Andrea Downing's Blog, page 4
November 1, 2016
A Fence Around Her: Double-jacking Competitions
Brigid Amos’ young adult historical fiction has appeared in The MacGuffin, The Storyteller, Wilderness House Literary Review, and Words of Wisdom. As a playwright, she co-founded the Angels Playwriting Collective and serves on the board of the Angels Theatre Company. She is also an active member of the Nebraska Writers Guild. Although Brigid left a nugget of her heart behind in the California Gold Country, most of it is in Lincoln, Nebraska, where she currently lives with her husband.
As a fellow member of Women Writing the West, I was quite enthusiastic when she approached me about being a guest here with her post on Double-jacking Competitions. What the hell is that? A part of western history with which I was not acquainted! Let’s find out more.
In a western mining town around the turn of the twentieth century, no Fourth of July celebration would have been complete without a double-jack competition. Double-jacking was a method of hand drilling in which two miners worked together, one holding and turning the drill steel in place on the rock while the other struck it with an eight-pound, long-handled hammer. It took a lot of trust on the part of the “shaker,” the miner holding the drill, and a lot of strength and stamina on the part of the miner striking the drill with the heavy hammer. For this reason, the miners switched off roles periodically. The miners would get the drill hole started with a short drill, and as the hole became deeper and deeper, they would use longer and longer drills.
A double-jacking competition in Eldora, CO 1900-1910. Photograph courtesy of Denver Public Library, Western History Photographic Collection.
Eventually, machine rock drills replaced hand drilling in the gold and silver mines of the western United States, but people were still eager for the skill, strength, and courage on display in a rousing double-jack competition. In such an event, all the hard work that miners used to do to drill by hand was speeded up and intensified, because the winning team was the one who drilled the deepest hole in a block of granite in fifteen minutes. The two men on a team would switch roles every thirty seconds as they hammered drills ranging from one foot to four feet in length.
How deep a hole could a two-man team drill in a double-jacking competition? In 1907, a team in Butte, Montana sank a hole nearly 46 inches deep. How much money could they win? In 1900, $5000 was offered in the Colorado state competition. Just for fun, I put that number into an online inflation calculator and discovered that this purse would be worth around $144, 000 today. Top athletes in popular spectator sports have always been well paid!
When I read about double-jacking contests, I knew I had to include one in my young adult historical novel, A Fence Around Her. In the following excerpt, my protagonist, fourteen year old Ruthie Conoboy, describes such an event on July Fourth in the gold mining town of Bodie, California. She is watching it with her parents and best friend Susanna. The stars of the competition are the burly Shaw brothers from Montana, but Ruthie’s focus is on a young Bodie miner named Robbie Van Ciel. She and Robbie have only exchanged a nod while passing on the street, and they speak to each other for the first time after the competition.
Excerpt from A Fence Around Her:
All the competitors laid their hands on the boulders and fixed their eyes on the timekeeper. He, in turn, raised his hand into the air as if swearing an oath and fixed his eyes on his pocket watch. At this point, the crowd fell into a silence so profound that it seemed the timekeeper had stopped time itself by his gesture. The wait for the second hand to sweep up to twelve seemed to stretch into an eternity, and we stood frozen in a tableau of anticipation.
“Go!” The timekeeper dispelled the unnerving silence by slicing the air with his open hand. All the teams lunged for their tools. One team member propped the smallest drill upright on the boulder and clutched it with both hands while the other pounded on it with quick, angry strokes. After each blow of the hammer, the holder rotated the drill a fraction of a turn. The crowd erupted in shouts intended to encourage one of the teams, but these blended together to form an incomprehensible block of sound that energized everyone present.
The pounding continued, ceasing only for a change of drill. As each drill was driven down so far that it seemed about to be swallowed whole by the rock, the holder would yank it out and replace it with a longer length of steel, and the striker went at it again. Some team members switched roles during the change of drill, others switched when the striker’s energy began to flag. Each of the Shaw brothers seemed to be able to go on striking the drill longer than any of the other competitors, and these two switched less often. Together they seemed to form a drilling machine made of muscle and sinew. I wondered what they were thinking, or even if they were thinking. It seemed to me that their thoughts were on something other than the three hundred dollars the residents of Bodie would pay them, for no one could work that hard for mere money.
At one point, I looked at Robbie Van Ciel as he struck the drill with an intense focus and unwavering precision. With each strike of the hammer, long rope-like muscles pulsed under the skin of his thin arms, and I marveled at his strength. His face was so red that it seemed ignited from within, and I felt myself alarmed by his appearance. I was certain his heart would burst from exhaustion, causing him to crumple dead to the ground, and I prayed that the competition would end before that happened.
“How much more time?” I asked my father.
“Seven minutes.” He had pulled out his own watch along with the timekeeper, and had been checking it periodically throughout the competition.
“So much time left?” I looked in Robbie’s direction again.
What seemed an eternity later, my father leaned down and shouted in my ear. “Two minutes!” Within a few seconds of this pronouncement, I heard a cracking sound that seemed different from the sound of the hammer striking the drill, and the two big Shaw brothers leapt with surprising agility away from their boulder as it split and a portion of it fell away to the ground where they were standing. The brother who had been holding the drill somehow extended his leap to the collection of discarded shorter drills lying on the ground. He grabbed the shortest of these and propped it up on the standing part of the boulder while his brother started pounding it as if nothing had happened. It felt as if the whole incident took place within the time span between one blow and another.
“They’re starting over? They can’t possibly win now,” Susanna said.
“They can add the length of this hole to the first one. See, you can see the first hole in the exposed face of the rock. These boys are a marvel. I’ve never seen their like before.” My father seemed rather pleased with the mishap.
“Time!” The competitors stepped away from their work and dropped their hammers to the ground. The judges then made the rounds of the boulders with a measuring stick. With a combined depth of forty-nine and five eighths inches for both holes, the Shaw brothers far out drilled the other teams to win the three hundred dollars. Robbie Van Ciel and his partner came in second. They held a handsome commemorative plaque between them for the photograph as Robbie’s face, now returning to its normal pallor, was lit by a wide, joyful smile.
About A Fence Around Her:
Can a girl break free from her mother’s past?
Having a mother with a past is never easy. For Ruthie Conoboy it becomes the struggle of a lifetime in 1900, the year Tobias Mortlock arrives in the gold mining town of Bodie, California. Ruthie is suspicious of this stranger, but her trusting father gives him a job in the stamp mill. Soon, Ruthie suspects that her mother and Mortlock have become more than friends. Can Ruthie stop this man from destroying her family?
Available from:
Amazon: getBook.at/AFenceAroundHer
iTunes: https://itun.es/us/qzAQeb.l
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/a-fence-around-her
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/664339
And you can find out more about Brigid at:
https://www.facebook.com/brigidamoswriter/?fref=ts
https://twitter.com/Brigid_Amos
Or join her mailing list at http://www.brigidamos.com/mailing-list-signup.html
October 4, 2016
A Friendly Ghost
I’m delighted to say this is the second anthology in which I’ve had the pleasure of being included with Patti Sherry-Crews. Patti lives in Evanston, IL with her husband and two children. She writes both contemporary and historic romance. Under the name Cherie Grinnell, she has written a series of steamy romances set in Dublin and Wales. She likes to include armchair travel with her books.
Patti studied anthropology and archeology at Grinnell College and the University of North Wales, UK. After college she opened an Irish and British import store, which gave her an excuse to travel to the British Isles for the next fifteen years.
Now she works from home and devotes much of her time to writing.
Patti Sherry-Crews
Being asked to be part of The Good, the Bad, and the Ghostly was a dream come true for me. I’ve always loved a good ghost story from my early days of reading Tales from the Crypt. Though nothing of the sort has happened to me in years, I used to be a spooky character myself with a storehouse of ghostly encounters and weird bouts of ESP to call from whenever someone asks if I believe in ghosts.
I would sometimes walk into a place and get all tingly, and I knew without being told something terrible had happened in that room. The one instance which comes to mind was when I was a student doing my junior year abroad in England. I was running around the Tower of London when I stepped into the White Tower. I touched the wall of the staircase and the tingling went up my arm telling me an evil deed had taken place there. Later I learned this is the tower where the two Princes disappeared during Plantagenet times and where in modern times during repair work two skeletons were found under the stairs. Skeletons belonging to two boys. My PSI agent Healy Harrison knows she’s in the presence of a ghost when her heart hums–or could the feeling be love?
I’ve had my share of encounters with ghosts. I had the ghost of an old man visible from only the waist up leaning over my bed–while I was in it–on two occasions. The cat on my bed arched her back and hissed. These two hauntings were preceded by the odor of cologne. I used both the animal reaction to the ghost and the accompanying odor in my story The Ghost and the Bridegroom.
Then there was the time I met a poltergeist. A friend was showing me her family’s new home–a mansion on Lake Michigan. She led me into one room and such a feeling of malice overcame me, I became paralyzed with fear and stood there on the verge of tears. My friend dragged me out and said, “How did you know?” When we were out in the hall the door slammed shut behind us. I mean it really slammed with great force! When they bought the house, they were told a young man had killed himself in that room. The ghost would move furniture around downstairs while they slept. Previous owners had the same poltergeist phenomena while they lived in that house. Agent Harrison has a similar reaction when she steps into a room inhibited by a black shadow manifestation.
Instead of telling you a story to make your skin crawl, I’m going to tell you about my encounter with a friendly ghost. This ghost was so friendly she helped me toilet train my son. You won’t have to go to bed with the light on after hearing this story.
The year 2001 was going to be a milestone year and it had nothing to do with the millennium. That fall my daughter would starting full-day kindergarten at the same time my son would be entering preschool. As someone who had been a stay-at-home mom for almost six years, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. At last I’d have some me-time if only for a few hours a day.
I had one stumbling block to my mini freedom: children had to be out of diapers before starting preschool. Can I say that the most nerve wracking times for me so far as a parent are kids starting to drive and potty training? Both experiences in parenting left me wringing my hands with anxiety and feeling overwhelmed.
My son, Joe, was nearly three and so far, all efforts to get him out of diapers had been futile. By comparison I had a neighbor who looked at her son one day and said, “No more diapers. You’ll use the toilet from now on,” and her son immediately became potty trained. This dictatorial approach to getting my son to use the toilet didn’t work for me, I’m afraid.
Luckily I wasn’t alone in this struggle. I had a friend with a son of the same age who would be entering the same preschool program along with Joe. We compared notes and stressed about our diaper-loving boys daily.
Seeing my freedom waving me goodbye, I intensified my efforts on the potty front. We spent a lot of time in the bathroom that summer.
One day I had Joe sit on his little plastic potty seat fitted into the regular toilet while I read out loud to him. We were hunkered down waiting for the great evacuation. I looked up from my book when a movement by him caught my eye. Joe was craning his head to look over my shoulder. Then he broke out into a big smile and gave a thumb’s up sign to someone standing behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see only a blank wall.
“Why are you doing that?” I said.
He looked at me. “My grandma is behind you. She did this to me.” At that he gave me the thumbs up signal.
His grandmother, my mother, had died the previous spring. My son did start school that fall.
About The Ghost and The Bridegroom:
Life is looking rosy for Abbott Foster when he brings his new bride to his ranch in Arizona. But when he is unable to consummate his marriage due to a malevolent spirit in the bedroom, he is forced to call in Psychic Specters Investigations.
Agent Healy Harrison doesn’t want to accept this case. She has her own demons and likes her quiet life, lived in the anonymity of St. Louis. But Tucson is where she finds herself—with instructions to “Have an adventure! Have a romance!” Things get interesting when she meets handsome Pinkerton detective, Aaron Turrell. Is this the romance she’s meant to have, or when their two cases intersect, will it drive him away?
Excerpt: In this excerpt agent Healy Harrison meets the rancher for the first time and learns about his haunting.
He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. “I can’t talk to you about this. I thought you’d be a man. This is a delicate matter.”
“Mr. Foster, I assure you I’ve seen everything. There isn’t anything you can tell me I haven’t heard before. What’s happening to you has happened to many before you.”
“That’s just it. I’ve heard about it happening to other men, but it’s never happened to me before.”
“Ah, I see. Well, this too is a common reaction. Many don’t believe in ghosts until they experience the phenomenon themselves. You’re not alone.”
He looked down. “I’m not talking about ghosts.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t talk to a young lady about this.”
“You can! Nothing you say will shock me.”
“Are you a…spinster?”
Healy huffed. “I don’t see how my marital status is relevant, but yes, I am not a married woman.”
“So you don’t have experience…”
“Please, I have traveled a long way under the most trying circumstances to help you. You’ve already paid the agency, and here I am! Let’s just start at the place where you encountered the haunting?”
Abbott sighed. “In the bedroom.”
“You’re lucky in that sense. Some ghosts follow people around and make all kinds of mischief.”
“Naw, you ain’t catching my meaning.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Aw, all right.” He took a long pause, studying his boots before he looked up again. “I’m a newlywed….”
“Congratulations.”
“Yes, but here’s the crux of the matter. The ghost will not allow me to…consummate my marriage.”
Healy felt her face burn red. “Oh, I see. Well, that is a new one on me. Never heard of that one before. How is it that the ghost has power to stop…the act?”
“Ever since I brought Erline—that’s my bride—home, things don’t work right.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you’re consulting the right expert? Have you talked to your doctor?”
His face went beet red with frustration. “It’s having a ghost in my bedroom gumming up the works.”
“You have to be more specific. I need details.”
He shuffled his feet in the dust on the boards of the porch. “I think about Erline all day. She’s so pretty. I can’t wait to go to bed. I get in next to her all cocked and ready to fire—and she’s eager too–I can tell, but then when I put….”
Healy put up her hand. “I don’t mean those kinds of details. Tell me about the ghost.”
“Oh, well, it always starts the same way. First there is this god-awful odor like rotten flowers.”
“Olfactory manifestations. Very rare. Interesting. Go on.”
He looked proud of himself a minute for having a rare haunting. “After I smell the odor a shape appears in the corner. A big, black shadow.”
“Oh, this is bad. Very bad. Black shadows are extremely malevolent.”
“It gets worse.”
“Worse than a black shadow? You’re wise to call in a professional.”
“The shadow moves. It walks, or floats–or whatever those things do–and comes and stands right next to the bed, and the creature points at me! Things shrink up down south at that point, if you know what I mean.”
Find Patti on the Net:
September 27, 2016
Psychic Adventures
Another co-author from The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly, Charlene Raddon is also a talented cover designer. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when a vivid dream drove her to drag out a typewriter and begin writing. Because of her love of romance novels and the Wild West, her primary genre is historical romance. Kensington Books originally published five of her novels. These were later released as eBooks by Tirgearr Publishing. Currently, they are self-published with new covers designed by the author.
Ghosts are a fascinating subject for all of us. I’ve also had an interest in things paranormal: reincarnation, psychic ability, ESP, the whole shebang. But my real enthusiasm for the supernatural came after I began writing.
In 1971 I was in the process of getting a divorce when a friend talked me into going to a Tarot Card reader. I knew nothing about Tarot, but I say “What the heck!” This card reader proceeded to tell me that I was in the midst of a huge change in my life, that I was probably getting divorced, and that I would soon move a good distance away. She knew all about my past from the cards and was shockingly accurate. But that was all that showed in my cards—my past.
She said there was one final card that indicated a man, but she couldn’t tell me anything without doing another run of cards. That second run showed a man coming into my life. He was, she said, a Leo, never married, no children, within a couple years of my age, and water would play a part in our meeting.
Well, that December, I got my divorce and moved to Utah to live with my sister. A year later, I moved again to another small town in Utah. There I got a job at a club. One night, I was waiting for a group of ladies to sit down so I could take their order. One of them looked at me and said that I had lost someone in my immediate family when I was a teen. I said, “Yes, my father.”
She proceeded to tell me the exact same story the Tarot card reader told me, that I would meet a Leo, never married, no children and water would play a part in our meeting. She also said we would become great friends and friendship would lead to more. I got to know this woman, and it’s still hard for me to believe how psychic she was.
But I never met my Leo.
For a while, during my friendship with this psychic, I, too, started to know things before they happened. Who would come into the club that night. When I would see the guy I was dating, things like that. One day I couldn’t stop thinking about a fellow I’d met a year before. Later I learned he died that day in a trucking accident.
And still, to this day, I don’t know what to believe about the paranormal.
My mother, who was the least superstitious person I know, told me my dad came to see her one night. She woke up, and he stood at the foot of the bed. She spoke to him, and he vanished. She didn’t believe in psychiatry, let alone anything psychic.
Plenty of people have had similar experiences and are uncertain what to make of them. What about you? Have you had any psychic adventures? Share them with us here.
Writing my latest story, A Ride Through Time, for the anthology, The Good, The Bad, and The Ghostly, was a lot of fun. I loved delving into the research on ghost hunting and digging up the little details that helped bring my story alive. I found lists of proper conduct for ghost hunters, what ghost hunters should take with them, equipment and how to use them. I gleefully used all of the information that I could in my tale.
Did I have any paranormal experiences while writing and researching the tale? No, not really, but I’m open to any that might yet appear. Who knows, maybe the spirit my ghost hunter tried to exorcize will come see me.
Yipe! I hope not. He was nuts.
About A Ride Through Time
Ghosts. Murder. Love. P.S.I. Agent Burke Jameson traveled to Eagle Gulch, Colorado, to investigate a report of ghost activity at a house where a murder had taken place in 1881. When his vehicle carrying his P.S.I. equipment dies, and a saddled but riderless mare appears, he mounts up so the horse can take him to her fallen rider. Instead, he is taken to a whole new life he could never have anticipated.
Clorinda Halstead believes she’s a widow. After all, she did shoot her husband, Horace, one violent night in 1881. He deserved it, the jury concluded. Living with the town marshal and his wife, all Clori wants is to be left alone. Then a stranger, Burke James, joins the household, and nothing is ever the same again.
How did Burke find his way through time to the year 1881, and who is haunting the lovely but distant Widow Halstead? Can Burke find the ghost of Eagle Gulch without his P.S.I. equipment? And how will he ever choose between going home to his own time and a life of love and happiness with Clorinda?
Excerpt:
Burke’s gaze cut to the house and that eerie deja vu sensation washed over him again. Cold wafted around him like icy arms. He shivered.
Likely scared off the mare with his unprecedented howl at the moon. Nothing more.
Didn’t matter anyway.
What counted was doing his job.
He drew in a deep breath and smelled smoke.
Smoke?
Gray plumes curled up from the chimney, ghostly pale against the darkening sky. Someone must be inside. Why hadn’t he noticed the scent right away? And the faint candlelight behind the lace curtains? Burke prided himself on his powers of observation. Hadn’t done too well this time.
Whoever was here had likely come to check the house’s condition and do repairs. They had set a fire for warmth while they worked. Nothing spooky or dangerous about that. They must have parked in the back. He shook off the niggle of dread on his spine, stepped onto the wooden pallet that served as a porch, and raised his fist to knock.
Plain, unadorned wood.
Where was the plaque proclaiming the place a historic site? And the vinyl-protected display stand that related the Halstead story?
Had the historical society given up maintaining the property? That could explain the house’s poor condition—the peeling paint, the sagging porch roof—but not the missing deadbolt lock that had been there seventeen years ago. Who would ignore badly needed repairs, yet replace a perfectly fine door with one that had never seen a deadbolt?
Whatever was going on here, he’d get to the bottom of it. In fact, he couldn’t wait.
If only Gabe would arrive with the P.S.I. equipment. Burke’s instincts screamed paranormal, louder than ever. His nose itched with urgency. He looked at Spook. The Vizsla sniffed among the leaves; just a normal dog.
Lifting the cuff of his jacket, he checked his watch. Not an ordinary watch, but a specially fashioned piece of modern equipment that not only gave the time, date and weather but acted as a recorder as well. It contained an EDI meter, an Infrared thermal scanner, an EMF detector, and GPS. Right now, the detector showed red, indicating a disruption in the electronic field. That likely meant a ghost disrupting the frequency. The scanner also showed the temperature continued to drop.
So why had Spook’s highly trained instincts gone offline?
Burke pressed the communication button and texted Gabe. While he waited for a reply, he walked the grounds searching for an injured man thrown from a horse. He found nothing and received no reply. Damn.
On his way back to the house he tried his phone again. Nothing. He would have blamed it on the multitude of trees that had surrounded the place, but they were gone.
He peered through an old, distorted glass pane, past the lace curtains. The furniture appeared much the same—what hadn’t been stolen before the historical society took possession. No sign of occupants but they could be in the kitchen or upstairs. Each floor had two rooms, the living area in the front, kitchen in back, and two bedrooms upstairs.
Flummoxed. Burke felt plain flummoxed.
Hell, where had he come up with that antiquated word? The house and its atmosphere were getting to him.
He glanced at the window again. A face—stark, shadowed, creepy as hell—looked back.
You can discover more about Charlene at
Website: http://charleneraddoln.com
Blog: http://charleneraddon.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/craddon
Facebook: http://facebook.com/charleneraddon
September 20, 2016
Stepping Back in Time
Anita Philmar likes to create stories that push the limit. A writer by day and a dreamer by night she wants her readers to see the world in a new way.
Influenced by old movies, she likes to develop places where anything can happen and where special moments come to life in a great read.
Naughty or Nice?
Read her books and decide.
One of the reasons we enjoy reading historical fiction is because it gives us a chance to step back in time and experience another way of life. In McKee’s Ghost, we travel to Nebraska positioned in the heartland of America.
The small town of Shelton, Nebraska, has an interesting history starting with the way it acquired its name. Its original name was Wood River Centre and it is one of the oldest communities in Nebraska. The Great Western Stage Company established a stop here on it’s route to Fort Kearney. Years later, the Union Pacific railroad decided to use this town as a stop on its line to the west coast.
Patrick Walsh, the postman for this small town, wanted the name changed because of the confusion it had with another small community call Wood River. In 1873, he wrote the Postmaster General pleading for a new name. He renamed the post office to Shelton after Nathan Shelton, an auditor for the Union Pacific Railroad.
The town’s name shows no record of ever being officially changed. Probably to end the confusion with the other city, the citizens just started using the same name as the post office, and the name stuck.
Another interesting fact about the town is some of the residents of Shelton and Buffalo County raised Draft horses. The huge creatures were a much-needed asset for farmers. These animals were used to do the heavy lifting for their owners. Not only did draft horses plow the fields but also helped with other chores. These amazing creatures have a gentle disposition and don’t spook easily, making them perfect to have around a growing family. Living for twenty to thirty years, these animals were a solid addition to a farmer’s family.
Today, this area has a solid reputation of having some of the best breeders of draft horses in the state. Even today, the draft horse pull is one of the most popular events at the Nebraska state fair.
Like so many small towns across the country, Shelton, NE, has a unique history and has created a proud legacy of hardworking people building a solid future for their residents.
About McKee’s Ghost
His fiancée called off their engagement after be accosted by a ghost in his house.
Now, a beautiful ghost detective has shown up at his ranch, saying his brother has hired her to take care of the unwanted spirit.
Konnor McKee is more than happy with PSI Agent Ruth Oliva Wilson. One look and he was hooked. Now, if he can only get some help from a ghost, he might be able to secure himself a bride after all.
With the return of his ex-fiancee, his life is turn upside down by an angry ghost, a vindictive woman and a sexy medium. Konnor doesn’t know which way to turn.
Can he get everyone out of this alive and marry the PSI Agent?
Or has he lost all hope of a happy future because of the ruthless ghost of one of his ancestors?
Excerpt for McKee’s Ghost
The hands he’d dropped to her waist shifted. One drew Ruth deeper into his embrace while the other nudged her chin up with a knuckle until their eyes met. His searing gaze lit a fire, heating her core and arousing every cell in her body.
“No. The gentleman in me heads south whenever you enter the room. All I can think about is getting my hands on you.” Konnor sprayed his palms over her back and tugged her deeper against his chest. “I want you in a way I’ve never wanted a woman before, under me screaming while I make you completely mine.”
She gasped. “But you don’t even know me.”
“You’re wrong. Some instinct inside me knew the moment we met you belong to me. Now, all I need to do is convince you of that fact.” He dropped his mouth over hers. His kisses were gentle and sweet one moment, demanding and urgent the next.
The crisp flavor of the apple he’d just eaten played over her taste buds. Pleasure overruled the sound logic of keeping him at a distance. Instead, she gave into the tempestuous assault to her senses and slid her arms around his neck. Minutes passed. The hunger inside her growing until she couldn’t catch her breath.
He tore his mouth from hers, and she gasped for air. “Please, sweetheart, I’m not a patient man, especially when I’ve waited so long for you. I need—”
“Don’t say it,” she whispered and lowered her head to avoid eye contact. She’d tempted him, let him think if he asked for more, she’d willingly give him whatever he wanted.
Realizing how much she already cared for him, she rebelled against the likelihood of losing her heart to another man. More than once, she’d fallen into the trap of believing a man would love her no matter what.
Every time, she paid with a broken heart. This time, she needed to give him a day or two to come to terms with the true nature of her abilities. Once he saw her in action, he’d change. The desire he felt would wilt until he had no feeling for her at all.
“I’m sorry, but we need to take this slow.” She lowered her hands and pressed them against his chest. “Now, you should tend to your horses.”
Konnor studied her for a long moment before he slowly released his grip. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve finished my nightly chores.”
She nodded, and he turned for the door with a sigh.
The light click of the latch falling into place felt like a shot through her heart. She’d come here determined to do her job and leave. However, Konnor had blindsided her with his charm. She’d broken her new rule of not becoming involved with a client.
Now, she had to figure out a way to keep her heart safe when everything inside her wanted to give in to Konnor’s demands.
Find Anita Philmar at
Website: http://www.anitaphilmar.com/
Blog: http://www.anitaphilmar.blogspot.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/anitaphilmar
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Anita-Philmar/e/B002BMBE8C
September 12, 2016
Adding a dash of Western. No big deal, right?
Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd, and wannabe manga artist, Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she writes books. She works as an advertising copywriter during the day, and is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author by night. She has lived in New Zealand, Texas, Alabama, and now San Francisco with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek paraphernalia. Here’s her take on moving from writing paranormal romance to a western historical setting.
I’ve been publishing my writing since October 2011. In that time, I’ve released over a dozen titles, collaborated and networked with authors and readers who I now consider friends, hit the New York Times and USA Today bestsellers’ lists, and am constantly trying to see how I can push myself as a writer. I normally write paranormal romance, but I’m up for anything. I love a challenge and I love finding new genres.
And then I got invited to take part in a paranormal western boxed set.
Huh?
I know I can write the paranormal part of that mashup. Most of my published work could be considered paranormal romance and it’s what I read in my spare time.
A western, though? I’ve enjoyed movies such as True Grit and Sergio Leone’s Spaghetti Westerns. I’ve picked up Louis L’Amour’s books and my grandfather watches Bonanza whenever it’s on. But I’ve never written one before, much less ever had to worry about historical accuracy to a T in my novels. Not to mention that my favorite writing style is present tense in the first person, meaning that all of my character’s thoughts, narrations, and dialogue needed to be historically accurate at all times as well.
It was a mind melt, let me tell you. I wanted to be as respectful to the new genre as much as possible while maintaining my own style and voice. It would be a challenge unlike any other, one that I didn’t want to fail at.
Margo Bond Collins and Blaire Edens signed up for The Good, The Bad, and The Ghostly at the same time I did. I’ve worked with them on boxed sets before, so we know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. They assured me that I’d be able to do it.
So I joined.
When I write, I usually start with a theme and a character. Hattie Hart came quickly to me, a headstrong, smart woman who was very much reminiscent of characters in my present-day paranormal work. I knew her backstory and her love interest and where she’d be going.
And then I hit a brick wall with research.
Every avenue I went down presented its own challenges. “How would people say this?” or “What spices were available in Nevada in 1887?” or “Where did the railroads run?”. Even down to “How do telegraphs work?” as an interrupted telegram is a critical point in my story. Every few paragraphs or so, I’d have a question and have to look it up. It felt like I’d bitten off more than I can chew, and I nearly stopped a few times to start over.
I kept going. This book was going to be historically accurate, even if it killed me.
Thankfully, it didn’t and the first draft of How the Ghost Was Won was completed. It was edited by two different editors for accuracy, three different beta readers, and a proofreader to make sure that I had dotted all my i’s and crossed all my t’s.
So far, the feedback has been great, along with all of the other stories in The Good, The Bad, and The Ghostly. I’m so honored to have taken part in such a wonderful, different boxed set. Each story fits together and reflects the time period accurately. And I’m considering revisiting Hattie in a later story.
It goes to prove that stepping outside of your comfort zone can make you work harder. And it can make you tell one of your most favorite stories ever.
I hope you enjoy all of our research and stories!
How the Ghost Was Won:
There are ghost stories. And there are ghost legends.
From orphan to saloon girl to ghost whisperer, Hattie Hart has been and seen a lot of things in her time. Her new job as a detective with the Tremayne Psychic Specters Investigations Agency takes her out to the remote town of Carolina City, Nevada, on a vague assignment to investigate the disappearance of a US Marshal.
Except, when she arrives, she meets the devilishly handsome Grant Madsen, a US Marshal who is alive and well. Certainly not missing, but certainly the man of her dreams. So why did her boss send her out to this small boomtown when there’s nothing for her to investigate?
She soon discovers that in Carolina City, there are strange happenings from the afterlife that threaten to kill her or worse. She’ll have to race against time to save her life, the town, and the US Marshal she was sent to find—and maybe, if she’s lucky, her heart.
Excerpt:
In my dream, there’s a man.
I can’t see his face or any other distinguishing features on him other than the fact that he is tall and dark, and I can sense that he is handsome. My dreams don’t allow for me to get close enough to see who he is.
But I know him. He has captivated my heart and welded my soul to his. Something inside me intrinsically calls out to him, aching that he’s not close to me, skin to skin, pulse against pulse.
We’re meant to be together, in this life and in others.
I know this, and he knows this.
In my dream, we’re standing about ten yards apart on a desert landscape, me in my corset and him in his dust jacket and hat that shades his face. I don’t recognize the place, but it feels alien, like nothing could ever survive in these harsh elements.
We’re both dead.
I see the glint of his smile as he looks at me. My heart breaks and I want to help him, but something keeps me rooted to my spot.
“Find me, Hattie,” he says, his voice in my head. “Save me.”
“How?” I ask. “From what?”
But he keeps repeating those two words, echoing on and on in my mind.
“Save me. Save me.”
You can find out more about Erin at
https://www.facebook.com/erinhayesbooks/
https://www.amazon.com/Erin-Hayes/e/B009W8D29W/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5335865
September 7, 2016
The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly by @andidowning + 7 Others #Paranormal #Romance #Giveaway
Title: Long a Ghost, and Far Away Box Set: The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly Author: Andrea Downing Genre: Paranormal Western Historical Romance Book Blurb:…
Source: The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly by @andidowning + 7 Others #Paranormal #Romance #Giveaway
September 6, 2016
Because of Virginia City
Blaire Edens is another fellow author from the Good, the Bad and the Ghostly. She lives in the mountains of North Carolina. She grew up on a farm that’s been in her family since 1790. Of Scottish descent, her most famous ancestor, John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch and Guardian of Scotland, was murdered by Robert the Bruce on the altar of the Greyfriars Church at Dumfries.
She has a degree in Horticulture from Clemson University. She’s held a myriad of jobs including television reporter, GPS map creator, and personal assistant to a fellow who was rich enough to pay someone to pick up the dry cleaning. When she’s not plotting, she’s busy knitting, running, or listening to the Blues, and she’s the award-winning author of Wild About Rachel, The Witch of Roan Mountain, and The Fairy Bargain.
My novella, A GHOSTLY WAGER, opens in Virginia City, Nevada.
Virginia City-View on C street by Carleton E Watkins, 1829-1916.
All of us who grew up watching Bonanza are familiar with Virginia City, Nevada, but like many cities in the West, it was a fleeting metropolis. In 1875, at its peak, there were an estimated 25,000 residents and according to the 2010 census, there are only 855. However, in its peak decades, the town was extremely influential and it’s imprint on the United States is a lasting one.
While Virginia City’s current economy is based primarily on tourism, that wasn’t the case in the nineteenth century. In 1859, the discovery of the Comstock Lode, the first major silver deposit discovery in the United States, led to the opening of several mines. The Comstock produced silver and gold ore worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The mines brought jobs, railroads and culture to the town. The city boasted gas and sewer lines, three theaters, an opera house and three daily newspapers. The money also flowed into government coffers, funding a large part of the Union efforts in The Civil War.
And Virginia City had Mark Twain.
In February 1863, Samuel Clemens, a reporter for the local Territorial Enterprise newspaper, first used the pen name Mark Twain. He lived in Virginia City and wrote for the Enterprise from 1862 until 1864. He didn’t leave on the best of terms. An editor at a local newspaper had challenged him to a duel because of his reporting.
At its peak in 1873, Virginia City was called the richest city in America. A stock market in San Francisco existed solely for the exploitation of Comstock mining. A large part of the profit from the Comstock Lode was invested in San Francisco real estate. Without Virginia City, San Francisco would be a very different place.
Even though Virginia City had several serious fires between 1859 and 1875, on October 26, 1875, the Great Fire caused over $12 million in damage. A church caught fire and the blaze penetrated one mine shaft to 400 feet. The heat was so intense that railroad car wheels melted and brick buildings collapsed. More than two thousand people were left homeless.
The city rebuilt in 1880 but it was past its peak by that time and the population continued to plummet for the next hundred years.
For just a blip on the radar, a boomtown whose day in the sun only lasted a couple of decades, America wouldn’t be the same without Virginia City. Without the Comstock Lode, silver might never have been demonetized by the government, San Francisco might be nothing but a small town on the bay. We might not have Mark Twain or the state of Nevada. Without the money that filled government coffers to support the Union cause, we might not even be The United States of America.
Thank you, Virginia City. For everything.
About A Ghostly Wager
Even skeptical detectives need a little otherworldly help. . .
Annabelle Lawson hops a train to Reno to escape a marriage to an older man. Alone and nearly destitute, she spots an advertisement that might change her life. If she can use the dreams that haunt her to land a job with the mysterious Treymane PSI Agency, she might be able to buy a ticket home to Kentucky.
Agent Cole Swansby is an up and coming detective for Tremayne PSI. There’s only thing that can sink his career: if the boss discovers he’s a skeptic. He’s under tremendous pressure to solve a case before the president of Midas Mining comes to town.
Cole can’t solve this case without otherworldly help and Annabelle is just the woman for the job. As they’re drawn deeper into the mystery of the woman in green, they may not be able to banish the ghost without losing their hearts. To each other.
Excerpt:
Anna took a deep breath and looked out the small window that faced Sierra Street. She chewed on her bottom lip. “I dream things.”
“We all dream things.”
“These dreams are different. People who have passed visit me in my dreams. Every night.”
“Who are they?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know them.”
“Do they scare you?”
“They did at first but now, after four years of facing them every night, I’ve gotten used to them.”
“They talk to you?”
“They want me to take messages to their loved ones.”
“Do you oblige them?”
“I don’t know how I would ever find the people they’re looking for but they keep coming back anyway.”
“You’re sure they aren’t ordinary nightmares?” She wouldn’t be the first woman who’d been driven insane by the life she was forced to live here in the West.
She shook her head vigorously. “They’re not the same. Not at all. The people that visit me in my dreams are real.”
Cole reminded himself that he didn’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts didn’t exist, the living couldn’t communicate with them. Simple logic. But this woman seemed honest, earnest and for a sliver of a moment, he believed her, or at least believed she believed the dead talked to her. “Are you a widow?”
“He died in the Fire of 1875.” Her voice quavered a bit and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The woman in front of him was lying.
“You came from Virginia City?”
“Got here last night.”
Something about her story didn’t make sense. Maybe she just looked young, but he couldn’t imagine that she was married six years ago. Even in this godforsaken corner of America, girls didn’t marry at eleven or twelve.
“How old are you?”
Anna flinched and her eyes went wide. “Twenty-three. I look young for my age. People tell me that all the time,” she said with a nervous giggle.
There was more to this story. While Cole might not strictly believe in the mission of the Agency, he was a damn good detective and he smelled a rat. She was running from something. He’d bet his paycheck on it.
“What’s your real story?”
“What on earth do you mean?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked directly at her. “Level with me and I’ll consider hiring you.”
By the way she exhaled and dropped her shoulders, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.
Stalk Blaire on the Net
August 30, 2016
Yuma Territorial Prison – The Dark Cell and Ghosts
I previously had the pleasure of working with Keta Diablo on the anthology, Come Love a Cowboy, so when she asked me to join her on this boxed set I jumped at the chance. Keta lives in Minnesota on six acres of woodland. When she isn’t writing or gardening she loves to commune with nature. A lifelong animal lover, she also devotes her time and support to the local animal shelters.
Keta’s a bestselling Amazon author who writes in several genres, including western romance, historical romance, paranormal romance and the occasional gay romance. Her books have received numerous Top Pick, Book of the Month and Recommended Read reviews.
Ghosts…Outlaws…and Bad Behavior
In Comes An Outlaw, our hero, Coy Santos, spent time in Yuma Prison. I read all about the ‘dark cell’ and the other punishments inflicted on prisoners for bad behavior. As the article cites below, the prison was also known for its progressive standards, including teaching prisoners to read and write and access to a well-stocked library.
Still…ghosts stories about the prison remain. I wonder…if you visited the crumbling walls of Yuma Prison today, would you feel, see or hear the spirits that once resided within its walls?
Yuma Territorial Prison – The Dark Cell and Ghosts
The first seven inmates entered the Territorial prison at Yuma, Arizona on July 1, 1876. They were locked into cells that they had constructed with their own hands. In the coming 33 years, a total of 3,069 prisoners, including 29 women, lived in the prison. Their crimes ranged from murder to polygamy, with grand larceny being the most common. During that time, 111 of the prisoners died, mostly from tuberculosis, but even so, the stories say that some of them never left this place, even in death.
Despite the reputation of the Yuma prison being a brutal place, the punishments here were very humane for the time and mostly consisted of the “dark cell”, a place of isolation for the rule breakers, and a ball and chain for those who tried to escape. It was considered a model institution and the prisoners had regular medical attention, access to a good hospital and even the opportunity to learn to read and write while incarcerated. The prison housed one of the first “public” libraries in the territory and visitors were charged a fee to tour the prison and to check out books. One of the earliest electric generating plants in the western states furnished light and ventilation for the cell blocks.
Yuma Prison Main Guard Tower
But all was not perfect and by 1907, the prison was severely overcrowded. The convicts constructed a new facility in Florence and the last of them were transferred away from Yuma by September 1909.
From 1910-1914, the former prison buildings were occupied by the Yuma High School and after that, empty cells provided free lodging for hoboes and drifters who were riding the rails across the country. The Great Depression of the 1920’s saw the prison in use once more as homeless families took up residence, seeking shelter from the elements. Theft, along with fires, weather and railroad construction destroyed most of what was left of the place. Today, only the cells, the main gate and the tower … and the ghosts…. remain.
Author Antonio Garcez, who wrote an article on the prison for Ghosts of the Prairie and featured it in his book on Arizona ghost stories, collected many stories of strange incidents and hauntings. Reported by park rangers and staff members at the historical site, the stories often spoke of the “dark cell”, the place of punishment for prisoners unable to follow the rules.
Linda Offeney, a ranger at the prison site, told Garcez about an incident when she sensed a presence in the cell that frightened her. She also told him of a photo that she had in her files that was taken of a female tourist in the 1930’s. While the woman in the photo does not appear out of the ordinary, there is a clear image of a ghostly man behind her and just inside the opening of a cell. This cell, which has since been walled up, was where insane prisoners were housed before being moved to other facilities.
She also told about a writer from the magazine Arizona Highways who came and wanted to do a story about the prison. The writer stated that she wanted to spend two days and nights in the “dark cell”, chained by the foot and with nothing but bread and water to eat and drink. The staff provided her with these things and then placed a heavy blanket over the cell door to keep out all of the sunlight, just as it would have been when the prison was in operation. The writer didn’t last for very long! Within hours, she was calling for help, claiming that “someone” else was in the cell with her!
While no records ever mention that a prisoner died while incarcerated in the “dark cell”, the prison reports do mention that at least two prisoners did leave the cell… only to be transferred immediately to an insane asylum in Phoenix. Could the presence be one of these prisoners, still lingering behind?
In addition to the prison itself being haunted, the offices and museum have also seen their share of strange happenings. Things are often moved about, lights turn on and off and on one occasion, coins from the cash register in the gift shop literally flew into the air and landed back in the drawer!
Some believe that the spirits of prisoners past remain here, perhaps trapped within the walls of the prison itself. For some men, whether it was a humane facility or not, being chained up and jailed was a fate worse than death. Are they now reliving it for all eternity?
http://www.prairieghosts.com/hauntaz.html
copyrighted by Troy Taylor
*~*
About Comes and Outlaw:
When a tragic accident claims her husband’s life, Jesse Santos must find a way to keep the ranch, the only home her 12-year-old son has ever known. The ranch hands have abandoned her, a gang of cutthroat ranchers want her land and an ancient Yaqui Indian insists a spirit has taken up residence in the house.
After a fifteen year absence, her husband’s brother, Coy, returns to his childhood home. He doesn’t plan on staying, and he certainly doesn’t intend to settle down with a widow and her son…no matter how pretty she is.
He’s an outlaw, after all, and made a decision to put an end to his gun-slinging days long ago. Will his conscience let him walk away from family, or will his heart overrule his head?
Setup and Excerpt from Comes An Outlaw – Keta Diablo
Coy Santos confronts the Torres brothers about theft of his cattle.
Benito and Domingo walked down the steps with Mutton Chop close on their heels. A black sombrero with silver trim sat atop Benito’s head. A black twill jacket topped a pair of brown vaquero pants and knee-high black boots. The only color in the man’s attire was a bright red patterned shirt, partially hidden by the ammo belt crisscrossed over his torso. Like his brother, Domingo wore dark vaquero pants and high black boots. He pulled the white straw hat from his head and tipped it in Coy’s direction, his pockmarked face revealing a toothy smile that crinkled his dark, beady eyes. A gold and red striped poncho covered his shoulders and chest but didn’t hide the pistol with an ivory handle at his right hip.
Benito spoke first. “Ah, amigo, been so long since we see you, we think you dead.”
“Not hardly.”
Digger hadn’t appeared and that bothered Coy, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the threesome.
Domingo struck a match and lit the cigar hanging off this bottom lip. “To what do we owe this honor, gringo?”
He stiffened his legs and rose in the saddle, peering over their heads toward the corral. “Unless something is wrong with my eyesight, you got Santos cattle penned up over there.”
Mutton Chop let loose a throaty guffaw. “Maybe you need glasses.”
Coy patted the rifle lying across his lap. “Maybe you need a little buckshot in your leg.”
“Ha, now that’s funny! Guess you can’t count.” He glanced from Benito to Domingo. “There’s three of us and only one of you.”
Benito elbowed him. “Shut up, knucklehead.”
“Found ’em grazing on our land.” A circle of smoke swirled around Domingo’s long, black hair. “Round here possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Not when they’re wearing the Ranchero Santos’ brand.” His calm, lethal voice drifted on the air between them. “You, Mutton Chop, go open that padlock while I keep your sidekicks entertained.”
“Stay where you are.” Domingo spit into the dirt near his boot and then looked at Coy with a mutinous glare, his fingers inching toward his pistol. “As my friend says, gringo, there are three of us and only one of you.”
Coy raised the rifle and aimed at Domingo’s chest. “Yeah, guess I am a little outnumbered, but won’t make any difference to you or your brother. Two seconds after you draw your guns, you’ll both be dead.”
Benito’s eyes glinted beneath the harsh sun. “You think you can take us both?”
“I know I can. The question is…do you want to take that chance?”
Coy heard a rifle cock near the house, and next, a familiar voice near the corral. “Drop that rifle, Mister or I’ll blow your head off.”
Grange? What the hell is he doing here?
Standing behind Benito, Domingo and Mutton Chop, the boy walked forward with Fetch. Shoulders low, rump high, the dog crawled through the dirt, his long white fangs flashing feral. Rifle resting against his shoulder, Grange focused on someone on the roof. “Do it, Mister!”
~*~
To learn more about Keta’s books visit her Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.com/Keta-Diablo/e/B002BODURI/
Thank you for reading about Yuma Prison and its resident ghosts. The authors of The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly also thank you in advance for purchasing the anthology. We hope you enjoy reading the stories as much as we enjoyed writing them,
Best, Keta Diablo
August 29, 2016
Enter to Win Paranormal and Western Romances from the Authors of The Good, the Bad, and the Ghostly!
The authors of The Good, the Bad, and the Ghostly are sponsoring an ebook giveaway including western and paranormal romances. Enter to win, and be sure to check out the collection! Sponsored…
Source: Enter to Win Paranormal and Western Romances from the Authors of The Good, the Bad, and the Ghostly!
August 23, 2016
Mediums and Séances in Wild, Wild Ghost
Margo Bond Collins
I’m delighted to have Margo Bond Collins return to my blog here. Margo and I have previously worked together on Come Love a Cowboy. She is addicted to coffee and SF/F television, especially Supernatural. She writes paranormal and contemporary romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal mystery. She lives in Texas with her daughter and several spoiled pets. Although she teaches college-level English courses online, writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about heroes, vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and the women who love (and sometimes fight) them. With this sort of background, you’ll understand she knows quite a lot about mediums and seances in the Old West.
Her story, Wild, Wild Ghost opens our anthology, The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly.
In my novella Wild, Wild Ghost, Ruby Silver, a new agent with the Tremayne PSI Agency, is a spiritualist and a medium who specializes in the exorcism of ghosts and other unwanted creatures of the underworld. Although the Agency, with its specialization in the paranormal, is fictional, Ruby’s classification of herself as a medium was not entirely unusual for the 1860s.
In fact, for all that the era is often cast as a time of scientific advancement, it was also perhaps one of the most superstitious eras the world has seen, and much of that superstition focused on the possibility of the living finding ways to speak to the dead. In fact, the term “psychic” can be traced to this era (beginning its existence as “psychical”).
Of course, the idea that the living and dead might communicate was certainly not new, as Odysseus’s trip to the underworld, Hamlet’s ghost, and Jacob Marley all show us. Nor were all examples of published accounts of ghostly interactions entirely literary—in 1727, for example, Daniel Defoe published his Essay on the History and Reality of Apparitions, in which he gives at least partial credence to the idea of ghosts appearing to the living.
What was new was the idea of a structured reaching-out to spirits on “the other side,” generally through the use of a medium. Séances became increasingly popular in the second half of the nineteenth century, and by the 1860s, when Ruby shows up in Rittersburg, Texas, they would have been fairly commonplace. Thus the séance that Ruby and Trip hold in the novella might have been slightly scandalous among the church-going townspeople, but it would not have been so strange as to have caused much commentary among the people who had requested the Agency’s help with their troublesome ghost.
Wild, Wild Ghost
With everyone she loves in the grave, Ruby specializes in the dead.
When Ruby Silver traded in her demon-hunting rifle for a Tremayne Agency badge, she didn’t want another partner—losing the last one was too traumatic. But when a new case in the Texas Hill Country pairs her up with the slow-talking, fast-drawing Trip Austin, it will take all their combined skills to combat a plague of poltergeists in this German-settled town.
Excerpt:
Realizing that all the broken glass flying past him had been swept up into the whirlwind of glass around the woman, he dropped Demonio’s reigns. “Stay here,” he instructed. The stallion rolled its eyes at him, but nickered. Trip didn’t bother to tether the animal; his horse wasn’t going anywhere without him.
If exploding glass didn’t startle him, nothing would.
For that matter, neither did various ilk of ghosts and beasts. Demonio was steady, even if he had a tendency to bite strangers.
Was this woman really supposed to be his new partner?
When he’d gotten the telegram from the Tremayne headquarters back in St. Louis, he had laughed aloud. Trip knew there were lady agents—he’d even worked with one a time or two—but they had all been stationed back east. No lone woman in her right mind would want to come out here to work.
Not when there were plenty of ghosts to be exorcised in civilized places.
Safer places.
I guess maybe this one’s not in her right mind, then.
Might not be a bad idea to remember that.
He watched the glass-cyclone sweep up the dust around her, the cloud of dirt thickening until he couldn’t see the woman at all, and reconsidered.
If she can cause something like that to happen, maybe she’s plenty safe out here, after all.
As Trip made his way toward her, the glass-and-dirt devil rose into the air. He stopped to watch it ascend. Then, with a noise like a crack of thunder, it was gone. Trip had the vague impression that it had sped away toward the wilds rather than merely disappearing into nothingness, but he couldn’t have pointed to any particular evidence that made him think that.
Smoothing her hands down the sides of the painted horse’s face, the woman murmured something soothing in a tone that made Trip realize he had been hearing her voice all along, a soft alto hum rising and falling under the whipping and tinkling sound of the glass tornado, somehow more noticeable now in its absence than it had been during the strange events on the street.
The horse huffed out a breath, and the woman laughed. The sound of it sent an odd shiver up Trip’s back—not of anxiety, but of interest.
Don’t be stupid, man. You haven’t even seen her face yet.
And he couldn’t tell anything about her body under that horror of a dress.
Reaching up, she untied the bonnet from under her chin and removed it to shake off the dirt. A silken fall of blond hair cascaded out of it and down her back, and Trip stopped to stare, frozen by the glint of midday Texas sun off its golden sheen.
By the time he moved again, she had begun brushing off her skirt in sharp, efficient motions.
“Ruby Silver?” he asked when he was close enough to speak without shouting.
As she spun around, it occurred to him belatedly that it might not be a good idea to sneak up on a woman who could turn flying glass into a tornado and make it disappear.
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