Showing posts with label Western. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Western. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Follow the Dream by Heidi M. Thomas

ExcerpTuesday



Sunday, July 14, 1929

Spring rains never came this year.

The little bit of grass that came up is nearly gone. Used up rest of the hay already. Jake’s not himself. I’m really worried....


When they watched the skies now, it was with a tingling sense of hope and dread. The clouds built up over the rims, dark and angry, then dispersed as the hot winds blew them to nothing.


In June, Jake had only shrugged when the thunderheads passed over and splattered just a few hard raindrops like bullets into the dust. There was always a chance that the next storm would dump its load and the grass would come back, resurrected from its hardpan grave.



Each time the sky grew dark, Nettie ran to gather clothes from the line, shut the windows in the house and bring four-year-old Neil in. While their son played cowboy on a saddle in the kitchen, she and Jake prepared themselves, anticipating the long, drowsy afternoons of gentle rain when they could rest without guilt as the earth replenished itself. But disappointment always followed one brief, hopeful interlude after another.


As summer wore on, the clouds produced nothing more than a frightening display of heat lightning, the air so charged with electricity that the hair on Nettie’s arms stood up. She thirsted for a view of something green, the smell of new grass. A silent vigilance overtook their lives.


She watched the tension pull at Jake, his hopeful expectation as the sky darkened, the half-smile when he heard the first clap of thunder, and then the slump of his shoulders when the storm again passed them by. Her heart ached for him, and fear built inside like the thunderheads on the hills.


He no longer whistled in the mornings. It had been weeks since she had seen him joke and wrestle playfully with Neil. He rode out every morning, but more and more often he returned with nothing. The drought had killed or driven off the coyote’s food supply, too.


Disappointment pooled inside Nettie like the rain puddles she craved. One evening in the deepening shadows of dusk Nettie saw Jake sitting on the rock by the corral, his face buried in his hands. Cold fear swept her, stopped her from calling out. Her feet felt too heavy to move. Her strong, invincible cowboy seemed beaten. If he had no hope, what was left?



Bio

Heidi M. Thomas grew up on a working ranch in eastern Montana. She had parents who taught her a love of books and a grandmother who rode bucking stock in rodeos. Describing herself as “born with ink in her veins,” Heidi followed her dream of writing with a journalism degree from the University of Montana and later turned to her first love, fiction, to write her grandmother’s story.


Heidi’s first novel, Cowgirl Dreams, has won an EPIC Award and the USA Book News Best Book Finalist award.


Follow the Dream is the second book in the “Dare to Dream” series about strong, independent Montana Women and is a WILLA Literary Award winner.



Heidi is a member of Women Writing the West, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, Skagit Valley Writers League, Skagit Women in Business, and the Northwest Independent Editors Guild. She is also a manuscript editor, and teaches memoir and fiction writing classes in the Pacific Northwest.



Blurb


Nettie Moser’s dreams are coming true. She’s married to her cowboy, Jake, they have plans for a busy rodeo season, and she has a once in a lifetime opportunity to rodeo in London with the Tex Austin Wild West Troupe.


But life during the Great Depression brings unrelenting hardships and unexpected family responsibilities. Nettie must overcome challenges to her lifelong rodeo dreams, cope with personal tragedy, survive drought, and help Jake keep their horse herd from disaster.


Will these challenges break this strong woman?


This sequel to Cowgirl Dreams is based on the life of the author’s grandmother, a real Montana cowgirl.

Monday, April 11, 2011

ExcerpTuesday: Jennifer Jakes

He rode into town to buy supplies, not a woman.



For hunted recluse Rafe McBride, the raven-haired beauty on the auction block is exactly what he doesn't need. A dependent woman will be another clue his vengeful stepbrother can use to find and kill him. But Rafe's conscience won't let him leave another innocent's virginity to the riff-raff bidding. He buys her, promising to return her to St. Louis untouched. He only prays the impending blizzard holds off before her sultry beauty breaks his willpower.

She wanted freedom, not a lover.
Whisked to the auction block by her devious, gambling cousin, and then sold into the arms of a gorgeous stranger, outspoken artist Maggie Monroe isn't about to go meekly. Especially when the rugged mountain man looks like sin and danger rolled into one. But a blizzard and temptation thrust them together, and Maggie yearns to explore her smoldering passion for Rafe.

But when the snow clears, will the danger and secrets that surround Rafe and Maggie tear them apart?

***

Maggie wanted freedom, not a lover…


Oh, Lord. He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t want this. She was confused enough.

Respectable women didn’t kiss men they barely knew, certainly not men who made them have wild,

exotic dreams.


It was crazy. He was making her want crazy things. Making her not give a damn about her reputation

or her virginity. Or her long-awaited freedom. All she could think about was that dream, and the way

his sinful mouth had felt. The table was only a step away, and honey was just as sweet as peach juice…

She swallowed hard and looked up into his hooded eyes.

“Maggie,” he groaned. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her mouth parted to object, but firm lips covered hers, hungry, demanding. She gasped, shocked at his

hunger, but even more at the illicit response coursing through her. An aching heat unfurled low in her

stomach, pulsed between her legs. Oh, yes. It started just like in the dream.

He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips with his warm tongue. Long, languid strokes teased the inside of

her mouth, encouraging, tempting before he pulled back to nibble the corners of her lips.

Oh, God. Is this what all kisses felt like? Hot, lethargic? Melting her like molasses over warm bread?

“Kiss me, Maggie,” he breathed.

Monday, October 4, 2010

ExcerpTuesday: Mary Manners

Mended Heart

Excerpt:

“What are you doing here?”

Shane slid two English muffins into the toaster and pressed the lever to warm them. “Claire let me in an hour ago. She had to get to the hospital.”

Jade brushed fingers through long strands of wavy hair and tossed her head to work out the tangles. Her eyes glittered beneath sunlight that streamed through the window over the sink, and she pulled the edges of her powder-blue terrycloth robe tighter before cinching the belt. “I’m not a charity case. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He let the comment slide. “Nice slippers.”

She glanced down to see two fuzzy bunny heads staring back at her.

“Claire bought them for me--a gag gift last Christmas.” The pink of a blush crept up her neck. No matter she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup and that her hair was matted and tangled--she still looked beautiful.

“I made you breakfast.” He reached for the muffins as they popped from the toaster, nicely browned. He gave each a healthy slap of butter as Jade looked on. The aroma of eggs and crispy bacon filled the air.

“I’m not hungry.” Like a traitor, her stomach chose just that time to let loose a rumble that could have rivaled an earthquake.

“Your belly begs to differ. Did you eat anything at all last night?”

She crossed her arms over her stomach and ignored the question.


Blurb:

Shane Calkin is a former bad-boy-wannabe fighting to raise his spunky niece and a rambunctious puppy.

Jade McAllister nurses a wounded heart as she struggles to escape her mother’s rejection…and Shane’s.

Nine years have passed since they last saw each other, and a terrible secret looms. Will the secret destroy them, or have the years taught them how to trust…and to love?

Mary Manners Bio

I live in the foothills of the beautiful Great Smoky Mountains with my husband, Tim, our daughter Danni, and the cherished pets we’ve rescued from local animal shelters…dogs Molly and Abby and cats Lucky and Gus.

I’m active in my church, where I help cook Wednesday night meals and work with the trustees on church construction and beautification projects. I’m also active with the youth, and help raise funds for mission projects through our breakfast table.

I also teach 7th grade math and English at Seymour Middle School. I love working with teenagers, and have been blessed to know many wonderful children and parents during my 25 years of teaching.

I enjoy the outdoors and am looking forward to cooler autumn weather. I enjoy cultivating flowers, taking long walks with my wonderful husband, and reading romance books while lying in a hammock beneath our century-old shade trees.

Ten percent of every sale of Mended Heart goes to charity.


Thank you Mary for stopping by.

Monday, September 20, 2010

ExcerpTuesday Larian Wills

Blurb and excerpt, pg, from “It’s Still Tomorrow”


Fired from her job, her apartment firebombed, and her small amount of money dwindling too quickly, Sarah ran. Knowing that the terror would follow, she took the only refuge available to her, an unfinished house she’d inherited. She didn’t know she would also inherit a long legged hunk of good looking man that would set off every buried desire she’d ever had. Her vow to never practice witchcraft again ended when the terror threatened Dem. Her enemies learned that like vicious dogs, they should have let the sleeping witch lie.


She sat on the floor, one knee raised, elbow on the knee and hand hanging in front of her. She rubbed her thumb and fingers together furiously while she stared at a microwave in pieces in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, wondering if the micro meant she was considering eating something cooked besides a hard-boiled egg.

“Just about giving up.” She pointed at the innards. “It worked fine when I put it in the car. Now it won’t even light up the display. I thought it might be a loose wire or fuse of some kind, but I can’t find anything.”

As she unplugged it by jerking the cord, he said dryly, “Maybe the plug is bad.”

“Tried that; put on a new one.” She turned the chassis to give herself a different angle and began pressing and pushing every connection she could see.

“Did you test the wall plug?”

“Clock worked fine,” she answered in preoccupation.

“I think you’re fighting a lost cause,” he told her going to the door. “You’ve got a new one anyway, when I can get to it. I’m going to hang the light over the mirror so the power will be off.”

Still preoccupied, she said slowly, “Don’t touch the…” Realizing he was already gone, she lunged up and ran. “Don’t touch the…”

She wasn’t talking or running fast enough. Dem touched the main lever on the breaker box, and his arm flew back as he yowled. She skidded to a stop behind him.

“Oops,” she said with a grimace as he backed off, shaking his arm.

“Oops!” he shouted at her furiously. “What the hell did you do?” Looking at the wire wrapped around the base of the lever to the battery it came from, he didn’t wait for an answer. “You shock wired it to a battery for an electric fence strong enough to knock a horse down?”

“Only jolt,” she answered. “Here, let me—”

She started towards him, reaching for his arm, and Dem backed away.

“What the hell did you shock wire it for?” he demanded, wondering also when she had done it.

“Stand still,” Sara ordered, catching him with one hand at his shoulder and the other at his wrist.

He stood only to avoid a wrestling match. Okay, so her hands felt cool as she ran them from his throbbing shoulder to his fingertips. Each time the throbbing from the high voltage shock lessening, like she was rubbing it out, down his arm and out his fingertips. It felt good, too good.

“That’s fine,” he told her abruptly and backed away. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

“You don’t want to know,” she said without resentment, leaning down to turn off the charge box for a system normally used to keep obstinate livestock in a fence. She flipped off the main, adding, “You want to complete your obligation, stay uninvolved, and get on with your life.”

He did. That had been exactly his intention and precisely why he hadn’t asked any questions about the things he had noticed. “You should report it,” he retorted defensively. It wasn’t his responsibility. It was the sheriff department’s.

“Naw,” she said slowly. “One of those ‘living in the country is different than living in the city’ lectures was enough for me, thank you.” She pointed at the charge box before walking away. “Don’t forget to turn it back on when you’re through.”

Following behind her, he told her, “Not everyone in the sheriff’s department is an ass. Hodges is…”

“The one they keep referring me to,” she finished for him. “He figures I can’t tell the difference between a dog shape and a man shape.”

Dem grabbed her shoulder to stop her, jerked back, and yowled again.

“Now,” she stated, turning back to face him, “you’re being a baby.”

“It surprised me,” he retorted. “You don’t expect to get shocked from touching someone.”

“Static electricity.”

Dem suppressed a desire to growl while asking, “Who’s doing it?”

“Don’t know and you are right, it’s not your problem.” She walked off five feet before she turned back. “Is it safe to ask a question?”

“What?” he growled, since he hadn’t said it wasn’t his problem even if he had been thinking it.

“It can wait,” she said with a flip of her eyebrows and walked off.

It took four of her steps with him following before Dem could take a deep breath and release it slowly. “What?” he asked again in a softer tone.

“I just wondered if you could put in the pantry shelves next.”

“I thought you’d want the kitchen so you can cook.”

“I never cook if I don’t have to. I would like a refrigerator though. Since I have a microwave, dare I hope one of those, too?”

“All of the appliances.”

“Can you get to it?”

“Not until after I move the cabinets.” He walked off. “I’ll start bringing them over in the morning. Turn your power back on. I’m through for the day.”

She returned to the box, flipped switches for the power and her booby trap, then stood staring at the space where he had been, the fingers and thumb of both hands working furiously. Even though the bland, empty expression on her face didn’t change, the motion began to slow but the pressure increased. When she did move, it was inside to the disassembled microwave. With both index fingers extended and the rest in a fist, she touched the offending appliance. Sparks flew, and there was a loud crack.

“If you don’t work now,” she told it calmly, “you’re going in the garbage.”