Monday, November 21, 2011

Two names, One Author...

Yep, that's part of Whatshername's catchy signature tag: Two name, one author, thousands of stories.  Today, she's here as Larion, but that's fine with me, I like both of her.  :)  Here's a little about my special guest:

 Larion Wills also known as Larriane Wills, writes in multi-genres to entertain you with strong characters and intriguing plots laced with mystery and suspense to tempt you into genres you don’t think you like. Her fast-paced stories will keep you reading with her story telling abilities.

When she isn’t writing for your enjoyment, she putters in her yard, plays with her dogs, and spends time with her family in the high desert of Arizona where many of her stories take place. A fascination with history and antiques lend authenticity to her historicals, while a love of science fiction, ghost and witch stores, and the great ‘what if’ feeds her imagination for others.

Today, I'm treating you to her newest release coming from Muse It Up Publishing this week, and I'm proud to have her here on Cowboy Kisses.

Tag: Some men who carry a badge are no better than those they hunt. Words enough to frighten Susan into letting Tarbet die?

Blurb: Forced to run the ranch like a man after her father’s death, whispers ran wild that Susan was less than a lady. William coming to call caused tongues to wag more. Taking care of a wounded man with only Blazer to help would totally ruin her reputation, but she couldn’t leave a dying man in the hands of delicate Angela or her bungling father no matter what the gossips said about him. How was she to know how much more was behind the attempt on his life? How was she to know she would have to take up a gun, as less than a lady, and fight to save herself and the man she loved?

Excerpt One:

The pain brought Tarbet halfway up, yelling, too garbled to make sense, and fighting blindly. They both held him, putting all their weight on his arms and shoulders. He twisted and rolled, shouted and groaned, only to drop like a rock when he passed out again.
Blazer asked, “Did it finish ‘em?”

Susan laid a hand on his chest to be sure. “He’s still breathing,” she said, finding it hard to believe. “What do I do now?”

“Muck it out and iffen the bullet is still in thar, cut it out.”

With a grimace, she began unbuttoning the shirt. “It’s sickening,” she murmured when she folded the shirt back.

“Still want to do it yar own self?”

The look she gave him told him it was time to shut his mouth. He held his tongue and watched her cut the undershirt away, exposing the wound.

Susan moaned despite her efforts not to, fighting to keep down a surge of nausea. An angry furrow cut between two of Tarbet’s ribs, deepening toward the end where a hole seeped pus and blood. With another inch, the bullet would have passed through and out. Instead it left a section of closed wound she had to force herself to begin cleaning, dabbing at first but gaining confidence as Tarbet remained quiet and still.

Sitting back on his heels, Blazer said. “Been thinkin’ on what I heared time an’ again ‘bout ‘em.”

 “I’ve heard them,” she answered in preoccupation.

“They say he’ll grin at ya whilst he shoots ya.”

“The bullet is still in there.”

“I’ll heat up a knife, but thar’s something ya ought’a think on.”

“Blazer, I don’t care what they say.”

“Say he ain’t above takin’ what ain’t his, too. Says he robbed a bank and let an innocent man go to prison fer it.”

“They say I’m a tramp,” she snapped

Blazer jumped to his feet. “Don’t ya go sayin’ such things. Ya done been raised better.”

“So have you. You’ve never turned your back on me because of gossip. Don’t on him without giving him a chance.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we should. Onliest thing I’m tellin’ ya is ya best know what ya got har.”

“The next time I find a dying man, I’ll ask first if they say he’s worth saving. Now go get me a knife. The way Hatfield’s taking over the town, we don’t dare send for the doctor. We’re all he’s got, and I don’t intend to let you talk him to death.”

Shaking a finger at her, he shouted, “Just so’s ya know what ya got, and don’t ya go bad mouthin’ yar own self no more.”

“Tell them, damn it, not me.”

 And, what's better than one excerpt?  Two.  Hey, she has two names, what the heck.  :)

Excerpt Two:

She didn’t make it before the rain. Once it started, they were both soaked to the skin in no more than a few minutes. In the same short time, he shook with chills. Susan tempered her fear of what the conditions were doing to him and a desire to ride straight in to the ranch house porch with caution. She didn’t want to waste a second getting him dry and warm, but a light showed in the bunkhouse windows. As far as she knew, Horace had no hired hands, and Niles had not been with the men at her place. He and more of Hatfield’s men could be there, a possibility to terrify her.

She tied the horse in the trees on the far side of the house. Walking the last distance, she made sure no one was in the house with Horace and Angela before tapping on the window. Angela gasped with her hand flying to her mouth. Horace went straight to the window and pushed it open.

“Miss Flaggen, what are you doing out there in the rain?”

“I had to bring him here. They stayed at my place,” she explained through chattering teeth, knowing it wouldn’t be hard for him to know how bad Tarbet was by looking at her. Her arms wrapped around her in a useless effort to find warmth. “He’s soaked through, shaking with chills and fever again.”

He told her quickly, “Bring him in.”

“What about…” She pointed in the general direction of the bunkhouse with a shaking hand.

“He can’t see this side from there. Hurry, child.” He turned from the window, telling Angela, “Prepare Niles’ room, light a fire, and take in some towels.”
“Papa, we can’t keep him here.”

“Do as you’re told.”

Susan didn’t wait to see if Angela obeyed her father.

Horace waited at the edge of the porch, still under the roof when she led the horse up.  Her hands, numb with cold and shaking, could not work knots free in the wet rope. “I can’t get them loose,” she exclaimed in frustration.

“I’ll get a knife.” He turned and nearly blundered into a bulky, slicker covered man coming up behind him without a sound. “Hopkins!”

“Yep,” the man said cheerfully, stepping into the light coming from a window. “If you’re needing a knife, I got one.”

“I don’t need anything from you. Go back to the bunkhouse and forget what you’ve seen.”
 “I don’t guess so.” The cheerfulness disappeared from his voice. He lifted the slicker, folding the front to hook behind the holster tied down at his thigh. “He the hard case they been looking for?”

The man could see no more than Tarbet’s back and left leg the way Tarbet hung limply on the horse. A look of hatred came to his face, plainly visible. He meant Tarbet harm.
Susan knew she would lose her possession of Tarbet when she took him to the Norman’s. She accepted that, but she would not give him up to a stranger who meant to kill him.

When Hopkins stepped off the porch, she ducked under the horse’s neck after her rifle. She almost had it free of the boot when he reached her. For his bulk, he moved quickly, twisting her hands to let the rifle slide back into the boot. He shoved her toward the porch.
“I won’t let you kill him,” she warned coldly, prepared to attack him with her bare hands if she had to, despite the man’s bulk.


Want to find out more about my guest?  Here's some links where she hangs her hat(s):           

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