Showing posts with label Stacey Coverstone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stacey Coverstone. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Traveling to Your Novel’s Setting for Research, by Stacey Coverstone
Traveling to Your Novel’s Setting for Research, by Stacey Coverstone
“Outlaw Trail” is the title of my historical western romance being released by Champagne Books in December. This novel takes place in 1882 New Mexico, and it tells the story of Josie Hart, who is half Tewa Indian, and Grey Paladin, a couple who become reluctant partners and travel two hundred miles of dangerous trail in search of a treasure that could change each of their lives.
Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I’m in love with the Land of Enchantment. Why? Because the skies are bigger and bluer, the sun is brighter, there’s something magical about the desert, and the mountains call me home. I go to New Mexico often, but not often enough. That’s why so many of my stories are set there. When I’m not able to physically be there, at least I can dream about my second home and re-imagine all the wonderful places I’ve seen and the people I’ve met. Setting a story in a real town or state gives an author a good reason to travel—in order to do research. That’s what I’m talking about today.
When I wrote “Outlaw Trail,” I referred to actual New Mexican towns and settings; places Josie and Grey visited or stopped at during their long journey. Some of these places I’d really visited in my own travels, some, I hadn’t. Once I’d mapped out Josie and Grey’s destination during the plotting stage of my story, I decided the Nambe waterfalls would be the spot where the climactic scene would take place. I’d never been to those particular falls before, but it seemed the perfect setting. Now, if I was going to be accurate in my description of this place, I had to see the waterfalls for myself, right? You bet. So, off I went, to Northern New Mexico on a research trip. I invited one of my best childhood friends, Linda, to meet me there, because she needed a vacation bad.
Linda flew in from Illinois and I came from Maryland, and we met up at the Albuquerque airport. One rental car later and we were off on our adventure! I can’t begin to describe all the fantastic sights and spectacular beauty we experienced. Today, I’m sharing Nambe Falls with you.
Nambe Pueblo is one of the Tewa Pueblos of the northern Rio Grande region. The name is a Spanish interpretation of the Tewa word “name”, which roughly translates as “earth roundness.” Prior to the arrival of Spanish explorers, Nambe Pueblo served as the primary cultural and religious center for the northern New Mexican pueblo communities.
Nambe Pueblo sits at the base of the rugged Sangre de Cristo Mountains, sixteen miles north of Santa Fe. It encompasses 19,000 acres of land surrounded by national forest. Its terrain is scenic and striking, featuring waterfalls, lakes and mountainous areas. The Nambe Falls are located above the Pueblo. A 15-minute walk along shaded cottonwood trails next to the river takes you to the base of Nambe Waterfalls. A longer hike up the side of a steep, rocky canyon affords you a magnificent birds-eye view of the stunning triple-decker falls. Standing at the peak, one can turn around and gaze out at the mountains and desert for as far as the eye can see. Guess which hike I chose to take?
My dear friend, Linda, is not a hiker. Nor is she an outdoors person. However, she was a real trooper—all in the sake of research. Despite her fear of death by stumbling and falling over the cliff to the jagged rocks below, she did climb that canyon with me all the way to the top. It took a while, but we made it.
Later, after she’d sat for a while, resting on a rock, she drank a bottle of water, wiped the sweat from her face, and mumbled a few choice words about the stupid cowboy hat she bought that was too big and kept sliding off her sweaty forehead. But, she agreed with me that the tricky hike up the canyon had been worth it.
As I gazed at the stunning three-tier falls that dropped through a cleft in the rock face to tumble into a reservoir below, I asked Linda if she’d ever seen anything so beautiful or felt so at peace. I’d experience that same feeling of peace several more times during our trip, because New Mexico is full of magical and spiritual moments that stay with you long after the vacation is over.
Josie and Grey battle outlaws, nature, and each other on their journey, but when they finally arrive at Nambe Falls, they discover riches more valuable than the original treasure they sought. That’s the way I look at research, especially when I can travel to the Land of Enchantment to conduct it.
Visit my website to read an excerpt of “Outlaw Trail,” coming December 1.
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I’m in love with the Land of Enchantment. Why? Because the skies are bigger and bluer, the sun is brighter, there’s something magical about the desert, and the mountains call me home. I go to New Mexico often, but not often enough. That’s why so many of my stories are set there. When I’m not able to physically be there, at least I can dream about my second home and re-imagine all the wonderful places I’ve seen and the people I’ve met. Setting a story in a real town or state gives an author a good reason to travel—in order to do research. That’s what I’m talking about today.
When I wrote “Outlaw Trail,” I referred to actual New Mexican towns and settings; places Josie and Grey visited or stopped at during their long journey. Some of these places I’d really visited in my own travels, some, I hadn’t. Once I’d mapped out Josie and Grey’s destination during the plotting stage of my story, I decided the Nambe waterfalls would be the spot where the climactic scene would take place. I’d never been to those particular falls before, but it seemed the perfect setting. Now, if I was going to be accurate in my description of this place, I had to see the waterfalls for myself, right? You bet. So, off I went, to Northern New Mexico on a research trip. I invited one of my best childhood friends, Linda, to meet me there, because she needed a vacation bad.
Linda flew in from Illinois and I came from Maryland, and we met up at the Albuquerque airport. One rental car later and we were off on our adventure! I can’t begin to describe all the fantastic sights and spectacular beauty we experienced. Today, I’m sharing Nambe Falls with you.
Nambe Pueblo is one of the Tewa Pueblos of the northern Rio Grande region. The name is a Spanish interpretation of the Tewa word “name”, which roughly translates as “earth roundness.” Prior to the arrival of Spanish explorers, Nambe Pueblo served as the primary cultural and religious center for the northern New Mexican pueblo communities.
Nambe Pueblo sits at the base of the rugged Sangre de Cristo Mountains, sixteen miles north of Santa Fe. It encompasses 19,000 acres of land surrounded by national forest. Its terrain is scenic and striking, featuring waterfalls, lakes and mountainous areas. The Nambe Falls are located above the Pueblo. A 15-minute walk along shaded cottonwood trails next to the river takes you to the base of Nambe Waterfalls. A longer hike up the side of a steep, rocky canyon affords you a magnificent birds-eye view of the stunning triple-decker falls. Standing at the peak, one can turn around and gaze out at the mountains and desert for as far as the eye can see. Guess which hike I chose to take? 
My dear friend, Linda, is not a hiker. Nor is she an outdoors person. However, she was a real trooper—all in the sake of research. Despite her fear of death by stumbling and falling over the cliff to the jagged rocks below, she did climb that canyon with me all the way to the top. It took a while, but we made it.
Later, after she’d sat for a while, resting on a rock, she drank a bottle of water, wiped the sweat from her face, and mumbled a few choice words about the stupid cowboy hat she bought that was too big and kept sliding off her sweaty forehead. But, she agreed with me that the tricky hike up the canyon had been worth it.
As I gazed at the stunning three-tier falls that dropped through a cleft in the rock face to tumble into a reservoir below, I asked Linda if she’d ever seen anything so beautiful or felt so at peace. I’d experience that same feeling of peace several more times during our trip, because New Mexico is full of magical and spiritual moments that stay with you long after the vacation is over.
Josie and Grey battle outlaws, nature, and each other on their journey, but when they finally arrive at Nambe Falls, they discover riches more valuable than the original treasure they sought. That’s the way I look at research, especially when I can travel to the Land of Enchantment to conduct it.
Visit my website to read an excerpt of “Outlaw Trail,” coming December 1.
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Monday, November 16, 2009
Blogging on Rebecca, a Ghost, by Stacey Coverstone
Blogging on Rebecca, a Ghost, by Stacey Coverstone
I thought I’d tell you about one particular ghost who haunts a beautiful inn, located in the mountains of Cloudcroft, New Mexico. Originally constructed in 1899 by the Alamogordo and Sacramento Mountain Railway as a by-product of the railroad’s search for timber and railway ties, the resort area of Cloudcroft became an immediate mountain retreat, and a vacation hotel was built. The Lodge, as it was called, was owned and operated by the railroad, and was a cool reprieve to thousands of overheated Texans—as it still is today.
On June 13, 1909, a disastrous fire destroyed the Lodge, but by 1911, it had been rebuilt and reopened on its current, more scenic site. The Lodge has entertained and hosted politicians, artists, entertainers, astronauts and business leaders, including Poncho Villa, Judy Garland, and Clark Gable.
Even today, many employees and guests have reported seeing the apparition of a beautiful, red-haired woman wandering the halls wearing a long dress, arranging flowers in a vase, and whispering in the ears of male guests.
Rebecca’s manifestations and playful pranks are many. One of her favorite hangouts is the Red Dog Saloon, an old-west style saloon with rough-hewn walls, which is located in the basement of the Lodge. Lights have been known to go on and off randomly there. Piles of 1930’s-era poker chips have been mysteriously found in the middle of the floor, which had been cleaned only minutes before. Lodge patrons have called the front desk complaining about the loud music coming from the saloon at times when the bar is closed. Workers cleaning up after the saloon closes have seen her twirling apparition on the dance floor. Ashtrays move by themselves and flames appear in the fireplace with no logs or other fuel source. Bartenders have often seen a reflection of a pretty, red-haired woman in the bar mirror, but when one turns to look at her, she disappears.
Rebecca’s body was found near what is now the Lodge golf course. It was determined she was murdered, but the crime was never solved. There are some who believe she is in search of a new lover who appreciates her flirtatious and mischievous ways.
The Lodge is a three-story, Victorian style, elegant European mountain inn that is surrounded by huge pine trees and mountain scenery. Its fine-dining onsite restaurant is called “Rebecca’s”, named after the legendary resident ghost.
I travel to New Mexico often and have visited The Lodge several times. Having made an impression on me, I wrote a scene in my contemporary western romance, Lucky in Love, which takes place at the Lodge and in Rebecca’s restaurant. This novel will be released in June 2010. To read an excerpt, please visit my website.
Although I, unfortunately, never witnessed Rebecca’s apparition during my visits to the Lodge, I have had other ghostly encounters in my lifetime, but I’ll save those stories for another time… Until then, happy ghost hunting.
Stacey
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Excerpt - Lucky in Love by Stacey Coverstone
The golden horse with a snow white mane and tail opened her eyes and slowly turned her head. She neighed softly then nudged at something furry near her legs.
Jordan blinked. The back of the trailer was dim. It was difficult to see clearly. Puzzled, she squinted again, in order to get a better look. “There’s something standing behind the horse. It’s short, black and hairy. What on earth?” She threw a questioning glance at Wyatt.
He responded with a sheepish grin.
“Maaaaa.” A fat pigmy goat with horns made its appearance, stepping out from behind the mare.
“What is that?” Jordan pointed.
Wyatt hopped into the trailer and scratched Buttercup on the head as he hooked the lead rope to her halter. He led the Palomino out of the trailer with the beady-eyed creature waddling behind. “Jordan, this here is Houdini.” To the goat, he said, “Houdini, meet your new mommy.”
The goat leaped off the back of the trailer with the grace of a flying pig and stared up at her. Her jaw dropped.
“Come on, Buttercup.” When Wyatt began leading the mare toward the pasture, the goat sidled up to Jordan and rubbed the side of his head against her outer thigh.
“What’s he doing?” She squealed and jumped away as if she’d been burned, but the goat was insistent. He rubbed again, still ogling her.
“Give him a pet. Or shove him away if you don’t want him bothering you,” Wyatt called over his shoulder.
“Oh. Okay.” With a tentative hand, she patted his side. When the goat went “Maaaaa,” she smiled and hollered, “I think Houdini likes me, Brannigan. He’s pretty cute, but his head must itch because he keeps rubbing against me.” Just as she reached out to scratch between his horns, Wyatt turned and yelled.
“Don’t touch his horns!”
“Wha-?” The goat reared up and slammed his horns into the tender flesh of her bare leg. She howled and the goat butted her again. “Get him off me!” she screamed.
Wyatt dropped Buttercup’s lead rope and ran back and roughly shoved the goat away. “Git!” He knelt and examined Jordan’s leg with gentle hands. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. I’m not bleeding, am I?” Her eyes were misting over.
“No blood. He didn’t open the skin.” Wyatt stood. “I’m so sorry. I remembered too late about him not liking his horns touched. I should have said something before I let him out of the trailer, but it slipped my mind.”
Jordan glared at the animal. He planted his hooves, lowered his head and glowered back, like a bull ready to charge. “Where did you find that psychotic demon?” she asked, trembling from the scare.
“Houdini’s been with Buttercup since the day Lydia brought her to the ranch. Houdini was a rescue himself.”
“Gee, I wonder why.” She cast another glance at her thigh, which was bruising.
“That goat took to Buttercup like a bee takes to honey and hasn’t left her side since. I guess he’s in love.”
“Lucky for her.” Jordan’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Maaaaa,” the goat replied.
“Maaaaa yourself,” Jordan mocked. “Houdini, huh? I don’t have to guess how you arrived at your name.”
Wyatt wiped a tear from her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I guess I have to expect the unexpected if I’m to make it as a rancher.”
He grinned. “You got that right. Don’t touch his horns,” he reminded as he grasped Buttercup’s lead rope off the ground.
“Right. No horn touching.”
“Let’s take them to the pasture.” Wyatt whistled and Houdini trotted to the mare and toddled behind as she was walked to the field. After they were shooed in and the gate was closed, the two animals huddled together, watching the other horses running across the grass. In a short time, Houdini turned his attention to the pipe fence. He attached his bucked teeth to the bottom rail and began gnawing. Wyatt shook his head.
Another big truck came rambling up the drive. “Now, who’s coming?” Jordan asked, checking her watch for the time as they made their way back to the truck.
“That’ll be the hay man,” Wyatt said, slamming the trailer door shut. “He’s making your delivery, so I better move my rig out of the way.”
He moved his pickup and trailer to the other side of the driveway. Along with Jordan’s Jeep, Cole’s truck, and his workers’ vehicle, the driveway was looking like a used car lot. The hay man maneuvered his truck as close to the barn entrance as possible. The bed was stacked six layers high with hay. Wyatt and Jordan walked over and shook hands with the older man when he slid out of his cab. Wyatt made the introductions. “Jordan Mackenzie, this is Ronnie Porter. He’s got the best hay in the county. I told him you’d need supplied in the fall and the spring from now on.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Porter.”
“Same here.” No nonsense, he touched the brim of his cap, flipped open the tailgate and began to unload bales.
Noting his bulging arm muscles, and guessing him to be in his sixties, Jordan figured he was in better shape than most of the younger men she knew because of years of lifting and throwing hay bales around. As he tossed the bales onto the ground, Wyatt carried them into the barn and stacked them against the wall. Jordan watched, feeling useless, but she couldn’t begin to help because of her aching back. Knowing it would be rude if she left town while they were working for her benefit, she just stood and watched them sweat.
Porter was pulling a bale out of the back when a streak of black came charging around the corner of the barn. Looking neither left nor right, Houdini made a beeline for the man and rammed him in the rear. Obviously stunned, Porter fell to the ground moaning and clutching his punctured backside. Jordan ran to him screaming for Wyatt. She tried to help him up as she chastised the goat that danced in circles nearby, panting with his tongue hanging out.
“Houdini! Bad goat! How did you get out of the pasture?” She shoved him with her foot as he moved in for another jab. “Brannigan!” she screamed again.
Porter’s eyes were rolling back. “What the hell was that? My ass is on fire. Excuse the language, ma’am.” He wiped a tear from his eye as Jordan lifted him by the elbow and helped him to his feet.
“No need to apologize, Mr. Porter. Are you all right?”
Wyatt came running from the barn. He didn’t have to ask what had happened; the scene said it all. He grabbed Houdini by the horns without thinking and began dragging the creature back to the field.
“Maaaaa! Maaaaa!”
Jordan watched the goat squirm beneath Wyatt’s large, capable hands. “That, I’m afraid, Mr. Porter was the devil.”
“Well, he skewered me good,” the old man cried, clutching his buttocks.
--
Stacey Coverstone
Western Romance Author
Delaney's Crossing, Available Now
High Lonesome, Available Now
Outlaw Trail, December 1
Lucky in Love, June 2010
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Jordan blinked. The back of the trailer was dim. It was difficult to see clearly. Puzzled, she squinted again, in order to get a better look. “There’s something standing behind the horse. It’s short, black and hairy. What on earth?” She threw a questioning glance at Wyatt.
He responded with a sheepish grin.
“Maaaaa.” A fat pigmy goat with horns made its appearance, stepping out from behind the mare.
“What is that?” Jordan pointed.
Wyatt hopped into the trailer and scratched Buttercup on the head as he hooked the lead rope to her halter. He led the Palomino out of the trailer with the beady-eyed creature waddling behind. “Jordan, this here is Houdini.” To the goat, he said, “Houdini, meet your new mommy.”
The goat leaped off the back of the trailer with the grace of a flying pig and stared up at her. Her jaw dropped.
“Come on, Buttercup.” When Wyatt began leading the mare toward the pasture, the goat sidled up to Jordan and rubbed the side of his head against her outer thigh.
“What’s he doing?” She squealed and jumped away as if she’d been burned, but the goat was insistent. He rubbed again, still ogling her.
“Give him a pet. Or shove him away if you don’t want him bothering you,” Wyatt called over his shoulder.
“Oh. Okay.” With a tentative hand, she patted his side. When the goat went “Maaaaa,” she smiled and hollered, “I think Houdini likes me, Brannigan. He’s pretty cute, but his head must itch because he keeps rubbing against me.” Just as she reached out to scratch between his horns, Wyatt turned and yelled.
“Don’t touch his horns!”
“Wha-?” The goat reared up and slammed his horns into the tender flesh of her bare leg. She howled and the goat butted her again. “Get him off me!” she screamed.
Wyatt dropped Buttercup’s lead rope and ran back and roughly shoved the goat away. “Git!” He knelt and examined Jordan’s leg with gentle hands. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. I’m not bleeding, am I?” Her eyes were misting over.
“No blood. He didn’t open the skin.” Wyatt stood. “I’m so sorry. I remembered too late about him not liking his horns touched. I should have said something before I let him out of the trailer, but it slipped my mind.”
Jordan glared at the animal. He planted his hooves, lowered his head and glowered back, like a bull ready to charge. “Where did you find that psychotic demon?” she asked, trembling from the scare.
“Houdini’s been with Buttercup since the day Lydia brought her to the ranch. Houdini was a rescue himself.”
“Gee, I wonder why.” She cast another glance at her thigh, which was bruising.
“That goat took to Buttercup like a bee takes to honey and hasn’t left her side since. I guess he’s in love.”
“Lucky for her.” Jordan’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Maaaaa,” the goat replied.
“Maaaaa yourself,” Jordan mocked. “Houdini, huh? I don’t have to guess how you arrived at your name.”
Wyatt wiped a tear from her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I guess I have to expect the unexpected if I’m to make it as a rancher.”
He grinned. “You got that right. Don’t touch his horns,” he reminded as he grasped Buttercup’s lead rope off the ground.
“Right. No horn touching.”
“Let’s take them to the pasture.” Wyatt whistled and Houdini trotted to the mare and toddled behind as she was walked to the field. After they were shooed in and the gate was closed, the two animals huddled together, watching the other horses running across the grass. In a short time, Houdini turned his attention to the pipe fence. He attached his bucked teeth to the bottom rail and began gnawing. Wyatt shook his head.
Another big truck came rambling up the drive. “Now, who’s coming?” Jordan asked, checking her watch for the time as they made their way back to the truck.
“That’ll be the hay man,” Wyatt said, slamming the trailer door shut. “He’s making your delivery, so I better move my rig out of the way.”
He moved his pickup and trailer to the other side of the driveway. Along with Jordan’s Jeep, Cole’s truck, and his workers’ vehicle, the driveway was looking like a used car lot. The hay man maneuvered his truck as close to the barn entrance as possible. The bed was stacked six layers high with hay. Wyatt and Jordan walked over and shook hands with the older man when he slid out of his cab. Wyatt made the introductions. “Jordan Mackenzie, this is Ronnie Porter. He’s got the best hay in the county. I told him you’d need supplied in the fall and the spring from now on.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Porter.”
“Same here.” No nonsense, he touched the brim of his cap, flipped open the tailgate and began to unload bales.
Noting his bulging arm muscles, and guessing him to be in his sixties, Jordan figured he was in better shape than most of the younger men she knew because of years of lifting and throwing hay bales around. As he tossed the bales onto the ground, Wyatt carried them into the barn and stacked them against the wall. Jordan watched, feeling useless, but she couldn’t begin to help because of her aching back. Knowing it would be rude if she left town while they were working for her benefit, she just stood and watched them sweat.
Porter was pulling a bale out of the back when a streak of black came charging around the corner of the barn. Looking neither left nor right, Houdini made a beeline for the man and rammed him in the rear. Obviously stunned, Porter fell to the ground moaning and clutching his punctured backside. Jordan ran to him screaming for Wyatt. She tried to help him up as she chastised the goat that danced in circles nearby, panting with his tongue hanging out.
“Houdini! Bad goat! How did you get out of the pasture?” She shoved him with her foot as he moved in for another jab. “Brannigan!” she screamed again.
Porter’s eyes were rolling back. “What the hell was that? My ass is on fire. Excuse the language, ma’am.” He wiped a tear from his eye as Jordan lifted him by the elbow and helped him to his feet.
“No need to apologize, Mr. Porter. Are you all right?”
Wyatt came running from the barn. He didn’t have to ask what had happened; the scene said it all. He grabbed Houdini by the horns without thinking and began dragging the creature back to the field.
“Maaaaa! Maaaaa!”
Jordan watched the goat squirm beneath Wyatt’s large, capable hands. “That, I’m afraid, Mr. Porter was the devil.”
“Well, he skewered me good,” the old man cried, clutching his buttocks.
--
Stacey Coverstone
Western Romance Author
Delaney's Crossing, Available Now
High Lonesome, Available Now
Outlaw Trail, December 1
Lucky in Love, June 2010
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Excerpt - Outlaw Trail by Stacey Coverstone
Josie let her weary eyes skim over the parchment once more. The trail will be long, her pa had said. Will I have the courage and strength to follow it?
Will I be able to fulfill his last wish and make my own dreams come true? For the first time in her life, she felt hopeful about the future as she clutched the map tightly in her fist.
Though excited, she was dog-tired, both mentally and physically. Her eyes started to drift shut.
She had barely nodded off when the sound of snapping branches roused her. Her head jerked and her eyes flew open.
Josie’s spine went rigid when a low voice addressed her. “I’ll take that map now.”
Josie fished around in her pants pocket for the Derringer. Her hand touched the cold metal, and she squeezed her finger around the trigger of the gun and stumbled to her feet.
“Stay right where you are, and take your hand out of your pockets,” the voice ordered. “You won’t get hurt if you do as you’re told. Do it!”
She squinted at the tall figure standing in the shadows at the mouth of the cave and heard the click of a revolver. Ragged breaths escaped her throat. “Are you going to kill me?”
she asked in a throaty whisper, as she showed him one empty hand.
“That depends on how much trouble you decide to cause. Just hand over that map and I’ll be on my way.”
Inhaling deeply, her eyes roamed over the parchment still clutched in her fist. The trail will be long. Don’t give up. Her pa’s words rang in her ears. Nothing was going to stop her
from going after whatever lay at the end of that trail. Her pa had died so she could have a better life. No one was going to take that from her.
“If you want it, you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers,” she replied with bravado.
The man said nothing.
“Show yourself,” she challenged. Josie’s fingers twitched as she let her hand creep back into her pocket. She gripped the pearl handle of her Derringer again.
“How do you know about this map? Who are you?”
The man took one step forward, but she still couldn’t see his face. When he spoke again, she sensed he was someone of little patience.
“I don’t have to explain anything to a girl,” he snapped. “Walk around that fire and lay the paper on this rock over here.” His gloved hand pointed to a stone ledge, which jutted out from the cave wall.
“I’m not a girl,” she snapped back. “I’m nineteen and this map belongs to me. I’m not about to give it to some coward who won’t even show his face.”
Apparently striking a nerve, the man swiftly strode forward out of the darkness, with his gun raised and leveled at her. The fire danced upon his features. She gasped.
It was the stranger who rode the white stallion—the one all in black who’d been watching her in Dry Gulch. Her heart lurched. He tilted his dusty hat up with a finger to show her
eyes the color of dark molasses. She could feel the heat radiating from those fiery pupils as they bore into her.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“It’s you! Why are you following me?”
“I think I already explained. I’ve come for the map. Now, hand it over.”
She gripped the parchment even tighter. She needed to distract him while she took a minute to think this through, so she abruptly changed the subject. “Did you set that trap back there?”
He blinked. Seemingly caught off guard, he answered, “Yeah. I did that.”
“Well, it was clever. Was the marshal and his gang your target, or was I the one you were trying to ambush?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “I bet you didn’t count on the fact
that mules can jump over six feet at a standstill, did you?”
The man’s brow creased. “Quit your jabbering, girl, and pass that paper to me. I’m not in the mood to play games.” He advanced, stopping in front of her. His tall, muscular frame towered over her petite body.
Quick as a snake striking, she jammed the map in her back pocket and thrust the double-barreled Derringer into his rib. Just as speedy, he shoved his revolver against her temple.
“You’re fast, but not fast enough,” he drawled. “Put down the gun.”
“You put yours down first,” she countered.
Neither one moved. Josie’s chest rose and fell in erratic rhythm. The pistol felt cold as it pushed against her skin.
“Are we going to have a Mexican standoff?” he wondered aloud.
She felt his warm breath on her face. He stood so close, his musky smell, mixed with sweat and the faint scent of lavender made her woozy. “I know how to use this gun,” she managed.
“I’ll shoot you. Don’t think I won’t.” She cocked the Derringer to show him she meant what she promised.
The tall, dark stranger looked down into her eyes. A muscle ticked along his jaw. After several long moments, she felt the release of pressure from her temple.
“Toss the gun down on the ground,” she commanded, as she kept her gun pointed at his ribcage.
“I’ll toss mine when you toss yours.”
Josie searched his face. “Are you crazy, or just stupid? You stalk me, want to rob me of my personal possession, and you think I’m just going to throw down my gun? Why should I trust you?”
“Because I’ve never killed a woman before,” he said without skipping a beat. “And I don’t intend to start now.”
His response surprised her. After considering his words carefully, she removed the gun from his rib. “On the count of three, we’ll both throw our guns onto the ground.
Do I have your word as a gentleman?” she asked.
The man in black threw his head back and laughed. “Whatever gave you the idea I’m a gentleman?”
She rammed the Derringer into his gut again and narrowed her eyes. The gun pressed into taut, rigid muscle. She realized he could probably break her in half with one hand tied behind his back,
but she was not going to be intimidated. She had too much to lose to let him scare her out of what was rightfully hers.
“I’ll kill you right now, mister. And it won’t bother me none. Believe me. I’ll take my map and high-tail it outta here, leaving you dead as a stone.”
The man grinned, baring a perfect row of sparkling teeth. “You’re a tough little half-breed, aren’t you?”
“Half-breed!” she shrieked, lunging at him. She pounded on his chest with her fists and clawed at his shirt. He grabbed her wrists and both the pistol and Derringer flew out of their hands and
clattered to the hard ground. The stranger pulled her close. Josie struggled under his grasp. “Let me go, you ignorant jackass!” She kicked at his shins with her boots, but he lifted her off the
ground before she could do any real damage. His hands circled her waist in a tight hold.
“Calm down, missy,” he hollered. He kept a strong grip on her as he danced the two of them about, trying to avoid her bruising kicks. “I’m not ignorant. It was just a stupid joke.
That’s what Leroy always called you. His little half-breed.”
Josie abruptly stopped fighting and glowered up at him. His arms were still wrapped tight around her, causing her shoulders to squeeze together. “What did you say?”
He lowered her to the ground and repeated himself. “I said that’s how Leroy referred to you. But I think he was teasing.”
Shrugging out of his hold, she continued to stare. The racing of her pulse began to slow. Pushing a strand of flyaway hair from her face she stammered, “You…you knew my pa?”
For the first time, she took a real hard look at the cowboy. His mouth drew into a tight line, but he was awful good-looking, for an outlaw. His sun-soaked face was unshaven, his jaw was square,
and his brown eyes were…well, they were so beautiful and mesmerizing, she felt like climbing right into them.
She changed her mind about the mesmerizing eyes when he spit out his hateful answer. “I knew your pa, all right. He was a no-good, low-down, common thief who got what he deserved when they hung him.”
Shocked by the cruelty of the stranger’s words, she opened her mouth to retort, but for once, nothing came out. After staring into his flashing eyes for several moments, she lowered her head,
realizing she couldn’t argue with him on that count. “What did he do to you?” she asked, softly. Her lungs suddenly felt deflated.
“He stole my life,” he barked. “All my plans were ruined on account of that sonofabitch. He took what was rightfully mine, and I fully intend to get it back. Right here, right now.”
--
Stacey Coverstone
Western Romance Author
Delaney's Crossing, Available Now
High Lonesome, Available Now
Outlaw Trail, December 1
Lucky in Love, June 2010
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Will I be able to fulfill his last wish and make my own dreams come true? For the first time in her life, she felt hopeful about the future as she clutched the map tightly in her fist.
Though excited, she was dog-tired, both mentally and physically. Her eyes started to drift shut.
She had barely nodded off when the sound of snapping branches roused her. Her head jerked and her eyes flew open.
Josie’s spine went rigid when a low voice addressed her. “I’ll take that map now.”
Josie fished around in her pants pocket for the Derringer. Her hand touched the cold metal, and she squeezed her finger around the trigger of the gun and stumbled to her feet.
“Stay right where you are, and take your hand out of your pockets,” the voice ordered. “You won’t get hurt if you do as you’re told. Do it!”
She squinted at the tall figure standing in the shadows at the mouth of the cave and heard the click of a revolver. Ragged breaths escaped her throat. “Are you going to kill me?”
she asked in a throaty whisper, as she showed him one empty hand.
“That depends on how much trouble you decide to cause. Just hand over that map and I’ll be on my way.”
Inhaling deeply, her eyes roamed over the parchment still clutched in her fist. The trail will be long. Don’t give up. Her pa’s words rang in her ears. Nothing was going to stop her
from going after whatever lay at the end of that trail. Her pa had died so she could have a better life. No one was going to take that from her.
“If you want it, you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers,” she replied with bravado.
The man said nothing.
“Show yourself,” she challenged. Josie’s fingers twitched as she let her hand creep back into her pocket. She gripped the pearl handle of her Derringer again.
“How do you know about this map? Who are you?”
The man took one step forward, but she still couldn’t see his face. When he spoke again, she sensed he was someone of little patience.
“I don’t have to explain anything to a girl,” he snapped. “Walk around that fire and lay the paper on this rock over here.” His gloved hand pointed to a stone ledge, which jutted out from the cave wall.
“I’m not a girl,” she snapped back. “I’m nineteen and this map belongs to me. I’m not about to give it to some coward who won’t even show his face.”
Apparently striking a nerve, the man swiftly strode forward out of the darkness, with his gun raised and leveled at her. The fire danced upon his features. She gasped.
It was the stranger who rode the white stallion—the one all in black who’d been watching her in Dry Gulch. Her heart lurched. He tilted his dusty hat up with a finger to show her
eyes the color of dark molasses. She could feel the heat radiating from those fiery pupils as they bore into her.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“It’s you! Why are you following me?”
“I think I already explained. I’ve come for the map. Now, hand it over.”
She gripped the parchment even tighter. She needed to distract him while she took a minute to think this through, so she abruptly changed the subject. “Did you set that trap back there?”
He blinked. Seemingly caught off guard, he answered, “Yeah. I did that.”
“Well, it was clever. Was the marshal and his gang your target, or was I the one you were trying to ambush?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “I bet you didn’t count on the fact
that mules can jump over six feet at a standstill, did you?”
The man’s brow creased. “Quit your jabbering, girl, and pass that paper to me. I’m not in the mood to play games.” He advanced, stopping in front of her. His tall, muscular frame towered over her petite body.
Quick as a snake striking, she jammed the map in her back pocket and thrust the double-barreled Derringer into his rib. Just as speedy, he shoved his revolver against her temple.
“You’re fast, but not fast enough,” he drawled. “Put down the gun.”
“You put yours down first,” she countered.
Neither one moved. Josie’s chest rose and fell in erratic rhythm. The pistol felt cold as it pushed against her skin.
“Are we going to have a Mexican standoff?” he wondered aloud.
She felt his warm breath on her face. He stood so close, his musky smell, mixed with sweat and the faint scent of lavender made her woozy. “I know how to use this gun,” she managed.
“I’ll shoot you. Don’t think I won’t.” She cocked the Derringer to show him she meant what she promised.
The tall, dark stranger looked down into her eyes. A muscle ticked along his jaw. After several long moments, she felt the release of pressure from her temple.
“Toss the gun down on the ground,” she commanded, as she kept her gun pointed at his ribcage.
“I’ll toss mine when you toss yours.”
Josie searched his face. “Are you crazy, or just stupid? You stalk me, want to rob me of my personal possession, and you think I’m just going to throw down my gun? Why should I trust you?”
“Because I’ve never killed a woman before,” he said without skipping a beat. “And I don’t intend to start now.”
His response surprised her. After considering his words carefully, she removed the gun from his rib. “On the count of three, we’ll both throw our guns onto the ground.
Do I have your word as a gentleman?” she asked.
The man in black threw his head back and laughed. “Whatever gave you the idea I’m a gentleman?”
She rammed the Derringer into his gut again and narrowed her eyes. The gun pressed into taut, rigid muscle. She realized he could probably break her in half with one hand tied behind his back,
but she was not going to be intimidated. She had too much to lose to let him scare her out of what was rightfully hers.
“I’ll kill you right now, mister. And it won’t bother me none. Believe me. I’ll take my map and high-tail it outta here, leaving you dead as a stone.”
The man grinned, baring a perfect row of sparkling teeth. “You’re a tough little half-breed, aren’t you?”
“Half-breed!” she shrieked, lunging at him. She pounded on his chest with her fists and clawed at his shirt. He grabbed her wrists and both the pistol and Derringer flew out of their hands and
clattered to the hard ground. The stranger pulled her close. Josie struggled under his grasp. “Let me go, you ignorant jackass!” She kicked at his shins with her boots, but he lifted her off the
ground before she could do any real damage. His hands circled her waist in a tight hold.
“Calm down, missy,” he hollered. He kept a strong grip on her as he danced the two of them about, trying to avoid her bruising kicks. “I’m not ignorant. It was just a stupid joke.
That’s what Leroy always called you. His little half-breed.”
Josie abruptly stopped fighting and glowered up at him. His arms were still wrapped tight around her, causing her shoulders to squeeze together. “What did you say?”
He lowered her to the ground and repeated himself. “I said that’s how Leroy referred to you. But I think he was teasing.”
Shrugging out of his hold, she continued to stare. The racing of her pulse began to slow. Pushing a strand of flyaway hair from her face she stammered, “You…you knew my pa?”
For the first time, she took a real hard look at the cowboy. His mouth drew into a tight line, but he was awful good-looking, for an outlaw. His sun-soaked face was unshaven, his jaw was square,
and his brown eyes were…well, they were so beautiful and mesmerizing, she felt like climbing right into them.
She changed her mind about the mesmerizing eyes when he spit out his hateful answer. “I knew your pa, all right. He was a no-good, low-down, common thief who got what he deserved when they hung him.”
Shocked by the cruelty of the stranger’s words, she opened her mouth to retort, but for once, nothing came out. After staring into his flashing eyes for several moments, she lowered her head,
realizing she couldn’t argue with him on that count. “What did he do to you?” she asked, softly. Her lungs suddenly felt deflated.
“He stole my life,” he barked. “All my plans were ruined on account of that sonofabitch. He took what was rightfully mine, and I fully intend to get it back. Right here, right now.”
--
Stacey Coverstone
Western Romance Author
Delaney's Crossing, Available Now
High Lonesome, Available Now
Outlaw Trail, December 1
Lucky in Love, June 2010
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Monday, August 24, 2009
Excerpt - Delaney's Crossing by Stacey Coverstone
Delaney started walking again and Gabriel fell back in step
beside her, both of them quiet. They hadn’t gotten twenty
feet down the walk when she stopped again. Her ears
perked. A throaty whistle sang above them. She looked up
and saw three soiled doves hanging over the rail on the
balcony above the saloon. The whistler leaned way over and
displayed her goods, which were tumbling out of her tight
black corset. The young woman’s hair was the color of a
flaming southwestern sunset—a red mass of long unruly
curls highlighted with shades of blonde. Underneath the thick
coat of paint was a young face. Delaney figured she couldn’t
be over twenty, if that.
“Now, that’s what I call good advertising,” she
whispered to Gabriel.
The girl called out to the doctor. He waved and called
back, “Hello, ladies. It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” They all
giggled.
“It’d be even lovelier if you came up for a visit, Doc,”
the red-haired goddess purred, as she batted her long
eyelashes.
A grin split Gabriel’s mouth and the girls all giggled
again.
“Friends of yours, Doctor?” Delaney asked with a sly
smile as they walked on.
“No. I wouldn’t say that. I don’t know much about any
of them, except they’re career ladies,” he countered with a
hint of the devil. “Much like yourself.”
Before she could fire back a response, she spied a tall,
stocky man at the hitching post outside the gambling parlor
next door. In plain view, he was flogging his horse, and no
one was coming to the animal’s rescue. He smacked the
stallion with a bullwhip as the horse bucked and reared and
tried to escape its ties.
Delaney dropped her bags, hiked up her skirt and shot
off like a rocket. She flung herself onto his back, and the
force of impact against his hard body was like a car colliding
with a brick wall. “Stop beating that horse!” she screamed as
she began pummeling the man’s shoulders.
He spun and flung her away with his beefy arm, then
raised the whip in the air and scowled at her. “What the hell
do you think you’re doin’, woman?” He spat tobacco juice
onto the ground.
She glared into his steel-gray eyes and ran at him
again, attempting to pry the braided leather instrument from
his hand. “I’m stopping you from abusing that innocent
animal, you jackass!”
There wasn’t much of a struggle. The man took hold of
her narrow shoulders with his two powerful hands, gave her
a shove, and slung her like a rag doll, into the dirt. Moaning,
she frowned up at him and rubbed her hip.
“That’s enough, Hooper!” Gabriel raced to Delaney’s
side. He helped her up from the ground for the second time
that day, and then gruffly ordered, “Don’t move.” The firm
grip he placed on her arm and the fierce look in his eye let
her know he was not talking just to hear his own voice. He
meant for her to stay put.
After taking huge strides toward the man, Gabriel
retracted his fist and punched the horse beater in his already
bent nose. Blood spurted.
Rooted right where Gabriel had left her, Delaney
stared in wide-eyed shock. Then, a smile parted her lips as
she watched him take a defensive stance and raise his balled
fists, prepared to do further battle.
“Get him, Doc!” some boys on the street yelled. Other
people began to gather and cheer him on.
Momentarily stunned by the blood gushing from his
nose, the man called Hooper reacted slowly at first. Then, his
eyes boiled with fiery rage.
Gabriel stalked his opponent like a cougar, bouncing
on the balls of his feet. His voice was calm when he said, “I
don’t want to fight you, Warren, but you had no right to hurt
the lady—or that horse. Now, you apologize to Miss
Marshall.”
The man was bleeding profusely now. He raked
a rough hand across his lips, staining his knuckles with blood.
He set a menacing look upon Gabriel and murmured, “I’ll
beat the woman, too, if she don’t get outta my sight and
mind her own damn business.” As he raised the whip in the
air again, he spit a thick stream of yellow tobacco juice onto
the street, missing Delaney’s boots by mere inches.
“You’ll find yourself on the reckoning end of that
bullwhip if you dare to lay a hand on her, now or ever,”
Gabriel warned.
Quicker than a cat on a parakeet, Gabriel lunged and
wrenched the whip out of Warren’s fist. With a flick of his
wrist, the whip unrolled and splintered the ground like a
lightning strike. The loud crack caused Delaney to flinch. The
horse nickered, too, and backed up, pulling against the lead
rope.
“Sorry, boy,” Gabriel apologized to the horse.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Hooper
thundered. Before he could say more, Gabriel aimed the
whip at his legs and let it fly. The braided leather snapped
and coiled around the man’s calves like a cobra, slicing open
the fabric of his pants and biting the skin. Hooper screeched
and crashed onto his side, like a tree falling.
With many bystanders watching—Delaney included—
Gabriel stood over him, casting a long shadow on the
ground, and jerked the whip. As it unwound it dug into the
meat of Hooper’s leg, peeling off a thin layer of skin, causing
him to yelp like a dog.
Gabriel snapped the whip again. “Are you ready to
apologize?” He spoke slowly, with a dead calm, and showed
no signs of fear.
Resentment clouded Warren’s face, but he nodded
once and got to his knees. He stumbled to his feet and
brushed the dirt off his pants. The torn material of his pant
leg flapped like a tiny flag, and blood dripped from the open
calf wound. Staggering over to Delaney, he mumbled, “Sorry
ma'am,” but the apology was far from genuine.
A cheer filtered through the crowd.
She returned a small nod and forced herself to meet the man’s
stone cold eyes. Anger flashed behind them. Under her frontier skirt
and blouse, her body trembled and sweat dripped down her spine.
Hooper stared her down, his mouth open and his
yellowed teeth grinding together. Limping back to Gabriel, he
said, “Satisfied? Now give me my whip.”
Gabriel shook his head. “You’re not getting this back.”
Warren’s lip curled into a snarl before turning toward
his mount. After he untied the lead rope, he stuck his foot in
the stirrup and slung his damaged leg over the saddle.
Gabriel inched near. In a barely audible voice, he said, “If I
ever hear of you beating this horse again, I’ll personally
track you down and show you what this bullwhip can really
do.” With that, he gently patted the horse’s hind end before
Warren reined and trotted the animal down the street.
Delaney walked straight up to Gabriel and couldn’t
hold back her enthusiasm. Adrenaline pumped through her
veins, and she was out of breath with the thrill of it all.
beside her, both of them quiet. They hadn’t gotten twenty
feet down the walk when she stopped again. Her ears
perked. A throaty whistle sang above them. She looked up
and saw three soiled doves hanging over the rail on the
balcony above the saloon. The whistler leaned way over and
displayed her goods, which were tumbling out of her tight
black corset. The young woman’s hair was the color of a
flaming southwestern sunset—a red mass of long unruly
curls highlighted with shades of blonde. Underneath the thick
coat of paint was a young face. Delaney figured she couldn’t
be over twenty, if that.
“Now, that’s what I call good advertising,” she
whispered to Gabriel.
The girl called out to the doctor. He waved and called
back, “Hello, ladies. It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” They all
giggled.
“It’d be even lovelier if you came up for a visit, Doc,”
the red-haired goddess purred, as she batted her long
eyelashes.
A grin split Gabriel’s mouth and the girls all giggled
again.
“Friends of yours, Doctor?” Delaney asked with a sly
smile as they walked on.
“No. I wouldn’t say that. I don’t know much about any
of them, except they’re career ladies,” he countered with a
hint of the devil. “Much like yourself.”
Before she could fire back a response, she spied a tall,
stocky man at the hitching post outside the gambling parlor
next door. In plain view, he was flogging his horse, and no
one was coming to the animal’s rescue. He smacked the
stallion with a bullwhip as the horse bucked and reared and
tried to escape its ties.
Delaney dropped her bags, hiked up her skirt and shot
off like a rocket. She flung herself onto his back, and the
force of impact against his hard body was like a car colliding
with a brick wall. “Stop beating that horse!” she screamed as
she began pummeling the man’s shoulders.
He spun and flung her away with his beefy arm, then
raised the whip in the air and scowled at her. “What the hell
do you think you’re doin’, woman?” He spat tobacco juice
onto the ground.
She glared into his steel-gray eyes and ran at him
again, attempting to pry the braided leather instrument from
his hand. “I’m stopping you from abusing that innocent
animal, you jackass!”
There wasn’t much of a struggle. The man took hold of
her narrow shoulders with his two powerful hands, gave her
a shove, and slung her like a rag doll, into the dirt. Moaning,
she frowned up at him and rubbed her hip.
“That’s enough, Hooper!” Gabriel raced to Delaney’s
side. He helped her up from the ground for the second time
that day, and then gruffly ordered, “Don’t move.” The firm
grip he placed on her arm and the fierce look in his eye let
her know he was not talking just to hear his own voice. He
meant for her to stay put.
After taking huge strides toward the man, Gabriel
retracted his fist and punched the horse beater in his already
bent nose. Blood spurted.
Rooted right where Gabriel had left her, Delaney
stared in wide-eyed shock. Then, a smile parted her lips as
she watched him take a defensive stance and raise his balled
fists, prepared to do further battle.
“Get him, Doc!” some boys on the street yelled. Other
people began to gather and cheer him on.
Momentarily stunned by the blood gushing from his
nose, the man called Hooper reacted slowly at first. Then, his
eyes boiled with fiery rage.
Gabriel stalked his opponent like a cougar, bouncing
on the balls of his feet. His voice was calm when he said, “I
don’t want to fight you, Warren, but you had no right to hurt
the lady—or that horse. Now, you apologize to Miss
Marshall.”
The man was bleeding profusely now. He raked
a rough hand across his lips, staining his knuckles with blood.
He set a menacing look upon Gabriel and murmured, “I’ll
beat the woman, too, if she don’t get outta my sight and
mind her own damn business.” As he raised the whip in the
air again, he spit a thick stream of yellow tobacco juice onto
the street, missing Delaney’s boots by mere inches.
“You’ll find yourself on the reckoning end of that
bullwhip if you dare to lay a hand on her, now or ever,”
Gabriel warned.
Quicker than a cat on a parakeet, Gabriel lunged and
wrenched the whip out of Warren’s fist. With a flick of his
wrist, the whip unrolled and splintered the ground like a
lightning strike. The loud crack caused Delaney to flinch. The
horse nickered, too, and backed up, pulling against the lead
rope.
“Sorry, boy,” Gabriel apologized to the horse.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Hooper
thundered. Before he could say more, Gabriel aimed the
whip at his legs and let it fly. The braided leather snapped
and coiled around the man’s calves like a cobra, slicing open
the fabric of his pants and biting the skin. Hooper screeched
and crashed onto his side, like a tree falling.
With many bystanders watching—Delaney included—
Gabriel stood over him, casting a long shadow on the
ground, and jerked the whip. As it unwound it dug into the
meat of Hooper’s leg, peeling off a thin layer of skin, causing
him to yelp like a dog.
Gabriel snapped the whip again. “Are you ready to
apologize?” He spoke slowly, with a dead calm, and showed
no signs of fear.
Resentment clouded Warren’s face, but he nodded
once and got to his knees. He stumbled to his feet and
brushed the dirt off his pants. The torn material of his pant
leg flapped like a tiny flag, and blood dripped from the open
calf wound. Staggering over to Delaney, he mumbled, “Sorry
ma'am,” but the apology was far from genuine.
A cheer filtered through the crowd.
She returned a small nod and forced herself to meet the man’s
stone cold eyes. Anger flashed behind them. Under her frontier skirt
and blouse, her body trembled and sweat dripped down her spine.
Hooper stared her down, his mouth open and his
yellowed teeth grinding together. Limping back to Gabriel, he
said, “Satisfied? Now give me my whip.”
Gabriel shook his head. “You’re not getting this back.”
Warren’s lip curled into a snarl before turning toward
his mount. After he untied the lead rope, he stuck his foot in
the stirrup and slung his damaged leg over the saddle.
Gabriel inched near. In a barely audible voice, he said, “If I
ever hear of you beating this horse again, I’ll personally
track you down and show you what this bullwhip can really
do.” With that, he gently patted the horse’s hind end before
Warren reined and trotted the animal down the street.
Delaney walked straight up to Gabriel and couldn’t
hold back her enthusiasm. Adrenaline pumped through her
veins, and she was out of breath with the thrill of it all.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Excerpt - Delaney's Crossing by Stacey Coverstone
As he rifled through a cabinet for the cream, she slid off the table and walked straight over to the diplomas hanging in frames on the wall. As she scanned them, her eyes landed on one, which showed he'd attained his medical degree from the University of Chicago Medical School in May of…1884?Her jaw dropped.
He turned. "What is it, Miss Marshall? You look as if you've seen a ghost." Gabriel sidled up to her and searched her face.
She reached down and pinched herself on the leg, causing a red welt to immediately rise.
His brow knitted together. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I need to know if I'm dreaming. That hurt, so I guess the answer is no. I'm not dreaming."
He continued to stare. "I don't understand."
Delaney's heart began to pound. She tried, but failed to keep from stammering when she explained. "I-I thought… I was dreaming this whole
thing, or we were on a movie set and…I kept thinking I was going to wake up sooner or later. But now, I don't think I'm dreaming at all."
"What whole thing?"
"You. The town. Washington Street. Those horses. The bridge. Everything!" Her gaze darted around the room. "That diploma on the wall
shows you received your medical degree in 1884, Dr. Whitman."
He nodded. "That's correct."
"No! That can't be correct. Please tell me that diploma is printed wrong and it should read 1994, or 2004."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Perhaps I should check your head. Please sit down again. Did you hit it on the ground when I knocked you down?"
"No! No!" she cried, batting him away. She strode around the room and touched everything she could lay her hands on—just like a blind person
reading Braille. "This table is real. This glass window is real. The wooden floor, your equipment, and these medicine bottles are real."
"Of course they're real, Miss Marshall." Concern lined Gabriel's rugged features.
She stepped in front of him and plunged her fingers into his thick mane of auburn hair and said, "You are definitely real. Doctor, you have to
help me understand what's happening!"
"I'll try, just as soon as I understand it myself. Sit down and let me take your temperature."
"No! I don't have a fever." She spun away and spied his walnut desk in the corner. She scooped up the newspaper that was lying open on top, but
didn't bother to read the headline. Looking straight at the date in the corner of the Phoenix Herald, she read aloud, "June 7, 1888." How can it
be? It's impossible. A shiver ran down her spine and her stomach knotted.
What is it, Miss Marshall? Please tell me what's scaring you. Let me help." He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Expelling shallow breaths, she bent over and placed her hands on her knees. "I'm hyperventilating," she whispered.
Gabriel raced to his desk, rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a brown paper sack. He eased her back to the table, and she leaned against
it. He placed the bag over her mouth. "Breathe." She took several deep breaths.
When the danger of fainting had passed, he took her face in his hands and gently demanded, "Now, tell me. What is this all about?"
She fastened her gaze on him and said, "I don't know how it happened, but I think I've traveled back in time."
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