the only seat left was next to this beautiful woman. It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to sit beside her but I’m glad I did.
Kenzie: I’m glad you did, too.
Did you watch Tate compete when you were both travelling so often?
Kenzie: Just a few times the year we met. The first time I watched him ride, I was mesmerized by his skill and agility. Our schedules rarely meshed, but I did enjoy every opportunity I had to watch him compete. It was always fun with his friends there, including his travel partner, Cort McGraw.
Tate: (Chuckles) Cort kept things lively. Besides, the first year Kenzie knew me, she wasn’t even sure she liked me and convinced herself she wanted nothing to do with a cowboy.
Is it true you lost the championship title that year due to an injury the last night of the finals rodeo?
Tate: It is true. I’m never quite sure whether to be sad or glad about it.
What do you mean?
Tate: (Winks at Kenzie) Kenzie still didn’t want a thing to do with me then, but when I got hurt, she ended up flying home with me then taking me to her apartment to recuperate until I could take care of myself. We ended up getting married a few weeks later.
Kenzie: (Claps a hand over Tate’s mouth) Shh! That’s supposed to be a secret!
Tate: (Grins) So it is.
Kenzie: As sappy as this is going to sound, we just couldn’t bear the thought of being apart when we returned to work after the new year, so we ran off and got married and didn’t tell anyone. We had a big wedding ceremony in Las Vegas the following December after Tate won a gold buckle at the finals.
What can you tell us about the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund?
Tate: It’s an amazing organization that steps in to help injured rodeo athletes when they’ll be out of work for while and are facing financial hardship.
Kenzie: Fortunately, when Tate was injured, he had good insurance and the ranch income to see him through until he could get back into the competition. Not all cowboys are as lucky as mine. The JCCF is a lifesaver for some families.
What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?
Tate: Everything! The decorations, the food, the smells, the sounds, but most of all, my Christmas bride.
Kenzie: (Sighs with a soft look in her eyes) You always say the nicest things. The holiday season is just really special to us, particularly now that we have a baby. Gideon will be old enough this Christmas to really get into the presents.
Thank you for joining us. Any parting words for our readers?
Kenzie: Thank you for hosting us today. If you enjoy sweet holiday western romances, I hope you’ll consider reading our stories in The Christmas Cowboy and Wrestlin’ Christmas.
Where to Find The Books
Start the Rodeo Romance Series with The Christmas Cowboy.
Kindle | Paperback | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Apple | Audible
Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund®
Now through Dec. 24, Shanna will donate 10 percent of the net proceeds from all her book sales to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund. The JCCF is a non-profit organization that assists rodeo athletes who’ve sustained catastrophic injuries and are unable to work for an extended period.
You’re Invited to PARTY!
You’re invited to join in the online Cowboys & Christmas Facebook Party Thursday, Nov. 13 from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. (PST). Drop in anytime during those four hours to enter to win great prizes, chat with guest authors, and more! Here’s the link to the party: http://tinyurl.com/cowboychristmasparty
The third book in the Hardman Holidays sweet Victorian romance series releases that day! The Christmas Calamity takes readers back to Hardman just in time for the holiday season. Preorders are available now for just $1.99 on Kindle. You can reserve your copy here: http://amzn.com/B00OGOO994
In addition, the first book in the Hardman Holidays series, The Christmas Bargain, will be available free that day, as well!
August 27, 2013
Back From Summer
The kids have gone back to school and Labor Day is this weekend. My how the time flies, and with it comes a change. I'm now a member of the Cowboy Kisses blog; a talented group of women writing western historical romance. Each member is assigned one day per month to blog. Mine is the 1st Wednesday. Please take a moment to mosey on over to Cowboy Kisses and read some fascinating blogs related to the Wild West genre. Hope to see ya there.
Julie
www.cowboykisses.blogspot.com
Julie
www.cowboykisses.blogspot.com
June 20, 2013
Tidbit on Vacation
Back from vacation. Had a great time visiting with mom and dad, our families and NYC. The kiddo had a blast in the city, taking in the skyscrapers and his first rides on the subway and in a taxi. The thinness of the Flatiron Building interested him greatly. And we all thoroughly enjoyed our ride through town in a mini-limo. My sincere thank you to the driver for stopping when it was pouring rain during rush hour and all the other taxis were occupied with passengers. Enjoyed some good food at DeFontes and John's, my jaunt through the only Macy's that counts (and the purchase of my bubble-shaped umbrellas) an evening on Times Square and just being back in the city that never sleeps. We crammed a lot into 2 days, and the kiddo now wants to live there. I told him 'good luck with that'. Now that we're home, it feels good to sleep in my own bed. And on Monday, I look forward to getting started on a new short story for Christmas.
May 9, 2013
Off For The Summer
My son is graduating from the 8th grade in a few weeks. I can't believe it. It seems like yesterday he was a baby. Now he's taller than me and proud of that fact. Personally, I'd prefer that he was still in the stroller. But children have to grow up. And seasons have to change.
Summer is almost here, and with it comes my break from writing this blog. However, I will be blogging at Cowboy Kisses, the first Wednesday of each month, beginning in June. Stop by and say hello, get to know me and the other fantastic ladies at Cowboy Kisses who love to write western historical romance. (www.cowboykisses.blogspot.com)
When I’m not blogging, I’ll continue to work on my current novel, visit with family and friends and enjoy those lazy afternoons of this great season. I will be on Facebook, so if any of you want to say hello, please find me at: https://facebook.com/#!/JulieLence or at julie@julielence.com
Until mid-August, have a great summer everyone! Be safe. Be happy. Be healthy.
Summer is almost here, and with it comes my break from writing this blog. However, I will be blogging at Cowboy Kisses, the first Wednesday of each month, beginning in June. Stop by and say hello, get to know me and the other fantastic ladies at Cowboy Kisses who love to write western historical romance. (www.cowboykisses.blogspot.com)
When I’m not blogging, I’ll continue to work on my current novel, visit with family and friends and enjoy those lazy afternoons of this great season. I will be on Facebook, so if any of you want to say hello, please find me at: https://facebook.com/#!/JulieLence or at julie@julielence.com
Until mid-August, have a great summer everyone! Be safe. Be happy. Be healthy.
April 25, 2013
Meet My Brothers
Joe and Rick are the best brothers a girl could have. They're smart, funny, kind, and they work hard. Though they're seven years apart in age, the brotherly bond between them is unbreakable. Sometimes, they’re wise-cracking smart-asses who argue a subject to death. Other times they’re in complete agreement. They always have each other’s backs, and that of every member of the family. And without my knowing, some of their escapades and quips have worked their way into my Weston Family Series. Others haven’t. Here’s why…
Most times, Joe and Rick are down to earth, tame in their day-to-day living. But other times, they have a devil-may-care attitude. Tales abound of places they can no longer frequent. Of speeding down highways, and rushing to make it over a bridge before the bridge was raised to allow a ship to pass. Then there is the pleasant conversation with an officer that went something like: Officer: Do you know how fast you were going? Brother: Would've been going a lot faster if you hadn't stopped me. And another incident at a drive-thru I won’t print here.
My sister and I often laugh at their escapades. Mom just shakes her head, and Dad, I imagine, smiles proudly. But what can you expect from an Italian family? The same as my readers do when it comes to the Westons; a family who isn’t perfect, who has a grand time recounting someone else’s follies, who bicker and fuss, and who stick together no matter what.
I'm always looking ahead to future books, to characters and plots. I'd love to add more of my brothers' personalities and relationship into stories, and will. Until then… Love ya, Joe and Rick. Thanks for always being there when I need you. You’re the best!
Most times, Joe and Rick are down to earth, tame in their day-to-day living. But other times, they have a devil-may-care attitude. Tales abound of places they can no longer frequent. Of speeding down highways, and rushing to make it over a bridge before the bridge was raised to allow a ship to pass. Then there is the pleasant conversation with an officer that went something like: Officer: Do you know how fast you were going? Brother: Would've been going a lot faster if you hadn't stopped me. And another incident at a drive-thru I won’t print here.
My sister and I often laugh at their escapades. Mom just shakes her head, and Dad, I imagine, smiles proudly. But what can you expect from an Italian family? The same as my readers do when it comes to the Westons; a family who isn’t perfect, who has a grand time recounting someone else’s follies, who bicker and fuss, and who stick together no matter what.
I'm always looking ahead to future books, to characters and plots. I'd love to add more of my brothers' personalities and relationship into stories, and will. Until then… Love ya, Joe and Rick. Thanks for always being there when I need you. You’re the best!
April 11, 2013
Don't Sweat The Small Stuff
As authors, we hit upon an idea for a story, plot it out and begin writing, only to find that mid-way through the story, something isn't right. The plot isn't working. The characters are dull and not speaking or acting as they should. And that's when we sometimes panic.
When I began writing Debra's Bandit, I came upon this exact situation with Debra. I knew who she was, what her goals and motivation were, and what she wanted most in life. But then, not even mid-way into the story, Debra began to frustrate me. Not only did she stop talking to me, she wasn't interesting to me, which meant I thought readers would feel the same and close the book. It took a while for me to figure out the problem—she wasn't physically moving. She was stuck inside the mercantile greeting customers and filling orders. Not very interesting when she's the heroine of the story.
After more thought on how to better her, I came to two conclusions. One, she needed a helper to get her out of the store so she could interact with other characters, and in different situations. And two, I realized that working in the mercantile was what Debra did best. Debra honestly enjoyed helping people. Filling orders for flour and other supplies was one way she did that. But the most crucial way she helped the townsfolk was by agreeing to run the store until a permanent overseer could be found.
Back in Debra's time, the mercantile wasn't just a place to go for spices. The store was the focal point of the town. People came for the latest news, gossip and a connection to the community. Debra provided that with her friendly personality, and by offering her customers refreshment so they could stay awhile and partake in the latest rumors and newsworthy tidbits making their way around town.
The warm-hearted, feisty woman I originally envisioned Debra to be eventually found her way into the story through rewrites and deleting of old text. I was happy with the end result, because Debra had spoken to me and given me direction to make her shine. Don't sweat this part of the writing process, the having to go back and make changes upon changes. Your story will be better and stronger with your labor-of-love efforts. And like me, you'll come to appreciate the reason computers come with a 'delete' key.
When I began writing Debra's Bandit, I came upon this exact situation with Debra. I knew who she was, what her goals and motivation were, and what she wanted most in life. But then, not even mid-way into the story, Debra began to frustrate me. Not only did she stop talking to me, she wasn't interesting to me, which meant I thought readers would feel the same and close the book. It took a while for me to figure out the problem—she wasn't physically moving. She was stuck inside the mercantile greeting customers and filling orders. Not very interesting when she's the heroine of the story.
After more thought on how to better her, I came to two conclusions. One, she needed a helper to get her out of the store so she could interact with other characters, and in different situations. And two, I realized that working in the mercantile was what Debra did best. Debra honestly enjoyed helping people. Filling orders for flour and other supplies was one way she did that. But the most crucial way she helped the townsfolk was by agreeing to run the store until a permanent overseer could be found.
Back in Debra's time, the mercantile wasn't just a place to go for spices. The store was the focal point of the town. People came for the latest news, gossip and a connection to the community. Debra provided that with her friendly personality, and by offering her customers refreshment so they could stay awhile and partake in the latest rumors and newsworthy tidbits making their way around town.
The warm-hearted, feisty woman I originally envisioned Debra to be eventually found her way into the story through rewrites and deleting of old text. I was happy with the end result, because Debra had spoken to me and given me direction to make her shine. Don't sweat this part of the writing process, the having to go back and make changes upon changes. Your story will be better and stronger with your labor-of-love efforts. And like me, you'll come to appreciate the reason computers come with a 'delete' key.
