September Tattle & Wrye

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Tattle takes in Wrye’s Henschel Deerstalker herringbone hat and Mahogany Calabash pipe. “Bubble I presume?”

“Prop, m'Dear Tattleson," suggesting today's character, "I’m emulating a singularly famous detective,” speaking with his pipe held between clenched teeth. His hair was immaculate, bow tie impeccable and his brown Canali wool suit's pockets bulged.

“Sherlock Holmes, I presume? And does that make me Doctor John H. Watson?” She grabs an oversized magnifying glass, yo-yoing it to and fro from one eye. "Are our plans to leap to the late eighteen hundreds? Do I have a degree from the University of London? And have we ever met Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?"

"A PI are we?"

"Pi... Ah, mathematicians say Pi are square... those counters be wrong, lemon pies are round and lemon cakes are square. That's my lemon entry."

"Lemon entry, m'Dear Tattleson," replied Wrye. He hands her a bowler hat that also serves to hold a stethoscope, “If the hat fits, Tattle...” His look turns inquisitive, one eye squints. “Penza, the game’s afoot. Let us pursue a Love of Literature Leap.”

Placing the hat on tightly curled hair, she adds the adornment of a puce feather. "Be afraid, Professor Moriarty, be very afraid."


“Oooh, I like this landing.” Tattle plops onto a soft mattress, bounces, ecru colored petticoats become visible. “And the perfect place to introduce STRANGER IN HIS BED, a historical romance by NANCY HENDERSON.

From the floor Wrye helps himself up with a silver-tipped cane. “Yes, perfect setting for no-no passion to become a yes-yes flicker and ultimately a climax bbblaaazze between the Cat 'on-a-hot-tin-roof' Sterling, a British spy, and Angus 'I'm-not-a-cow' French, a tavern owner.”

“Ex-tavern owner,” Tattle supplied, using two hands to hold the book up for him to see. “Let me grow the tree of explanation for you. British sympathizers torched his tavern. B word... B word... B word!”

“Naughty amidst the tree, are we? And, I understand, the opposition left her on Angus’ land for dead. B word implied. She wakes in his bed and without her arsenal of weapons. Unarmed and maybe the N word?”

“There is a dilemma in all this. Yippee, Yippee Yo! Much of the tree now you know.”

“Yes, of course. It is a plot element tree, m'Dear Tattleson. If he turns her in for the bounty, he could pay for the tavern’s damage. Only, he is besotted, as is she. Cat sees security and kindness in him. Something she has lacked all her life. Woo hoo... I see potential for the Nnnnnn word!”

"A tavern and you used the word sot?" Taps her chin thoughtfully. "Interrrressssting. Still, she has her secrets.” Tattle asks, “What will they do?”

“You know my methods, Tattle,” Wrye winks. “Never tell, quoth the Raven, nevermore. Next book beckons. Let us embark!”

"Mixed author reference?" Uses the magnifying glass to securitize his blue eye, ignoring the brown one. "That was Poe? We got to go. Our next Love of Literature Leap y'know."

"New author? Seuss, are we? A doggie-dog and a French-frog havin' a grog. Leap frog, leap. Mind you, never play Love of Literature Leap frog with a unicorn."

"No shat Sherlock... my advice, look before you leap." They took hands and ran from the pages.


Wrye brushes dust off his capped coat. “Why, Tattle, m’Watson-in-tow, I believe we are in New Mexico, land of the Tex-Mex taco.”

"Doctor Seuss-ian, I presume." She giggles, noticing flying debris. "Dirty, are we? Tee hee, tee hee."

"It's sedimentary, m'Dear Tattleson." Wrye's voice bespoke gravel. Dusting ended.

“That it is, Bloke of Deduction, and we are in the world of CANDACE MOREHOUSE’S GOLDEN ENCHANTMENT, a western historical romance.”

"Yee ha!" Wrye dons a masculine but identifiable Holmes pose, aptly complimented by an armadillo belt buckle. “Who is that fetching young lady?” He strokes what would have been a mustache if he had remembered to wear it.

“Andrea Alexander, who had been living with her aunt and uncle in New York has just returned due to her father’s death. So sad.” Tattle takes Wrye’s walking stick and uses it as a pointer. “And there is Jake Houston, look, now a man, but as a young boy she shadowed him. The seedlings of puppy love. Andrea and Jake sitting in a tree... sing with me... K-I-S-S... you can finish this ditty.”

“Another tree, I see. 'Tis an alphabet tree." He pulls a notepad from his pocket and makes an entry. "Ah, but presently he is engaged, albeit through coercion by his father, who is now wheelchair-bound and feels this marriage will be the only way to save their ranch, the Diamond C. Another letter added to our tree.”

“But... there is another way,” Tattle says, “Andrea’s father had a treasure map for gold dating back to the times of the Conquistadores. Addddvennnnture! Jake and Andrea try to find the buried gold while, he-he-he, also trying to avoid the sizzle between them. Good luck... Sizzle possibly evident to Lupita, his fiancée, who Andrea suspects stole her father’s map. B word. Your thoughts on the alphabet tree?”

"Why it's an LMN tree, m'Dear Tattleson." He bows out of respect. “Is it possible or impossible that Lupita is treacherous? As Holmes would say, ‘...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ You connect the dots.”

“Touché,” she says, using his cane as a saber. “Andrea might lose both her ranch and her life all before she and Jake have any nuvo-nookie. Ouch to the square of frusssstrating!”

“It seems impossible for love to will out,” Wrye says, biting the edge of his pipe. "Though Eve could find Adam in heaven with her eyes shut."

"Ah, that's romantic. How?"

"Elementary... school science... no navel."

“Love is held captive by circumstance and circumstance hates love,” she says, tsk-tsking when he tries to flip a few chapters ahead. “To paraphrase our dear Watson, it is as clear as mud, read the book later. Leap frog, leap!”

"Look out for the guest Rhino."


The duet du gossip appears in the small town of Tanglewood Falls with its magnificent view. “Mystery, suspense, romance, it must be BLIND CONSENT BY MICHAEL W. DAVIS, CHAMPAGNE BOOKS AUTHOR OF THE YEAR 2009,” offers Wrye. "But where there's heavenly beauty, one might discover 'ell. Doc Tat, grow us our next plot tree."

“Sapling planted. After the loss of his wife, Ryan returns to search for truth in this poor, forgotten community where trust and blind consent had been unwittingly exploited. Fertilizer applied.”

“I deduce…” Wrye pauses and admits, “from reading it that Ryan has been haunted by dreams and puzzling images for twenty years. Enter ghostly sounds stage left. Exit reality stage right. He is desperately trying to untangle the reality of what happened to him and to his town. Weed Whacker Alert!”

“All true… everything is hidden… so many secrets… even the folklore of the simple people, who believe their Annie is blessed.” She re-laces her high top high heel and checks wobble.

“Annie… the woman he meets during his quest is a lovely lass with her own secrets, her own passion for Ryan and the belief that he is her destiny.” Spinning his double-billed cap, now appearing much like a hang glider on his head, he says, "Remember the adventure of The Red-headed League? Like that, this is providing much boggle for the man. But... it's all 'ell men tree, m'Dear Tattleson, love... love... love!"

"In this outwardly beautiful, peaceful town, where sinister forces anchor its foundation, Ryan and Annie become lost to each other, lost to the mystery, and maybe lost to love. He needs to find himself, but in the end…”

“Shhh,” he says, "Give away no more. Off to 221B Baker Street.”

“Are the real Sherlock and Watson expecting us?”

“Sorry, got caught up in the fiction.”

"Leap!"

"Look!"


Another wonderful adventure completed. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. Next month we visit DAVID BOULTBEE’S THE GENDER DIVIDE, LOVE COMES BLINDLY BY PHYLLIS CAMPBELL and our dear, dear friends, the extremely talented and awesomely attractive ANGELICA HART AND ZI’S KILLER DOLLS. Join us!

Excerpt - Love Thy Neighbor by Patricia Bates

Excerpt from Love Thy Neighbor: “The wayward son has returned to the backwater, undignified town. Something I can do for you, Duncan?” The low, angry tone echoed in the sickeningly familiar cocking of a firearm. He glanced at the porch of the house to see a slim, boyish looking woman holding a carbine aimed at his chest.

Tom studied the perpetual burr under his saddle - Rylee Parys, short cropped black locks curled around her sunburned face in the humid air. A line of dust ran along the tip of her small nose, and her chapped and cracked lips were pressed together in a tight line. Despite her boyish looks, there was something about her that, even without a gun to his chest, made his pulse pound. The familiarity of that sensation unsettled him, and he shifted in the saddle. This wasn’t a game, and they weren’t children.

“You wanna put that down before you hurt yourself?” Tom asked as he eased his hand up his thigh, to the Colt he wore tied down. The last thing he wanted was gun play, but he wasn’t about to let the fool woman shoot him. In his jacket pocket the letter the other ranchers and farmers had written crinkled and rustled with the sway of his body in the saddle. The words cramped together were filled with disgust and hatred for the foolishness of the young woman who refused to listen to their counsel.

“What do you want? Ain’t anything here to stare at?”

“Came to talk about those mongrels of yours out in the field. They managed to knock down half a mile of fencing last night and two of my best mares are gone.” Tom waved a hand at the pasture. “Taken by that stallion you’re protecting. Ain’t nothing but a walking disease upon the land.” He noted the flash of fire in her eyes and sighed. Getting her riled up was not his intent, and with her armed, it would prove hazardous to his health. Heaving a tired, put upon sigh, he pushed thoughts of his horses aside and turned to the matter he’d come for. “Now there was a town meeting the other night and the neighbors are getting mighty tired of this situation, and have asked me to come by and talk to you. I figure you’re a reasonable woman. We should be able to, uh, fix the problems.”

“Well, Mr. Duncan,” the girl spat venomously, “I suggest you trot yourself right out after those mares. I ain’t about to round up those nags you call horses. My stud has more sense than to go looking for mares in your stable. Ain’t one tough enough to cross a creek much less survive a season with the herd. And as for what your drinkin’ buddies think of the stock, you tell ‘em that if I see any of them on my land I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later. Do you understand, Mr. Duncan? Now then, you’re trespassing on my land.” She stepped closer to the edge of the porch. Her eyes narrowed into furious slits of cobalt blue. “You come back and I’ll put enough holes in you to drive a wagon through.”

“Now, Rylee Parys, you wait a minute,” Tom snapped. Anger prickled hot and sharp along his nerves and he shifted in the saddle. His gaze steady, he eyed the unyielding woman before him. “I mean to get my mares back, missy, and there ain’t a thing you can do. Either you return ‘em or I’ll fetch Marshal Jackson up here and have him deal with it. The choice is yours.”

“Ain’t nothing to say. As long as those animals are on my property they’re protected. They’re all good solid stock, and they’re tougher than anything in your fine stables. I’m don’t aim to let anyone shoot ‘em just because they don’t fit into your breeding program. Now I don’t reckon you’re accusing me of stealing your horses, so I think you’d best ride on.”

He clenched his fists around the saddle horn to stop the itch he had to reach out and brush a stray lock off her forehead. “You payin’ for the damage? Those mares are worth a lot of money and I ain’t standing by and let that mangy stallion have ‘em. Not to mention the fence, the time it’s gonna take my hands to fix it and the loss of grass from them grazing on my land. The price of repairs will bankrupt you before the fall harvest. You can’t afford to have nothing this winter.”

“You deaf or something?” She hissed and stepped down off the porch. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Duncan. I ain’t about to let anyone take anything off my land, that herd included. They belong to me, were born and bred on this land, and wear my brand and by God--”

“Miss Parys, I assure you, I am not interested in discussing this with you. I want both of my mares back, my fence fixed, and that herd gone. You either do it or I will. We haven’t even got around to discussing the water yet.”

Excerpt - Hitting the High Notes by Nan Arnold

Hello, everyone. I’d like to share a blurb and excerpt from my February 2010 release HITTING THE HIGH NOTES available from Champagne Books. Check out my website for sequel and other works in progress. (Also: Contest underway at website for heart-shaped pin that closes August 20th). www.nandarnold.com

Blurb: Widow Maggie Duncan relearns life is a song when she meets by chance an AWOL opera star and a certain color-blind cop. Who will teach her to hit the high notes?

Excerpt:

Maggie Duncan’s fourth decade on earth sped along at warp speed as she clung to its coattails, widowed, childless, and unattached.
Currently seated in the eat-in kitchen of an attractive townhouse, she considered the wine glass her host, a man called Stavros, set before her. The balloon shaped bowl on a long fragile stem looked half as wide and approximately as deep as that big zero in Florida’s abdomen known as Lake Okeechobee.
“So, your name is Stavros.” Maggie’s blunt tipped finger rimmed the glass. She’d met him by chance at a convenience store only an hour before. “Just Stavros?”
He nodded.
“Mysterious.” She took a tentative sip. The wine coated her tongue and slid down her throat. The merlot’s warmth wrapped second thoughts about why she’d accepted his invitation into a snug blanket and Maggie gazed into mesmerizing eyes as dark and shiny as moonlit water. What color were they? Dark … brown. No, actually, they were green and as dark as malachite.
He chuckled. “Call me Stav, if you prefer.” The man of Mediterranean heritage filled his own glass but offered no last name or details. Maggie wondered if the name he’d given her was real, or created just for her. She didn’t normally engage in pick ups, in fact never before, but wandering the dateless desert for some time prompted Maggie to know if she could attract a man as comely as the man sitting across from her.
“Excellent wine, no?” Stav’s voice settled on her eardrums like a zephyr. The resonant timbre, such that any pied piper would envy, seduced her into tagging along with Stav after she’d purchased bottled water following a long bike ride.
“Very good.” Maggie replied. Even she tasted the difference of this wine compared to the swill in her pantry, boxed in four-packs, used primarily for cooking. She pulled away a strand of graying ash brown hair that strayed to her blue dress and clandestinely studied Stavros. Maggie noticed gray in his hair, too, and age creases on his forehead.
Wait. Wasn’t wine supposed to dull reality? She took another sip, then another, and finally one bold gulp for good measure.
Stav reached for her hand and held it. Maggie didn’t object. He’d already charmed her out of her commons sense. So, she wondered, what could he charm her into? Taking into account the lap-pool capacity of the glass, the amount of wine she’d imbibed, and how warm her hand felt in his, and her current emotional vulnerability, probably a lot.

Ciara Gold Book Trailer - Celestial Dragon

Joys And Tribulations Of Owning An e-Reader

Joys And Tribulations Of Owning An e-Reader
by Allison Knight


The world of publishing is changing. However, there are still people who can’t or won’t accept that fact. I’m reminded of the beginnings of the automobile industry. Over a hundred years ago, the horse and buggy ruled. When the horrible, smelly and noisy automobile began to occupy a place on the roads, everyone said it would never take off. No one wanted, or claimed they needed an automobile. The machines broke down, they were uncomfortable to ride in, they sent sprays of dirt and dust over the passengers. No, they were not dependable, they upset the horses and were ugly – to boot.

Buggy makers smiled and nodded in agreement, and buggy whip makers proclaimed the advantage of a horse. After all, they got you from place to place with ease, they didn’t make much noise and their manure was essential for the farmers.

What has this is do with e-readers. Well, people who read books claim e-readers are inconvenient. They don’t feel right, they lose their charge, and you can’t take them to the pool or beach, because if they get wet, they’re useless. Print publishers smile and bookstores are quick to point out e-readers will never replace books.

Sound familiar?

I see a correlation here. Of course we still do have horses and some people still use buggies, and need whips, but they have almost faded from existence. No, I don’t think books will follow the same fate. We will always have books, but I do believe e-readers will replace most books in the future. Here are some of my reasons.

I have an e-reader, a Sony. I sang it praises so much my husband wanted one too. But he wanted a backlit one. The Sony is not so I got him an e-Bookwise reader for Christmas. And, he loves it. Okay, I’ll be honest, there are some disadvantages, but the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages. No, they don’t feel or look like a book. They are expensive, very! And they don’t smell like a book, either. Yes, I did have an acquaintance tell me she couldn’t read from an e-reader because it didn’t have the ‘smell’ of a book. (No kidding!)

What do I like about my reader and what does my husband like about his?

First we belong to the over fifty club – way over! I was told long ago that once you reach thirty-five your body begins to decline. Your eyesight begins to go, your hearing isn’t as good, you develop aches and pains you can’t or don’t want to identify. (Sorry you younguns’ but it’s true.) With an e-reader you can change the font and make it much easier to read. That has to be the first great thing to mention. You don’t have to worry if your favorite author has a book in large print because you can enlarge the print yourself. I love the ease with which I can turn pages, look up words I think have been misused with the reader (It does have its own dictionary) and I also like the way I can bookmark a page and return to it without losing my place. I was always losing bookmarks with a print book.


The next advantage for us is a personal one. My husband’s favorite authors write a new book about every 18 months, but the wait for the book to be released in paperback can be more than three years. However, in most cases, the books are available for purchase as e-books shortly after the hardback has been released. There are great advantages to downloading your favorites. Expense has to play a big role. Those hardbacks are expensive and e-books are much cheaper. Of course, it’s faster and available at any time. A trip to the bookstore might be inconvenient: the new book is out of stock, they haven’t come in yet or you have to drive miles to get to the bookstore, etc. etc. etc.

Of course, in our case there’s another reason I love e-books and readers. There is only so much room in our house for bookcases, and believe me when I say they are brimming over now. My husband likes to keep his books. I write fiction and have a small library of my own, so the fewer books I have to find a place to store the happier I am. Hardbacks or even paperbacks take up space and as I said he likes to keep his books.

Another great advantage is the number of books a reader will hold. If you read fast, travel and want to carry your books, you might need a small suitcase to hold your selection. But with a reader you can download dozens of books, available at the push of a button. If you’re like me and read three or four novels at a time, a reader is wonderful because you can pop from one
book to another with the push of another button.

I don’t have a Kindle, nor have I handled one, but I understand they are nice as well. I can only comment on the Sony and the e-Bookwise readers and I’ll be honest there are some disadvantages other than expense with them. You have to have a computer and an internet connection to buy a book. You also need to have a fairly fast internet connection. I’m not certain dial-up connections would handle a download well. Once you buy the book, you download the book to your computer and then upload it to your reader. You have to have a debit card or a major charge card to be able to buy the download in the first place.

You also have to keep the reader charged up. They do run out of ‘juice’ and if you are traveling and forget the charger, too bad! You can’t do any reading. My e-reader can’t be read in the dark, however my husband can and does read his in the dark. That’s why he wanted one with a back light. I understand the new Sony supplies you with a light that attaches to the reader. Of course, I already mentioned you can’t take them to the beach or the pool. Water and e-readers don’t go together. And, until recently, they were available only in black and white, or a kind of gray! I understand a reader that will read color is soon to be on the market but the price tag is high.

Of course, you don’t need a reader! You can use an iphone, a palm, a blackberry, a computer or a notebook, but for us the reader is more enjoyable. And yes, we do enjoy reading from them. I believe their popularity will increase. The younger generation is already communicating electronically, so a reader will be a easy step for them. However, I would like to debunk a widely held belief. The older generation, the over 50 group, even those over 70, use computers – a lot.


All of my friends, and some of them are a lot older than 70, e-mail all the time. It keeps them young. Have they started reading from readers? Unfortunately, as I said readers are expensive, so many can’t afford them. Some also don’t have credit cards. I did say they were older than 70. But yes, a couple of them have begun the switch and I truly believe more will do so. I think the latest statistics bear me out. That’s why I’m proud to say, yes, I’m e-published.


Copyright:
Allison Knight
May, 2009

Excerpt - Once Jilted by Ciara Gold

Blurb:

How many times will an orphan be cast aside before someone offers love?

Shauna Joyce has three weeks to find a husband or face watching a special little girl fall into the hands of loveless parents. An orphan herself, she knows the heartache of growing up without love. Armed with a need greater than her own, she finds a likely candidate in bridge-builder, Kane McKenna.

Kane McKenna has one goal; to finish the bridge he’s erecting so he can earn the capital needed to start a business of his own. A wife and child would drain his finances, so when Shauna Joyce proposes marriage, he balks at the idea. Will her determination be enough to build the bridge of trust needed to make him trade one dream for another?

Excerpt:

“You plan to have the babe out of wedlock?” Kane scratched his head.

She looked skyward and gritted her teeth. Was the man dense? “Can you stop walking? It’s hard to talk to you at this pace.”

He slowed but continued to walk. “Daylight’s a wasting and I’ve got a deadline.”

“Will you at least let me explain so you can stop the rumors?”

Her foot caught a gopher hole, and she tripped, falling headlong onto the hard ground. She cried out when her elbow kissed the ground.

“Goodness, you’re a walking calamity. First pickles and now, a sprawl in the grass. You wouldn’t perchance be related to me Aunt Nell?”

She groaned and rolled to her knees. Every joint ached. Twigs and grass stuck to her dress, and she brushed them away with sore hands. She moaned at the pain and glared at her scraped skin.

“Are you hurt?”

Now he asked. She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

He grabbed her elbow none too gently and helped her stand. She tested her foot and found herself uninjured. Praise be. An injury would have complicated matters more. “Thank you, Mr. McKenna.”

“You’re welcome. Now, if you doon’t mind, I’d like to be gettin’ back to me work.”

“But . . .”

“Miss Joyce, do you see that armature?” He pointed a finger at the structure. “That’s a mighty important bridge to folks around here. Can you tell me in all honesty that your quest for a hoosband be as important as the building of that bridge?”

She swallowed hard and frowned, thinking of Sarabeth. “For one person, it’s even more important.”

He frowned. “To be sure, and I can sympathize with your plight. Unwed and pregnant must weigh heavy on your mind, but alas, I can noot help you, nor can any of me men. Good day, Miss Joyce.”

She stomped her sore foot and grimaced. “For the last time, I am not expecting!”

Her shout brought the attentions of his workers. Seventeen sets of eyes peered down at her, and the heat rose to her cheeks.

“Now see what you’ve done. You’ve distracted them froom their work again. At this rate, it’ll take me five years to have this bridge completed.”

Excerpt two:

Where would she go? She’d have left this house years ago if not for her fear of the unknown. Need for security had kept her a prisoner. Coward, coward, coward. Only a coward stayed in a home devoid of love. Where was the security in such a house? A person needed more than food and a place to lay their head. A body needed the emotional nurturing from another warm soul. By God, she refused to let Sarabeth live in a loveless prison.

She snatched up what few items she dared take. After stuffing a comb, toothbrush and a change of clothing into a small knapsack, she pulled the bottom drawer completely out of the dresser and reached underneath for a packet that contained fifteen years worth of savings. While renting the wagon and buying ingredients for pies had put a dent in the amount, she still had plenty to live comfortably for about two weeks. She stuffed the money into her pocket, hefted the knapsack over her shoulder and stormed from the room.

The three adults remained near the door. She brushed past them without a word. To think she’d entertained the notion that Kane McKenna would make a fine husband. She’d learned a valuable lesson, though. First impressions could not be trusted. She’d fallen for Darrell’s charm and look how that had turned out. No, first impressions were not always what they seemed.

The moment she left the house, a sense of freedom flooded her body. No matter how frightening the future seemed, she was now free of the Clevingers' influence, free to live her own life. Perhaps she owed Mr. McKenna her gratitude for setting in motion the catalyst for change.

The door clicked shut, and she took a deep breath. Even the air smelled different, cleaner. She smiled, and her feet itched to dance. First things first, though. With only a sliver of moon to light the path, she ventured toward town to find accommodations for the night.

A brisk pace propelled her forward. Eager to be settled for the evening, she almost skipped along the road.

“Noot so fast, lassie.” A huge hand clamped down on her shoulder. “You still owe me a wee bit of coin.”

She stifled a scream and whirled toward Mr. McKenna. “I’ll thank you to remove your hand from my person.”

“And to think, this very afternoon, you wanted me hands all over your person.”

She dropped her jaw and stared, clutching her meager possessions to her breast. “I wanted no such thing.”

“Is that noot what a hoosband would do if he were to marry you? And did you noot proposition me along with four other men?”

She scoffed. “Believe what you want, but I had a good reason for doing what I did.” Amazing the chain of events set forth by one, not-so-brilliant idea. Henceforth, she would think twice before listening to Lora Lee’s advice.

She continued to walk, but he stopped her again. “Give me a wee moment to fetch me horse, and I’ll offer you a ride into town.”

“No, thank you. I won’t be beholden to you.”

He narrowed his eyes and punched a finger in her direction. “I’ll noot let you walk the distance by yourself withoot an escort. The streets are noot safe at night.”

She skirted away from the accusing finger. “Well, I don’t need your chivalry. I’d sooner have Jack-the-Ripper walk me to town.”

“Aye, my point exactly. You are a blood-thirsty witch.” He chuckled.

She shot him a glance. “I’m sorry your men fell ill, but it wasn’t the pie.”

“Perhaps noot, boot you have to agree that the evidence against you is overwhelming.”

“Is it?” She sighed. “Could it have been something they ate at lunch prior to sampling my baking?”

He scratched his chin. “I ate alongside them, and I’m noot sick.”

“Will they be all right?”

“Aye. They took to their pallets aboot a half hour after you left. I went for the doctor, and he and I tended them until the worst passed. They’re resting noo.”

She frowned. Would bad food have caused such a reaction so soon after partaking of the meal? She thought not. More likely, it was something they ate at noon or even breakfast. Either way, he’d accused her unjustly.

“Best fetch your horse before you go too much farther or you’ll just have to double back.” And before she began dreaming again. Already, the nearness of Kane did strange things to her insides, but with his inability to look past circumstantial evidence, he was not the man for her. She wanted him gone, so she could contemplate all that had happened this evening.

“I still doon’t like the idea of a woman walking alone at night.”

“Nyesville is a small, quiet town. Trust me. My only real worry is you.”

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