WeWriWa: A Series of Fortunate Events Begins . . . DAKOTA DAWN

WeWriWa: A Series of Fortunate Events Begins . . . DAKOTA DAWN 

After a string of unrelated historical romances, something new began along with the ‘90s. Something I grabbed onto with gusto. Big, bold connected historical books in a series had become a “thing” and I couldn’t WAIT to be apart of it. And thanks to an ambitious new agent and a new editor, Zebra took my books to the next level, continuing as Dana Ransom and starting with DAKOTA DAWN , Book one of four in a post Civil-War series set in the wilds of the Dakota territory. Here’s a sample of the first meeting between two characters: rugged mountain man, Ethan Prescott and fiery rancher’s daughter, Aurora Prescott, who would anchor the four-book series for their offspring. . . Scott, a half-Lakota lawyer with an Eastern fiancé and Rory, a roughneck rancher in love with a swindler’s daughter.

“How did I get here?’
“Why ma’am it certainly weren’t by my invitation,” the big man drawled as he bent down near the fire. There was no mistaking the displeasure in his tone. “Couldn’t very well leave you out there on the trail, though it cost me a winter’s worth of furs to tote you here.”
That surly admission raised a flicker of temper from a soul she’d thought too worn to respond. It wasn’t as though she’d demanded he make the sacrifice or had purposefully fallen in his path to freeze, although his annoyance would suggest he believed it was so. His sullenness required a reply, one she returned with a brittle snap of pride.
“I am sorry you do not feel a human life worth the exchange, but I’m glad for your momentary lapse. I’ll see you’re remunerated for the loss as soon as I—as soon as I am able.”
Remunerated. A fine five-dollar word if he ever heard one.
(and a bit more . . .)
Gold . . . her eyes were gold, not green or blue or brown, but a pure prairie gold, as rich as the grasses ripening in the fall, as rare as the metal sought in the Hills. Basked in firelight, the combination of hair and eyes quickened the image of something molten, running hot like liquid flame, tempting but ready to scorch the unwise. He looked ahead with a feeling of panic to the days and nights they’d be forced to keep such close quarters, thanking God for her burgeoning state, or in his daze of long suppressed desires he might have been tempted to risk the heat. That shocked him no little bit, for he always considered himself a gentleman, even in this place that lay beyond the reach of civilization.
She sat quietly, watching the plays of passion move over his face the way seething storm clouds boiled over the mountain peaks above, and she was frightened by what she saw there. She clutched at the robe, hiding her fears behind an impassive face, just as she’d been schooled to do. Had she gone from one desperate situation to another?

A western junkie, thanks to my dad, these books were a pure joy to research and write. And they came at time when author promotions became another BIG “thing.” More on that next week as I move from forest wilds to Texas wastelands . . .
Still struggling to get in those pages on my W-I-P. Time for some tough love!
How’s your word count going?

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