The Stories We Share ~ D. K. Deters

 I’m a Western historical romance author. Another title might be wordsmith, storyteller, or wordslinger.

As a child, I thought my dad was the best storyteller ever. Dad was a towering figure at six foot three, wore a black Stetson, and had one of those voices that reminded me of a trail-tough cowboy. His stories also influenced why I write about the Old West today.

Like many kids, I grew up with the allure of the Old West through Westerns on television. The majority were reruns, but that didn’t sway our enthusiasm. These tales of frontier life brought our family together for a few hours every week.

My folks hailed from southeastern Kansas, where we lived for several years. Dad’s stories often included the Dalton Gang, the Benders, and the James Gang, making the Old West part of our family history.

What kind of stories? Well, my favorite is about my great-grandfather. He was born in 1860.

One day, when he was ten (or so), he was instructed to go down by the road and wait for a neighbor to bring the mail. While he waited, he passed the time playing with a deck of cards. It wasn’t long before a cowboy rode up and inquired what my great-grandfather was doing. As he explained, the stranger dismounted and asked if he might play cards, too. After a while, the fellow mounted up, but before he left, my great-grandfather asked him his name.

 The stranger stared back. “You can tell your friends you played cards with Jesse James.”

 Was he the outlaw Jesse James?

I suppose my great-grandfather could have made up the story and passed it down to his children. My dad may have just wanted to see my eyes get big. But I like to believe that Jesse James needed to stretch his legs and might have missed his children.

Can I prove it? Uh, no, but I always keep that simple story in mind when I’m writing.

It’s fun to picture this curious boy playing with bent cards that amounted to half a deck. I can see the ruts in the road from heavy wagons pulled by strong horses past corn fields and hedge post fences. It’s easy to imagine the disbelief crossing the kid’s suntanned face as the stranger galloped away.

This story prompts my imagination and transports me, if only for a fleeting moment, to that dusty road where I witness the card game between my great-grandfather and the infamous Jesse James.

Perhaps this narrative will inspire you to pen some of your relatives’ stories. The stories might seem mundane after hearing them for the umpteenth time, but your grandkids will love them!