My
special guest today is Kristy McCaffrey. I'm so pleased she agreed to
join me today and share an excerpt from her latest release from Whiskey Creek Press. She's given us a bio so we can get to know her a little
better.
Author Bio
Kristy McCaffrey has been writing since she was very young,
but it wasn’t until she was a stay-at-home mom that she considered becoming
published. A fascination with science led her to earn two engineering
degrees—she did her undergraduate work at Arizona State University and her
graduate studies at the University of Pittsburgh—but storytelling was always
her favorite hobby. Born and raised in Arizona, and recently returned after a
20 year absence in Pittsburgh, she writes Old West romances to capture the
landscapes that were such a big part of her childhood. Her first novel The Wren was a CAPA winner for best new
author traditional, a Texas Gold finalist, and a HOLT Medallion finalist for
best first book. She lives in Scottsdale, Arizona with her husband, four
children, and two chocolate labs, Ranger and Lily. Visit her online at www.kristymccaffrey.com.
Blurb:
In 1877 Emma Hart comes to Grand Canyon, a wild, rugged, and until recently undiscovered area. Plagued by visions and gifted with a second sight, she searches for answers—about the tragedy of her past, the betrayal of her present, and an elusive future that echoes through her very soul. Joined by her power animal Sparrow, she ventures into the depths of Hopi folklore, forced to confront an evil that has lived through the ages.
Texas Ranger Nathan Blackmore tracks Emma Hart to the Colorado River, stunned by her determination to ride a wooden dory along its course. But in a place where the ripples of time run deep, he’ll be faced with a choice. He must accept the unseen realm, the world beside this world, that he’d turned away from years ago or risk losing the woman he has come to love more than life itself.
Using desert brush as cover, Nathan approached the confluence of the Paria and Colorado Rivers, his ivory shirt clinging to his shoulders and back as the sun singed anything not protected by precious shade. He estimated he'd gone about a quarter mile when more gunfire pierced the late afternoon atmosphere. He sidled up behind a large willow tree and cradled the rifle in his left arm.
Looking across the Paria he caught sight of the mighty
Colorado and for a moment couldn’t breathe. The expanse of water flowed with an
undeniable dominion, the strong current kicking whitecaps along the surface.
There was no doubt that the river spoke of danger to any who breached it, but
the longing that slammed into Nathan nearly knocked him to his knees. He wanted
to be on that river.
The gunfire stopped, but Nathan remained concealed.
Three men faced away from him, standing on the sandy banks
of the Colorado River. All carelessly held guns in their hands, old revolvers
or pistols, and waved them around as they yelled to someone in the water. They
weren't particularly fit men, and Nathan knew he could use this to his
advantage. They started shooting again, and one of them slowly began to run
downstream, his gait awkward, as if the man had only discovered yesterday his
legs could perform such a task.
Moving to gain a better view of whom or what might be in
the river, Nathan backtracked out of sight to wade across the Paria then
approached the Colorado behind the two men remaining. A glance beyond stopped
him cold in his tracks.
A woman—as evidenced by a braid of chestnut hair resting
across one shoulder—sat in a large wooden skiff, rowing frantically, leaning
down whenever a bullet flew past her head. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed her face
but he had no doubt of her identity.
Miss
Emma Hart. The woman he had been tracking for the last three weeks, a
woman he had only seen in a faded photograph, a photograph he'd stared at far
too much recently.
Satisfaction mixed with urgency.
Miss Hart was headed down river. Alone.
He didn't have much time. If one of these three idiots
didn’t shoot her first she would quickly disappear.
Nathan rushed the two men on shore and knocked one out
with the butt of his rifle. As the other man swung an arm around in
retaliation, Nathan kneed him in the groin then pinned him to the ground with
the Winchester lengthwise across his throat. The man began to sputter, his arms
flailing in all directions, and Nathan rendered him unconscious with a
well-placed blow to the head.
The third man shuffled toward him. Nathan rolled to the
side and avoided the bullet discharged from the man's gun. Not wanting to kill
his attacker, he pulled a six-shooter from the holster strapped to his right
leg and shot him in the shoulder. His target fell to the ground.
“I’m shot! Oh God!” The man cried in agony. “Please don’t
kill me! Reggie? Hersch? Help me!”
Nathan stood, removed the firearms from the two
unconscious men then threw the weapons into the river. As he approached the man
writhing in the sand, he felt the heat in his boots and could imagine how
uncomfortable it was lying on the ground. Nathan almost felt sorry for him and
his buddies; almost, but not quite. A stray bullet could have easily hit Miss
Hart.
He swung the man’s gun into the water. Glancing down river
he saw the woman watching as her boat moved further and further away, her
expression and features difficult to discern from the distance.
Nathan moved past the man on the ground, who moaned in
short gasps. “You won’t die. Make sure you stop the bleeding and clean the
wound.” He ran along the river's edge, waving his arms above him, and yelled
toward the woman. “Stop! Come to shore!” He hoped she had the strength to guide
the boat against the current and return to him.
She stared but did nothing, except to occasionally turn
her head to check the direction of the skiff.
Nathan climbed over and around a cluster of rocks then ran
along a beach before coming to a rocky ledge, unable to follow her downstream
any further.
“Miss Hart! Emma Hart! I need to talk to you!”
She took both oars in hand and Nathan breathed a sigh of
relief that she had finally come to her senses, only to swear under his breath
when she began paddling in the opposite direction. He glanced back to the
general location of Black.
A man should never have to choose between a horse and a
woman.
You
really owe me, Matt.
In disgust he threw his hat to the ground, then his
Winchester into thick underbrush to hide it. Snapping his revolver into its
holster, he hoped he wouldn’t have to lose it as well before reaching the boat.
Of course, it would be wet and useless for a day or two, but it went against
every instinct he had to be weaponless. Before he could think twice about it,
he stepped into the river and dove, immersing his body.
The shock of the cold water rendered his muscles useless
for a moment and he struggled to stay afloat as the current carried him.
Focusing on his arms, he swam forward. Warmth began to seep into his limbs and
his strokes broadened, moving him toward Miss Hart and her boat. The
mule-headed woman, however, kept trying to paddle away from him.
“I just need to talk to you,” he shouted. He also needed
to get out of the water before the current did him in.
“Stay away from me.” Her voice sounded strong, firm, with
only the slightest edge of panic.
He continued swimming toward her. Peripherally he noticed
the name on the stern of her boat—Paradise. Wondering if it would prove to be true he quickly grabbed
the side before she could maneuver away from him. She released one oar from its
lock, swung it around, and hit him square on the head as he attempted to pull
himself on board.
“Sonofabitch!” Nathan fell into the water, barely managing
to maintain a grip on the gunwale. This sure as hell wasn’t paradise. What made
him think chasing this woman was a good idea? Rubbing his head in a useless
effort to stop the pain, he said through clenched teeth, “Miss Hart, I have
news of your sister.”
That, at least, stopped the oar mid-air as the woman
prepared to pound him again. Nathan took advantage of her hesitation and with a
quick jerk on the boat he knocked her off-balance. She screamed as she landed
with a thud in the wobbly dory and without delay he swung himself over the edge
and quickly readjusted his weight.
Miss Hart regained her balance and grabbed the oar, but
Nathan easily yanked it from her hand. Her eyes betrayed her next move as she
lunged for the other paddle—hanging over the side of the boat and resting in
its lock. Nathan swung it out of reach.
“Get out of my boat.” She faced him across the small
expanse of the unsteady skiff.
Nathan contemplated the fierce creature before him, her
blue eyes flashing with fear and determination. He was in trouble, and from far
more than the mighty Colorado.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with more irritation
than intended, his head still pounding. “Why don’t you sit down before you fall
overboard.”
Instead, she leaned down and began to rummage inside a
rawhide knapsack. Nathan noticed several such bags tied snuggly to the floor of
the wooden structure—it was apparently well-stocked for river running. Watching
Miss Hart as she doggedly searched for something, Nathan realized too late what
his fascination cost him.
Pulling an old Remington revolver from where she’d stashed
it, she cocked the gun and pointed it at him. She struggled to stand in the
boat as the river continuously pulled them further into the canyon, but the gun
she held with confidence. Nathan's gut told him she had some inkling how to use
it. He had to give her high marks for tenacity. Clearly, he’d underestimated
this woman.
“Gimme your gun,” she said.
“It’s wet. It won’t work anyway.”
Without words she aimed her weapon between his legs.
A man had to know when to cut his losses. Nathan unbuckled
the holster and set it at the bottom of the boat between them.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Nathan Blackmore.”
“How do you know who I
am?”
“I’ve been looking for you. I have news of your sister.”
The woman paused. “I never told her where I was going. How
did you find me?”
Nathan realized her confusion, but hesitated to offer an
explanation while she pointed a potentially loaded gun at a portion of his body
he’d rather keep. She might not have ammunition in the weapon, but he didn’t think
it would be wise to take chances.
“I give you my word. I won’t harm you in any way, but
would you please put the gun down so I can explain it all to you?”
Miss Hart wavered and uncertainty played across her face.
Nathan had memorized that face during his long journey from Texas, but the photograph
hardly did justice to the reality of the woman before him. While she was comely—something
any man alone in the wilderness for days would notice—it was her eyes that
surprised him the most. They conveyed a seriousness and depth missing from her
photo. The picture was that of a young girl entering womanhood, but the female
before him had matured beyond that stage already, in some intangible way more
than she should have. The high canyon walls dwarfed them on the tiny boat, bringing
a certain insignificance to their showdown, but Nathan sensed there was nothing
insignificant about Emma Hart.
Slowly she lowered the gun.
Nathan let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.
They both watched the other as the boat continued its slow
trek down river, the sun moving behind the western canyon wall, illuminating
the rocky pillars to the left. On the outskirts of his vision he noticed the
stunning scenery, but Nathan wasn’t sure if he was thinking of this amazing
place borne from the natural processes of wind and water or of the woman facing
him.
Everything’s
different now.
The thought came out of nowhere.
Interesting premise. Good luck with the book, Kristy.
ReplyDelete