Filling a cowboy's Christmas stocking in the 1870s meant practicality first, with a quiet nod to comfort. A working cowhand lived hard and light, often carrying everything he owned in his bedroll or saddlebags, so small, useful items were prized. A new bandanna--bright red or indigo--served as dust mask, sweat rag, sling or signal flag. A pair of wool socks, hand-knitted if possible,would have been a treasure against frozen mornings and wet boots. Tobacco was nearly universal: a plug of chewing tobacco, a twist, or perhaps a handful of papers for rolling cigarettes. Even a small cake of lye soap or a stick of tallow could make a long winter feel more bearable.
Tools of the trade fit naturally into a stocking as well. A sharpening stone for knives, a new pocketknife, or spare leather thonging for repairs would be welcomed. Matches--especially the newer friction matches--were worth their weight on the trail, as were small tins of coffee or sugar. Ammunition wrapped carefully in paper, might be slipped in alongside a few lead bullets for a man who cast his own. For a cowboy who rode fence or trailed cattle, anything that saved time or mended gear meant fewer problems between sunup and sundown.
Yet even the toughest cowhand appreciated a touch of home. A bit of hard candy, a dried apple, or a slab of molasses cake might recall Christmases left behind. A letter from family, a small religious token, or a dime novel folded thin could offer companionship during lonely nights by the fire. In the Old West, a cowboy's stocking wasn't about luxury--it was about survival, memory , and the quiet reassurance that someone remembered him when the prairie lay cold and wide.
~Santa Claus is based on Bishop St. Nicholas from Turkey.
~The legend was shaped around "Sinterklaas" and popularized by the poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas".
~Modern Santa has nine reindeer.
~The jolly version emerged around the 1800s. He is about 1,700 years old.
~Nicknames are: St. Nick, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas.
~There is such a thing as having a Santa fetish, "Daddy Christmas". Being attracted to Santa for his benevolent nature, his red suit, the admiration of his gift-giving skills, and his powerful symbolism.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Because Santa has a long list of admirers, how about a cowboy?
She has him feeling completely vulnerable...and buttons undone.
In a shocking turn of events, members of the Texas Heat Rangers Reconnaissance Team fall victim to an ambush, their lives hanging by a thread. They receive strict orders not to retaliate, but when the stakes are this high, rules begin to lose their meaning, especially when a hidden enemy seeks to eliminate the undercover team.
As they recover from their near-fatal injuries, hope flickers in unexpected places. Sharp Creed makes his way back to the small, close-knit community of Fin’s Creek, eager to heal and contemplate his next steps in vengeance or peace. His resolve is soon tested by an intriguing neighbor—a beautiful, fiercely independent single mother who has taken up residence in the neighboring house.
Despite his best efforts to distance himself from her complicated life, he finds himself irresistibly drawn to her fiery spirit and unwavering determination. And her son? He’s a bright light in a storm.
CaDee Lang finds herself fleeing from a shadowy past that looms over her like a dark cloud. Just when she thinks all hope is lost, she stumbles upon a home, a new life, and a welcoming future. But will her past stay where it belongs so she can be happy?
The Ridge Ranch series was a labor of love in every sense of the word. It dug in and stayed with me over the last several years, becoming more than just a setting on the page.
Those characters lived with me for a long time. I started writing Wyatt’s story back in 2020, and from there the Ridge boys grew up chapter by chapter. They fought hard for their happy endings and reminded me why I fell in love with writing small-town, cowboy romance in the first place. It was also the beginning of my author journey, and I’ve grown in ways I never expected along the way. Letting that ranch go was not easy, but it did something I did not expect.
It made room for what came next.
As it became clear the Ridge Ranch stories were coming to a close, another story began whispering in the background. Well, sometimes screaming but that’s besides the point.
This new series has been tugging at me for a while now. Three brothers. One farm and ranch that has been in the family for generations. Shared land, shared history, and shared wounds they would rather leave buried. Each of them carries his own version of responsibility, loyalty, and regret.
And yes, there has to be a playboy.
Every ranch has one. The brother who smiles easily, flirts harder, and pretends he has no interest in settling down. The one everyone assumes will be the last to fall, which usually means he falls the hardest. This one might make Cooper blush.
Add a little rodeo dust to the mix. Long nights under arena lights. The danger and adrenaline that come with eight seconds on a bull. Rodeo life has a way of testing a man’s limits, especially when someone in the stands matters more than winning.
At its heart, this series is still about what I love most. Family bonds that run deep. Men who work with their hands and love with their whole hearts. Women who challenge them, ground them, and refuse to be sidelined. And romance that burns slow before it blazes.
It will feel familiar, but different. A new ranch. New brothers. New love stories waiting to unfold.
While this ranch is quietly taking shape, it is not the only place calling my name.
I also have a cozy bed-and-breakfast series waiting in the wings. A place built on second chances, unexpected connections, and the kind of small-town magic that happens when people stay just a little longer than planned. There will also be a crossover. A step off the ranch and into the big city, where familiar faces find themselves navigating a very different kind of life.
But underneath every idea and every detour, there is another ranch. One that has been patiently waiting. One that is just begging to come alive.
When it does, you will know.
Because these cowboys are already making themselves at home.
So join me in 2026 as I build a new ranch series from the ground up.
Before signing off for the year, I wanted to provide an update
on an article I wrote back in August about one of the Old West’s most complicated
figures: Henry Newton Brown. If you missed it, Brown was an outlaw who became a
peacekeeper, only to return to his outlaw life again.
Excerpt from Cowboy Kisses: Outlaw Henry Newton Brown
“…by 1882, Brown had made his way to Kansas, and Caldwell
officials welcomed him as an assistant city marshal. He was later promoted to
marshal. The gunfighter quickly cleaned up the bustling border town. Afterward,
the grateful citizens raised his pay to $125 per month and awarded him with an
engraved Winchester for restoring law and order. The inscription read: 'Presented
to City Marshal H. N. Brown For valuable services rendered in behalf of the
Citizens of Caldwell Kas A. N. Colson Mayor Dec 1882.'
On April 30th, 1884, the marshal, in debt and living beyond
his means, returned to his outlaw roots. Joined by his deputy and two outlaw
friends, they robbed a bank in Medicine Lodge using the rifle the citizens of
Caldwell had given to him. Two people were killed, and his gang was captured.
Brown was shot the same day, trying to escape. His gang members were lynched.”
After publishing this article, I couldn’t help but dig a
little deeper into the fate of the infamous Winchester—one that symbolized
Brown’s rise and his ruin. Today, the 2nd Model 1873 Winchester
rests in the Kansas Museum of History (part of the Kansas State
Historical Society, KSHS) in Topeka, Kansas. My thanks to Boone Dodson,
Museum Curator, for helping me follow the trail and for providing the museum
photographs you’ll see below.
The Kansas Museum of History, reopened in November after a three-year renovation, is absolutely worth the stop. If your travels take you through Topeka,
put it on your must-see list.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
She's dead broke. And eviction looms. On Christmas Eve
antique consultant Madison Knight takes a phone call from local rancher Zach
Murdock. Through a mix-up at an estate sale, Madison's company purchased his
grandmother's beloved painting. He offers double the money for its return.
Madison risks her job to track down the artwork, but success falls short when
she's stuck in a blizzard. Stranded, she seeks help from a frontier family. Are
they living off the grid, or did she somehow travel through time?
Zach's the only person who knows her plan. He also knows a secret about his
gran's painting. It's up to him to rescue Madison, but maybe he's not cut out
to be a hero.
Christmas Once Again is available at these eBook stores:
Ambushed, Texas Ranger Jake Fontaine's a dead man until a Kansas spinster raises her shotgun in his defense. Despite the rogue lawman's obsession to bring in his brother's killer, duty demands he escort her to the next town.
Kat Collins is a thief, though an honorable one. She's on the run from controlling kin and aims to escape her past. Traveling with Jake offers the perfect cover—until her uncle finds them sharing a campfire and imposes his own kind of justice—a wedding.
Marriage will cost Jake his freedom, but refusing may cost him his life. Kat figures he's bound to recognize her on a wanted poster. Would sharing passionate nights in his arms be worth the peril?
The Texan's Favor is available at these eBook stores:
I'm at a crossroads. I'm sort of retired, but not really because writers never actually retire. Not as long as their brain functions. I've made my living writing my whole adult life, so it's something ingrained in me. However, I'm slowing down and the driving urge to create every day no longer thrives in me.
I've hit dry spells before and found myself unsure of what to write. I remember that what I wanted to write and what the editors at the publishers I'd been working for wanted were two very different things. So, I stopped writing novels and concentrated on writing non-fiction again. I had been a newspaper reporter before I sold my first novel.
However, I returned to novel writing eventually. Romances of all kinds have always been my drug of choice. Nowadays I'm not totally retired from writing -- but close. And God willing, I won't stop until I'm incapable of writing or dead. Even after death, writers don't instantly fade from the landscape. Our writing endures. For the vast majority of us, it won't endure forever as with such luminaries as Dickens, Poe, Shakespeare, Austin, etc. But our work will linger for a good long while after we're gone. It will remain nestled in readers' brains and hearts and they will smile when the recall "that book" they so enjoyed or "those characters" that made them sigh or smile or cry a little.
When you're a writer, you can't turn off your ideas. Even when I was writing nonfiction mostly, I was dreaming up fiction stories or rewriting the ones I was reading. It's like eating for us. You can go a while without it, but then you have to indulge or wither away.
So, here I am retired and still working. I know a lot of people are here with me. Most of them might WANT to retire and simply can't because it's not financially feasible. I can, but I don't want to, so I won't. I'll keep working here and there and looking for more readers for my books.
It's an odd place to be, though. Every day -- even weekends -- I feel that I must work as I have for so, so many years. Maybe I will learn to take days off. I won't write on Sunday and maybe not even on Saturday. That seems like a good step toward retiring. I might even go away for a few days and not take my laptop so that I don't write while I'm gone. I know that I'm enjoying reading more than ever, so that's a good thing. My go-go attitude kept my mortgage paid, the lights and heat on, and food in the fridge. I've lived a blessed life, being able to make my living as a writer since even before I graduated from college. I know this. I've known it every day when I sat down at the computer (or typewriter, back in the day) and set to work.
While I've enjoyed this blogging experience, I'm stepping away as part of my weaning from deadline writing. I will continue to read and delight in the blogs here and I wish you all good wishes and good royalties! Don't let the AI "writers" deter you. Authenticity will always rise to the top..
…Mercedes Fenton slammed the front door shut and
turned to glare down at her 16-year-old daughter for a long moment before
furiously exclaiming, “On the day that you were born, I thought that I would be
raising a lady! Instead, I not only raised a would-be desperado, I raised a
slut!”
Sitting at the kitchen
table, Rhoda glared up at her mother and furiously exclaimed, “I may be a
would-be desperado, but I am not a slut!”
Still glaring down at her
daughter, Mercedes Fenton furiously pointed out, “Your sister and I came home
to find both you and Alejandro naked in your bed, sinning against God! He is 22-years-old!
You are only 16 – just barely a woman!”
Still glaring up at her
mother, Rhoda furiously pointed out, “I am a woman, Mother!”
Still glaring down at her
daughter, Mercedes Fenton furiously pointed out, “In my eyes, Rhoda Maria
Fenton, you are still a child! And if you become pregnant from your very sinful
union with Alejandro, I will kick you out of my house! I will not raise your
bastard child while you continue to sin against God and me!”
Suddenly standing, Rhoda
furiously exclaimed, “You should just kick me out of your house right this
very minute, Mother! In fact, you should just kick me out of this family! You
have never treated me like a daughter! You have always treated me like a
stranger who is just passing through town!”
Still glaring up at her
daughter, Mercedes Fenton furiously exclaimed, “If that is how you feel, Rhoda
Maria Fenton, then pack your things and leave my house! Not only have you
sinned against God and me, you are a very horrible influence on your younger
sister!”
Rhoda just stared
intently down at her mother for a long moment before emotionlessly saying, “Adios.”
And then, she walked
towards her room to pack her bags.
Mercedes Fenton just
stood where she was for a long moment before finally starting supper.
…Rhoda had just finished singing “I Still Miss
Someone” to a very crowded room at the saloon when a ghost from her past
entered the building.
She was not one to allow
anyone to rain on her parade.
But when it came to Velma
Warren, she suddenly felt like a zillion wild horses were about to trample her
to death in a stampede!
She wondered if she could
sneak up to her room without being seen.
But she could barely move
through the crowd celebrating Independence Day Of Mexico and Velma Warren was
already at her side, a pistol pointed at her.
“Don’t make me shoot you
if you even think of moving or running, Rhoda!” Velma warned.
“I can’t move or run even
if I wanted to, Velma,” Rhoda pointed out. “Now put your pistol away before one
of us or someone else gets hurt!” she ordered.
Velma just stared
intently at Rhoda for a long moment before finally – and very reluctantly – putting
her pistol away.
She then said, “I am here
to arrest you and take you back to Yuma, Arizona.”
Without hesitation, Rhoda
pointed out, “You can’t arrest me for crimes committed in Arizona or Texas or
anywhere in the United States on Mexican soil, Velma. You can’t even arrest me on
Mexican soil for crimes committed here in Mexico. You have no jurisdiction
here.”
Velma just stared
intently at Rhoda for another long moment before finally saying, “Why are you
here in Mexico, Rhoda?”
Suddenly glaring at
Velma, Rhoda defensively exclaimed, “Why does it matter, Velma?” When
Velma just continued to stare intently at her, she sighed and then said, “I’m
here to bury some of my mother’s ashes in the soil of her birthplace and
scatter the rest into the Mexican wind. Do you want to arrest me for that?”
Velma sighed.
She then warned, “I will
get you one day, Rhoda Maria Fenton!”
Without hesitation, Rhoda
warned, “If you continue to try, I – or another of your victims – will put a
bullet in your head! By the way, Velma, what is your price for what you do?”
Without hesitation, Velma
pointed out, “I am a Bounty Hunter. And I’m priceless.”
Suddenly wrinkling her
brow in confusion, Rhoda asked, “What does that mean?”
Without hesitation, Velma
pointed out, “It means that I don’t charge a cent. I do what I do for free.
Unlike you.”
Without hesitation, Rhoda
pointed out, “It’s stupid that you don’t charge a cent! How do you eat?”
Without hesitation, Velma
said, “I eat just fine. And unlike you, I sleep at night.” She then just stared
intently at Rhoda for another long moment before finally saying, “Death Versus
Priceless. Who do you think will win, Rhoda?”
And then, she disappeared
into the crowd.
Rhoda just stood where
she was, staring into nothingness.
She hated to think it.
But Priceless had just
defeated Death.-
Wishing Everyone a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, and a Happy New Year!!!
Growing up, the Wish Book was basically my version of
Pinterest. My sisters and I would sprawl out on the floor, circling everything
from sparkly shoes to toys.
Then I stumbled on a reproduction of the 1893 Sears
catalogue, and oh boy, talk about rabbit holes. If cowboys had Amazon Prime,
this would’ve been it. I picked out a few favorites to share—with their
original descriptions, because they’re too good not to.
What Every Cowboy Hoped Santa Would Leave in His
Saddlebag
Cowboys didn’t hang stockings by the fire. Presents were
practical, sometimes romantic, and often dusted with trail grit. Forget
diamonds and toy trains—these gifts had spurs and sass.
A hat that could survive Wyoming windstorms. Good luck with that.
Coffee beans by the pound--the real liquid gold of the West.
A fresh pair of sock--rarer than gold, worth more than whiskey.
A Bible or dime novel--to read by
lantern light.
A new saddle or boots--a must have for every cowboy.
A harmonica, so he could annoy the
whole bunkhouse with “Oh! Susanna.”
Gifts not found in a catalogue
A letter from home—because even cowboys got homesick.
One more season alive, riding, and not trampled by cattle
Homemade
Soaps—made at by hand so he could scrub off
the trail dirt.
Things a Cowboy Would Get His Sweetheart for Christmas
Peppermint sticks or lemon drops to tell her that she’s sweet.
Lace or a ribbon for her hair--the cowboy version of
jewelry-on-a-budget.
A length of fabric – sew-your-own-dress kit.
A shawl or gloves – practical, but he swears they’re
“pretty, too.”
Perfume or soap – a rare splurge, and a subtle hint that
trail dust isn’t a turn-on.
Personal Gifts not found in a catalogue.
A small A hand-carved trinket – sure, it’s crooked, but it’s
made with love (and a pocketknife).
A kiss under the mistletoe – because sometimes the best gift
doesn’t cost a dime.
A promise—spoken under the stars—that she was his forever
gift.
Photos from the 1893 Sears, Roebuck & Company Catalogue and
Montgomery Ward & Com. Catalogue 1895
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