Meet Ellie Fountain-From Sparta, TN - Again!

The Courthouse

Because I will probably be camping on my appointed day, I'm scheduling an older post I featured on Cowboy Kisses two years ago, right before I first decided to create a western blog to help revive the genre.  I didn't' have to look far to find some fantastic authors who've contributed some great stuff.

 It appears more and more authors are writing about the historical west, but not because of me, hopefully, because readers want more about Cowboys and Indians...and even romance. One of the keys to writing historical novels is to pepper enough history throughout  to help the reader learn something aside from your story.

In Ellie's Legacy, my heroine, Ellie Fountain, lives in Sparta TN...actually an unincorporated area above called Bon Air, but Sparta was where the stores, churches, and civilization existed..  I've tried adding facts throughout the story to help describe the period.  Today, I'm adding some more that people from TN might not know.

Sparta became the county seat in 1809, and was the first capitol of Tennessee.  When state legislators decided to change the location, Sparta lost to Nashville by one point.

I lived in Sparta for a time, and loved it.  It's a small community that really gave credence to "Southern Hospitality."  I think forming friendships is a main benefit of living in a place where the population isn't inflated.  Unfortunately, we were forced to move because the median wage there is just above poverty, and employment benefits died when most of the businesses went to Mexico.  Those who remain are employed by the retail stores and few business that stayed or residents farm the land.  I can't believe I made a whopping $7.55 per hour to be correction's officer at the local jail...but that conjures up a whole different story.

The Rock House

I did mention in the book that, situated between, Knoxville and Nashville, Sparta was a hub for travelers.  In fact, I think I described the Rock House which was built as a stage stop to allow passengers a rest during a long  ride and still stands today as an historical monument and testament to the times.

Beautiful Fall in an Orchard in Sparta

The Calfkiller River was also something I mentioned, as it traveres Sparta and joins the Caney Fork River.  The White Mountains provide a beautiful display of red, oranges, yellow, and green during the fall, when the trees display nature's pallet, and even more beautiful, nearby you can travel to a place called Fall Creek Falls..even camp is you wish.

Sometimes authors have an uncontrollable urge to respond to those less than favorable reviews left on Amazon.  I had one that questioned the accuracy of mining in Sparta...claimed she knew better.  To her, here...I offer this proof:

White County was the site of a very large saltpeter mining operation during the Civil War. The Cave Hill Saltpeter Pits (No. 1 and No. 2), located on Cave Hill near the mouth of England Cove, were intensively mined and still contain numerous relics from that operation. Saltpeter is the main ingredient of gunpowder and was obtained by leaching the earth from these caves.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_County,_Tennessee

For those of you who are a fan of old country music, one of the first things you'll see when you enter the city, is a memorial to Lester Flatt of Flatt and Scruggs fame.

Anyhow, I'm doing an interview here...so let's get on with it.  There is more historical in my novel.

INT – So, Ellie, tell the readers a little about Ginger's story.

 RF – *Smiles* Well, I can’t give away too much. Ginger would skin me alive, but I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you that it’s got a little romance, a lot of western, and even more feistiness than her last historical romance. My problems begin when Pa hires Tyler Bishop as the ranch foreman. I kinda figured Pa always wanted a son, and Ty proves me right. Their relationship gets me pretty riled up. I have a bad temper at times… I think it comes from this red hair. *pulls a strand forward and grins*.

INT – So, besides your jealousy of Ty, is there any adventure involved.

 RF – Oh, you bet. *Squares herself in her chair*. The polecats that live on the neighboring ranch are aiming to get Fountainhead away from Pa. Dude Bryant and his twin boys are meaner than snakes… well at least Dude and Jeb are. Joshua comes across as quiet and a follower. But, *balls hands into fists* I’ll be danged if they’re gonna get my legacy. I actually bought a gun and taught myself to shoot it.

 INT – A gun?  What for?

RF – Protect Fountainhead of course. I’m aim to show Pa he don’t need Tyler Bishop around when he has me. I just wish Ty wasn’t so dang good lookin’.

 INT – I haven’t heard you mention your mother. How does she feel about you owning a gun?

RF - *Lowers her eyes*. My ma died when I was very young. I suppose that’s why I took up with the ranch hands and spend so much time workin’ outdoors. *Raises a steely gaze*. But, now that Ty’s in the picture, Pa wants me to spend more time in the house doing womanly things.

 INT – Would that be such a bad thing?

 RF – Of course it would. I don’t much care for makin' vittle’ and cleanin’. We have Cook for that. I’d much rather brand a cow as fry one.

 INT – So what about the romance part of the story?

 RF – *Chews her bottom lip for a moment* Well, I accompany Ty to a dance in Sparta, and as usual, he gets my dander up there, too. I never should have gone, but those eyes of his make my knees weak. My better judgment flew right out the window. *Takes a deep breath* What happens from then on, you’ll have to find out for yourself. I may look young and naïve, but I’m not silly enough to give away the whole story. Miz Ginger is counting on sales to help pay for some sort of operation to make her look younger  *Looks confused*  Can they do that?

 INT – I don't know anything about plastic surgery, so let's get back to story. I've read the book and know the dance holds a key to the suspenseful part of the story, but I certainly wouldn’t want you give away too much. You’ve already given us enough of a teaser to stir some interest. Hopefully we’ll see you on a best seller’s list somewhere.

 RF – That would be right nice. It just may happen cause remember, I have a gun. *Slaps hip and fakes a draw*.

 INT - Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to use it. *laughs*. Thank you so much, Ellie for being with us today. And good luck in the future.

 RF – Oh, yeah. I almost forgot to tell you that Ellie's Legacy is on something called the “Innernet” at, *reaches in pocket and pulls out a slip of paper; reads it* http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson *looks up*.  Boy, ain't that a mouthful. *looks back a paper*.  Oh...and her publisher is called Books We Love *stuffs paper back into her pocket*.  Boy, I don't understand all this http stuff, but I'm hoping everyone else does.

 INT – I've sure they do, Ellie. Thanks again for being here.

Ginger's View of Housekeeping Then and Now

As I was bemoaning the few chores I faced today, I stopped and gave myself a reality check.  I started thinking about the pioneer women in the novels I read and write, and realized how cushy my life is compared to theirs.

Take for instance making the bed.  All I have to do is spread up the sheets and comforter.  Of course, although I b*tch and groan about how my husband's wiggly foot manages to untuck everything, I gave praise that I don't have to deal with a straw mattress and flour-sack sheets and pillow cases. I didn't have to pluck a chicken or turkey to fill my pillow, nor, do I have to empty a chamber pot like those kept beneath the bed to avoid those nighttime potty calls.

 Next time you have to clean the toilet, thank God you have one. Our pioneer sisters didn't have the comfort of having an "on-suite" bedroom, so those treks to the outdoor privy, especially during the winter months, could really be the pits.

As I tossed a load of clothes in my washer and added my convenient liquid detergent and softener, I paused a moment and pictured the agony of having to visit a local stream and beat the clothing clean on a rock or, in the case of the more modern gal of the ages, lug out a washtub and scrub board and spend a few backbreaking hours laboring to refresh the family wardrobe.  Then my gaze caught sight of my dryer and I remembered back to when I first married in the early sixties.  We couldn't afford a dryer at the time, and I had to hang everything on a clothesline.  OMG, I hated that.  Sure, you got the benefit of a fresh air smell...when there was one, but the towels and linens were stiff and you weren't done with the hanging of the wet laundry, you had to go back and retrieve it.  Somehow, it always managed to rain while I had clothes on the line.  I was so happy to see those days pass, and I can bet the head of a pioneer woman visiting today would spin at all the modern conveniences we take for granted.

How about your vacuum cleaner?  The best a pioneer women could do was gather fresh straw and make a new broom.  They may have owned a rug or two, (handmade of course), but dirt or wood floors were the norm.  No wall-to-wall carpets for them.  Sometimes just sweeping the dirt smooth was the best a gal could do.

Can Openers?  Yeah, some of us may still use the ones you have to "manually" twist, but I've moved on to the one you set on the can and it does its magic all by itself.  Imagine using a knife blade to open a tin?  I'd probably be covered with Bandaids.  Hey, did they even have those back in the day?  I don't think so.  Torn scraps of cloth were some of the best first-aid tools available.

Stoves?  Some of the richer pioneers had them bought from the local mercantile.  They were huge and weighty pieces that took up a lot of room, but a vast improvement over bending over the hearth to stir soups and stews suspended over the fire.  With a turn of a knob, we have flames.  Even their modern stoves required wood, and that meant a lot of chopping and carrying to keep the supply plentiful.

Iced tea anyone?  How often have you sat down to enjoy a nice cool drink during the summer?  I live on iced TN sweet tea, but I'd have to learn to forgo the ice in most cases if I was a pioneer.  Since I wasn't sure how the ice was kept, I borrowed this from Wikipedia:

Ice houses are buildings used to store ice throughout the year, commonly used prior to the invention of the refrigerator. Some were underground chambers, usually man-made, close to natural sources of winter ice such as freshwater lakes, but many were buildings with various types of insulation.  During the winter, ice and snow would be taken into the ice house and packed with insulation, often straw or sawdust. It would remain frozen for many months, often until the following winter, and could be used as a source of ice during summer months.

I'm back. *smile*  You didn't even know I was gone, did you? All the thought of iced tea made me thirsty, so I took a break in blogging and went for something to drink.  As I gazed around my awesome kitchen at the automatic coffee pot, the blender, the toaster, and all the other things that have spoiled me rotten, I opened the refrigerator and noticed the bottled water inside.  Although a few pioneers enjoyed a new-fangled indoor water pump, most had to trek to the well or river for water.  Something as simple as bathing for the early 1800 dwellers, consisted of several trips and buckets full for them in order to fill perhaps the same tub they used for washing the clothes.   Boy, do we have it made or what?

The next time I start to feel sorry for myself, I'm going to pull out my history reference book and remind myself of how far we've come.  As I sit here, blogging on my computer, I wonder how a pioneer woman would react to the Internet and the extended and immediate "reach" we have today.  You know, it often took months for the Pony Express to deliver the mail.  Loved ones might not hear from their families for years.  We can reach out and touch someone in seconds.  How great is that?

Oh, and just to give you a taste of how one might incorporate some of the housekeeping chores in a book, I invite you to share this except from Prairie Peace, my debut novel.  It's listed with all my books, on my Amazon page.

Excerpt:

It was apparent why the previous occupants had left behind the odds and ends of furniture. The table and bench were made out of wood so rough, Cecile imagined picking splinters from her behind if she sat. A chair with a broken rocker rested in the corner next to the fireplace, and beside it was an old crate where a rusty lantern perched precariously, most likely to provide light for anyone brave enough to risk the broken chair.

What had she done to herself? She pictured her mother’s living room with its matching furniture and crisp pleated draperies and fought hard to hold back tears. Her mother had never really prepared Cecile for being a wife or housekeeper, requiring she only do minimal chores around the house. She surveyed the challenge set before her. This was going to be a learning experience she'd have to endure on her own. Her days of being spoiled and pampered had ended.

She took a deep breath and dug in, trying to wash away the accumulated dust and grime.
What she hated most was dealing with the various prairie creatures that thought this was
their home. “Oh dear…I hate spiders,” she proclaimed as one skittered across the floor.

Wiping a trickle of sweat from her forehead, she glanced around the room for something
to shuttle the insects outside, and spied an ancient broom in the corner by the fireplace.
Although missing most of its straw, there was still enough left to use. Looking at the dirt
and grime around her, she wondered why the broom looked so worn. How long had it been since anyone used it?

The floor had dried and warped with age, and the cracks between the planks had widened
to reveal the ground below. Cecile vigorously swept several times, trying to get some of the dirt and dust to fall through. When she finished, she wore most of it. Tossing the broom across the room in disgust, she peered at herself through the cracks in the mirror, barely recognizing the reflection staring back. Her hair hung in unruly strands around her face, and her complexion was gray from the coat of dust. She emitted a loud sigh as the looking glass revealed the sagging and dirty mattress behind her. Who or what had slept there before? Clearly, the bedding needed a thorough beating and airing out, and it was
her glorious job to do it.

The tears welled again. She prodded herself to stay busy, believing work would keep her from dwelling on her disappointment. With great effort, she dragged the mattress outside, and for some reason, every whack of the broom against the old tattered thing made her feel better.

She struggled to get it back into the house and onto the bed frame. She refused to call Walt for help because he was busy outside, cleaning the yard and hauling junk from within their poor excuse of a barn. Silly emotions and false pride were not about to get the best of her. She wanted Walt to be proud of her, and she was determined to make the best of this, even if it killed her. Besides, she was tired of sleeping on the hard ground with nothing but a thin blanket between her and the dirt. Even this ugly mattress had some degree of appeal.

As soon as they moved into the house, she’d cover it with the blankets from the bedroll and bring in the pillows still stowed in the wagon. Using the barn as shelter left her worrying the whole thing would fall down and crush them to death in their sleep. So many boards were missing from the walls, she was amazed it remained standing at all.

Note:  The piece of "mirror," hanging haphazardly and cracked, was mentioned in a previous paragraph.

Meet Grace Cummings, AKA Fawn Dancing

Today my guest, Grace Cummings, the heroine in White Heart, Lakota Spirit is here to tell us how she survived being held captive by Indians.  So, without further ado, let's begin the interview:

Just for clarification, HOST will indicate the interviewer’s questions below:

HOST:   It must have been a very traumatic ordeal for you.  Can you tell us about it.

GRACE:  It was horrid. (She shudders) I still hear my mother's screams in my head.  I… 

HOST:  Do you need a moment to compose yourself?

GRACE:  No, I'm fine.  (Deep breath)  It was 1874. My family had moved around a lot because my father, bless his departed soul, was a restless man.   It was hard for a girl my age to make friends, not living in one place for very long, and just when Ma, Kevin and I thought we might settle down, General George Armstrong Custer made an announcement about gold being discovered in the Black Hills of Lakota territory.  That's all it took!  Pa loaded everything back into our Conestoga and insisted this was his chance to strike it big. 

HOST:  Why didn't you mother put her foot down?

GRACE:  You have to understand that back then, women were expected to know their place.  Ma pretty much did as Pa said.  Besides, he promised her that when he hit the mother lode, he would buy us a new house; new furniture and we'd never have to move again.

HOST:  I can see how that might have sounded pretty enticing.

GRACE:  It was.  We all had visions of putting down permanent roots, so being out on the plains, cooking over a campfire again and roughing it for a just a little longer was worth it if Pa and my brother, Kevin, found gold. 

HOST:  Tell us more about your experience, please.

GRACE:  Okay.   We had made camp at the base of the Black Hills, near a sparse stand of trees.  There was a small stream nearby, so water was plentiful.  Ma and I slept on a pallet of blankets in the wagon, while Pa and Kev slept in a makeshift tent.  We had just finished breakfast one morning and were laughing and talking before Pa and Kev went off to the mine, when I happened to spy some riders on the horizon. It soon became clear from the whooping and hollering that they were being attacked by Indians.

HOST:  Oh my goodness, what did you do?

GRACE:  Pa immediately yelled for Ma and I to get back in the Conestoga, and he and Kev grabbed their rifles and crawled underneath.  I hunkered down behind the tailgate, waiting for Ma, but she never came.  I was so scared, hearing the sound of gunfire and those blood-curdling war cries, I covered my ears, but it didn't help.  When I got the courage to peek outside, I saw the Indians circling our wagon and Ma running in the opposite direction.  I think she was trying to draw them away from me.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Pa and Kevin were already dead.  They were easy pickings with no real shelter.

HOST:  How awful. 

GRACE:  You have no idea!  (Stopping to bite her knuckle, then staring straight ahead). They…they shot my ma down in cold blood right before my eyes.

HOST:  Oh you poor thing.  What did you do then?

GRACE:  (Dabbing at eyes with hanky) I curled myself into a ball and prayed that it was all just a bad dream, and that I'd wake up.   When I didn't hear anything for a while, I found the courage to rise to my knees and peer over the tailgate again.  I almost had heart failure when I came face-to-face with the ugliest sight I'd ever seen.

HOST:    Oh my gosh, I have goose bumps. What was it?

GRACE:  It was the person I later learned was Black Crow.  His face was painted with bright yellow lightning bolts, and he had a scar that ran from ear-to-ear.  He pulled me out of the wagon, barking orders in a strange language, and threw me to the ground.  I felt like my heart was going to pound its way right through my chemise. (Holds hand against chest)

HOST:  Lord, what was going through your head?

GRACE:  I was certain he was going to kill me, too.  I think he might have had it not been for one of his friends.  The one, called Little Elk, seemed to step in and calm Black Crow down.  Still, it was an awful thing to go through, wondering if you were going to live or die.  After Black Crow tethered my arms together and dragged me along behind his horse, like I was nothing more than an animal, I almost wished I had died.  I fought to keep up all the way to the Indian village.

HOST:  How far was it?

GRACE:  (Holding out her wrists).  I'm not sure, but you can still see the scars where the rawhide bit into my skin.  I didn't have time to get my shoes on, so my feet were pretty raw, too.  I'm used to walking beside the wagon every day, but being dragged is quite different.  It took forever.

HOST:  What happened when you got to the village?

GRACE:  I was so tired I could barely stand, but I dared not drop to the ground when it seemed like the whole village stood in a circle around me, staring and laughing.  I thought for sure I was about to meet my maker, but something very surprising happened.

HOST:  Don't stop now!

GRACE:  A beautiful green-eyed woman walked into the midst of things and protected me.  She spoke their language and dressed in their clothing, but it was evident from her flaming red hair that she was white.  If it hadn't been for her I would never have survived to tell this story, that and the fact that Black Crow's mother didn't like having a white woman share her home.  (Grace chuckles)

HOST:  What happened?

GRACE:  After only one night in her tepee, Black Crow handed me over to Little Elk. He, at least treated me with kindness, allowing Green Eyes to help me bathe and wash my hair.  I was still scared, but not nearly as much.  Pa always said I was headstrong, and it almost got me into  trouble when Little Elk gave me a new name.  (Sitting up straighter, squaring shoulders)

HOST:  Oh gosh, we're almost out of time and I hate to make you stop.  Can you give us a brief summary, and quickly?

GRACE:  Although there is so much more to tell, I'll just say that Little Elk played a big role in the decision I made when the white soldiers raided the camp. Unless you want to invite me back for another visit, I guess you'll just have to read the book.  (Holds out a copy)

HOST:  Is this for me? How nice, and it's autographed.  Grace Cummings, thank you so much for spending time with us and sharing your captivating story. I'd like to remind our readers that White Heart, Lakota Spirit by Ginger Simpson is offered at http://www.eternalpress.biz and on Amazon, available in both print and download.  There's more to story, and if you're like me, you want to know how things turned out.  Happy reading!

White Heart, Lakota Spirit - Historical Romance

 I'm fascinated by the Lakota, and you'll find my stories that contain historical facts about Indians are geared to this specific tribe.  My aim is never to portray those with redskin in a poor light because much was done to provoke the Indians to acts of war and brutality they may never have carried out had they been left to live their lives in peace.  A very spiritual race, Indians revered nature and took only what was necessary to live, while their mainstay, the buffalo, were slaughtered needlessly for sport and thinned to the point where starvation and the inability to survive threatened.  I wrote White Heart, Lakota Spirit to honor the Lakota Nation, and to show that even in a time of sorrow and hatred, one white woman helped another to understand that on the inside we are all the same.  I hope you enjoy my excerpt and want to read more:


Captured by a Lakota war party, her family slaughtered before her very eyes, Grace must eventually decide where she truly belongs.

Green Eyes stood outside her lodge and spread three large rabbit pelts across her drying rack. A commotion caught her attention, and she crossed the compound to where a crowd gathered. She stood on tiptoes, looking over shoulders to see what caused the excitement.

Little Elk stepped aside, and the reason for the fervor became evident. Black Crow towered over a terrified young white girl who looked to be around sixteen. Her sobbing had no affect on him, and with eyes wide with fright, she cowered in the dirt at her captor’s feet.

Intent on helping the poor child, Green Eyes pushed through the crowd. She tapped Little Elk on the shoulder. “Who is this girl? Where did she come from?”

“Black Crow captured her. She will be his prisoner.” The young brave standing before Green Eyes hardly compared to the twelve-year-old orphan left behind by Spotted Doe. His body was no longer that of a child, and his voice boomed with authority.

His attitude angered Green Eyes. “What were you thinking? You cannot keep her against her will.”

Black Crow grabbed the white girl by her wrist and yanked her to her feet. He pushed Little Elk aside and glared at Green Eyes. “You have no say in the matter. It is not your place to question the actions of a warrior. Go away from me.”

Appalled at his behavior, she scanned the area for her husband but didn’t see him. She squared her shoulders and faced Black Crow. “I may not have the right to say anything, but your Chief most certainly will.”

Even as the words tumbled out of her mouth, she shivered in fear that she’d overstepped her boundaries. The young captive’s pitiful sobs tore at Green Eyes’ heart as Black Crow dragged her toward his mother’s lodge. Someone had to help the girl.

* * * *

Grace scanned the village and the seemingly hostile people surrounding her. Her heart pounded with fear. What would become of her? Her mind played flashbacks of her family sprawled on the ground. Not even a proper burial ... just left to the hungry animals roaming the plains. If only she could block the scene from her mind, but her heart ached for the loss of her family. She’d never see her mother’s lovely face or hear her father’s booming voice.... And her brother, Kevin, her protector and best friend. He died without even experiencing life.

Oh, how she hated the brutal and heartless man who held her tether. Never before had she wished anyone dead, but if he dropped at her feet, she’d find the energy to dance with joy. Her mind spun in a million directions. What was her captor saying? Was he going to kill her? What had her family done to deserve such a brutal end?

The sound of arguing intruded into her thoughts. She looked up and spied red braids. For a moment Grace’s thoughts turned to something other than her own pending death. Didn’t all Indians have dark hair? The woman’s locks shone like fire, but her sun-kissed skin made it difficult to tell if she was white. Could she be a captive, too?

****

White Heart, Lakota Spirit is available for sale on Amazon, and through the publisher, Eternal Press, in both print and download.

Ginger's Six Sentence Sunday

Hi, I had to move Six Sentence Sunday to this blog because I'm right in the middle of a Valentine's Blog Event at Dishin' It Out.  I hope you enjoy the picture of my handsome cowboy.  Oh, and be sure to go back to SSS and follow some of the other links for more exciting reads.  Yes, I do consider mine exciting.  :)

Today, I'm continuing with Sisters in Time, which fits here nicely because if you'll remember, Taylor is stuck in the old west...Colorado to be exact, and in this scene, Mariah's husband, who believes Taylor IS Mariah, is trying to help refresh her memory when she claims nothing about the Rocking C is familiar.  He's just brought a cup of coffee out to her on the porch and is reminding her how long they've been married:

My six:

Seventeen years? She tried to compute the numbers and shook her head. “This doesn’t add up. I’m twenty-seven years old. If I married you seventeen years ago, I would have been ten. I married David when I was twenty-two. If you add seventeen years to that, you’re trying to tell me I’m almost forty. That’s ridiculous.”

Sisters in Time is published by Eternal Press and available on Amazon and other places too numerous to mention.

Romancing the West with Cowboy Kisses

Want an opportunity to win a Kindle?  I'm amazed at how many people don't leave a simple comment to be entered into a contest, but I guess everyone is inundated with giveaways since Kindle has tons of free books up every day.  This is a perfect way to get the reader to load them on. 

Anyhow...where, you ask?  I'm at Jacquie Roger's, Romancing the West, and in addition to all the other great prizes being offered, I'm awarding a copy of Sisters in Time to one lucky person who comments on Jacquie's blog today.  Heck...I'll even pick a name from those who comment here.  :)

Here's the places to visit:

Monday: Heather Hiestand
Tuesday: Jacquie Rogers
Wedenesday: Beth Trissel
Thursday: Ginger Simpson
Friday: Karen M. Nutt
Saturday: Linda LaRoque
Sunday: Chicken Dinner, all winners announced!

I Love Historical Westerns

I write western historical novels because I love that time period. The old west was raw, hard, and character building.  To survive, the people had to have exemplary strength and determination.  But, my fascination doesn’t end with the pioneers; I’ve always had an unexplained interest in the history of American Indians, so much so that I wonder if I lived a previous life as one.  By writing about them, I can help alter the perception that TV westerns have fostered—that the red man was always the bad guy.  In two previous novels, I focused on the customs and traditions of the Lakota Sioux.  I tried to portray them as the proud people they were.

Do readers realize that writing an historical novel is much more time consuming than say writing a contemporary or suspense?  Although my stories are fictional, the facts to support history have to be accurate and true.  The language has to fit the period as does the dress, and the gadgets available at the time.  Back in the 1800s, which is the era of my choice, kids were goats, mothers were Ma, not Mom, and fathers were Pa, not Dad.  The idea is not to overwhelm the reader with a history lesson, but pepper the story with facts that relate to the scenes and characters. 

In writing my first novel, I had my hero delivering his bride to in a shack in the middle of the prairie.  I described her reaction to a rundown house, grass growing through the wooden shutters, a few pieces of splintered furniture.  When I described the rooms, I also described a heavy iron stove.  My editor was quick to point out that a deserted shack was more likely to have a fireplace and hearth where cooking was performed, and that the abode wasn’t likely to be more than one big room.  Thank God, for editors who help us learn our craft.   Now, when I write about a room, I put myself back in the time period and see through the hero or heroines eyes what should be there.  If there is a question in my mind, I research the object and see exactly when it was invented. 

 There’s no faster way to lose your credibility as an historical author than to yank your reader out of the story by having written about something that doesn’t fit the time.  Imagine my Sarah, dressed in gingham, with her bonnet securely tied under her chin, coming in from the barn, carrying a pail of fresh milk.  She sets the heavy container on the floor, and deciding to have some more coffee, pops a cup in the microwave to heat it.  WAIT a minute.  Something is wrong with this picture, and although I’ve used a very obvious discrepancy in time, you’d be surprised how quickly some historical readers are to pick up on even the slightest faux pas. 

Still, despite the extra time and effort required, historical writing is my preference.  My heroine in Sarah’s Journey is the kind of person I strive to be.  I want her survival strength, determination, and her ability to stand up to people when others are mistreated.  I want to right the wrongs of humanity, and if only through becoming Sarah for a brief time, I can show my readers how badly people of half blood were treated and how hard life was in the old west.  I can hold up my head, trudge along the Oregon Trail and wonder what looms over the next horizon.  Sarah’s Journey is a historical fiction but more so a story about a woman’s struggle to find a new life, deal with disappointment, and handle the realization that she loves a man that no one in the world but her is ready to accept.  I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.  It doesn’t have a “traditional ending” but that’s all I’m going to say. You either GET it or you don't. 

I asked a fellow author at Eternal Press to do a review of Sarah's Journey for me.  He said the only western-type book he'd read was Shane, but he would give it a try.  I picked this part from his lovely summary to share with you.  Robert Appleton made my day when he posted:

I thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Simpson’s recreation of Western life. The word that kept coming to mind as I read this story was uncompromising. Little is omitted, whether it be gruesome wounds, the preparation of herbs and food, Sarah’s body language, or the precise terms for the different noises made by a horse. I loved seeing all this research come to life. The author’s passion for the period and particularly for her characters shone throughout. This was clearly a labour of love.

And he's right.  Every book I've written is a favorite for different reasons, but I have a very soft spot in my heart for Sarah and Wolf and I think it showed.  *smile*

Ginger's Amazing Author's Event

Howdy, as they say in the old west.  Today, I'm bringing up the rear on the Amazing Author's Event.  My job, because I coordinated this wonderful event, is to provide you with the links to the posts of the last several days, and give you a question you can answer by having read or returning to read the information offered by said authors.  I course, you can't think I'm going to not take the opportunity to promote one of my own books here...I have a prize to offer too, and it's a free copy of Odessa, published by Eternal Press.
It's offered there and on Amazon.   Here's the blurb:

The wagon carrying Odessa Clay and her father overturns, killing him.  Alone and scared in the middle of the desert, she faces finding her way to Phoenix and Aunt Susan. Food and water run out, and Odessa is near death when Zach Johnson finds her.  Squinting up into his tanned and handsome face, Dessie believes she’s died and gone to heaven.

Would-be-outlaw, Zach Johnson finds an unconscious woman alone in the middle of nowhere.  Where did she come from?  First glance: she appears young, but the curves beneath the dusty gingham say otherwise.  He didn’t plan to become someone’s hero, but how can he leave her stranded?

Will the promise of Odessa’s sweet lips lure Zach from the secret mission that has his gut twisted into a knot?  His father’s ranch isn’t the only thing at stake—now it’s his heart.

If you want to read a sample, Amazon is very generous in its offerings.  Of course, you might be my lucky winner.  

 *********

Before we get to the questions, let me explain how this works.  Most of our authors today are donating a free ebook.  If you'd like to participate in the contest to win, it's easy, smeasy, lemon squeezy.  Just draw on your memory if you've been following the tour, or use the direct links to go back to each site, then combine all your answers in one email and send to me here.  

All correct entries will be entered into a random drawing for the books. PLEASE PUT AMAZING AUTHOR EVENT in your subject line so I can differentiate between posts.  So...here we go, in the order the blogs appeared daily: 

1. Caroline Clemmons - http://www.carolineclemmons.blogspot.com/2012/01/amazing-authors-tour.html - Her question is:

What is Nate's real name?

2. Beth Trissel - http://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/beths-amazing-author-event-wa-hoo/ - Her question is:

What is the setting for Historical romance novel Red Bird's Song?
A. The old west
b. The colonial frontier
c. Regency England
d. The Twilight Zone

3. Roseanne Dowell - http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com/2012/01/roseannes-amazing-authors-event.html- Her question is:

How long has Meghan been gone?

4.  Cathie Dunn - http://cathiedunn.blogspot.com/2012/01/cathie-amazing-authors-event.html/ - Her question is: What is Rory wearing when Catriona spots him?

5.  Maggie Toussaint - http://mudpiesandmagnolias.blogspot.com/2012/01/maggie-is-on-amazing-authors-tour.html - Her question is:

What is Sloan determined to find?

6.  Patsy Parker - http://plparker.blogspot.com -  Her question is:

What clan does Tannis belong to?

7.  SG Rogers - http://childofyden.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/amazing-authors-event-at-child-of-yden/ - Her question is:

What is the name of beasts of burden on Yden?

8.  Linda LaRogue - http://lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com/2012/01/linda-laroques-amazing-author-event.html - Her question is:

Who kidnaps Dessa Wade?

9.  Jacquie Rogers - http://romancingthewest.blogspot.com/2012/01/jacquies-amazing-author-event.html - Her question is: Where is the Much Ado series set?

10. Karen Nutt - http://kmnbooks.blogspot.com/2012/01/karens-amazing-blog-event.html- Her question is: Who are the Storm Riders trying to save?

11. Anna K. Lanier - http://annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com/2012/01/anna-katherines-amazing-author-event.html - Her question is:  What are two of the Four D's?

12. Barbara Edwards - http://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/2012/01/22/barbara-edwards-amazing-author-event/ - Her question is:

What is the name of the town where the story is set?

13.  Ginger Simpson - You're here already - My question is:

Who is Odessa trying to find in Phoenix?

So, get ready, get set, to...find those answers and email them to me at mizging at gmail dot com, and we hope you've enjoyed our Amazing Author Event!

The prizes to be awarded thus far:

Red Bird's Song
Highland Arms
Muddy Waters
Will O' The Wisp
The Last Great Wizard Of Yden
A Law of Her Own
Storm Riders
Salvation Bride
Odessa

I can't promise you'll win your favorite, but if you want to give me first, second, and third choices, I'll do my best.  :)  P.S.  Anna K asked a great question in comments that I should have added to this post.  I'll give everyone a few days to collect the answers and email them to me as described above.  Check back here on Friday, in the comments section, for the announcement of the winners.  As I decide who gets which book, I'll forward the winning emails on to the individual authors so they can send you their prizes and personal congratulations.  Whew....so much to think of with a feeble brain.  :)  Good Luck.

Traveling the Hard Way...

Pioneers had in tough in more ways than one...more so the women who didn't often ride in the wagon, but walked alongside or trailed behind.  Usually the Conestoga (a large wagon called often called a Prairie Schooner) was filled to the hilt with family belongings and stores enough for a long trip. In order to preserve the energy of the team, whether it be mules, oxen, or horses, anyone old enough to walk didn't do much riding. 

I can't imagine what life was like back in the old west during the 1800s, but I hope I've captured a little of it in White Heart, Lakota Spirit, where Grace and her family are following her father's wanderlust in his quest to find gold in the Black Hills.  The family is in for a big shock, and Grace's life is about to be changed forever.  Here's a scene from the first chapter:

Grace trudged along behind the wagon, struggling to keep up with her mother. Though the prairie grass grew knee-high in some places, the wheels found the dust hidden below and spiraled the powdery dirt into the air, covering her hair and skin. Her muscles quivered with fatigue.

The day stretched on as her father kept the family moving, in search of the right place to stop. The more exhausted she became, the more her thoughts turned to bitterness. Why did they have to leave their home? Was it this stupid thing called gold fever? She didn’t want to live in a wagon. She wanted her own soft bed back… and her own cozy home.

She smacked her dry lips and cursed the day her father announced the beginning of this horrible journey. He’d walked into the house, slapped his hat against his knee, displayed his usual heartwarming smile and said, “Pack up the wagon. I’ve got a plan that’ll make us rich.”

The anger she experienced then gripped her again. Grace had just gotten used to being in one place for any length of time. She’d actually found friends her own age and enjoyed their company. Now, surrounded by endless prairie, and glancing at her family, she realized how much she missed her classmates. Tears clouded her eyes.

The creaking wagon wheels, plodding hooves, and rustling grasses were the only sounds she heard. Pa guided them toward the distant mountains—the Black Hills, where precious ore supposedly ran in golden veins so thick the brightness rivaled the sunrise. Funny, from where she stood, they looked like any other mountains. Nothing more than granite peaks jutting from a sea of grass and dotted with trees and scrub brush.

Mama marched through the weeds ahead, her head held high and her shoulders squared against the growing wind. Where did she get her stamina? She seemed to be faring better than Grace.

Her mother’s admirable tenacity and devotion to Papa went without saying. Even when he uprooted the family, Mama never complained. If given the same opportunity, would Grace be such a follower, she wondered? Would she ever get a chance to find out? Suitable husbands didn’t pop up in the middle of nowhere. Being an old maid seemed her fate in life.

Her father drove the wagon while Kevin prodded their single cow along and kept her from straying. Grace smiled, thinking of her older brother’s silly jokes. He always seemed to find humor in everything, and even when times got tough, he made her laugh.

Recalling a few nights back when he’d donned Mama’s bonnet and danced a jig around the campfire to Papa’s fiddling, caused Grace’s gritty lips to lift in a smile. At twenty, Kevin should have a wife and be making his own plans, but with all the moving around, he hadn’t found a woman to share his life. Did it bother him? If so, he didn’t complain.

Lost in thought, Grace missed slamming into the back of the wagon by inches. She swerved out of the way. Her father had stopped the team to check the harnesses. She walked around front and stood next to him. “Papa, when are we going to stop for the night? My legs are tired.” Her words came out in a whine followed by a loud sigh.

He glanced at the surrounding terrain. “We’ve come a far piece today. Don’t reckon’ we’ll find any place much better than right here. Go gather up some kindlin’ for the fire.” The gaze in his eyes turned dreamy. “Just think, in a couple more days, we’ll stop for a good spell.”
****

The tag line for this book gives you a clue where it's heading.  "Caught between the world of red and white, how will Grace Cummings choose?  Interested?  Check it out on my author's page at Amazon.  You can even read a larger sample.

Bad Girls of the Old West

 Disclaimer: The following contains adult-related material, perhaps not suited for all ages.

Prostitution has been around since the beginning of time, but did you know there was a difference in the old west between the "painted ladies" and "saloon girls?"

Although proper women assigned many names to others in their gender who held these jobs, names such as "fallen angels, soiled doves, daughter's of sin, or scarlet ladies," the 'painted ladies' were normally those who offered sex for pay, while 'saloon girls' were paid by the establishment owners to entertain clients with singing and dancing.  No matter which position they held, women who worked in saloons and other similar places were looked down upon by 'proper' women simply for their association with drinking, gambling and whoring.  Back then, even watching an animal mate shocked the sensibility of an upstanding lady.

The women who worked in saloons were generally lured there out of desperation.  Flyers promising fancy clothing, fine pay, good working conditions, and protection played upon the female senses since job's were scarce and many husbands died unexpectedly by guns, horses, and disease.  Life expectancy in the old west wasn't very long, and women without partners didn't have the choices we enjoy today.

Of course, I imagine there were some women who became whores simply because they enjoyed sex, and in some instances, 'proper' women considered 'daughter's of sin' a necessary evil. Sex wasn't often discussed between mothers, daughters or even among friends, so entering a marriage bed without any knowledge made the experience unpleasant, and sometimes, something to be dreaded. If romance authors wrote about true experiences, at times our books wouldn't be all that romantic.  Thank goodness, we can stretch the truth a bit.  :)

In my latest historical western release, Odessa, my heroine takes a job as a "songbird" in a saloon, much to the dismay of the hero.  But, being a feisty gal, and finding all other options closed to her, Odessa soon finds she should have heeded Zach's warnings. 

Here's a scene:

  Odessa returned from her third break of the evening. John Harper, quite the polite young man, had provided a welcome respite to worrying about Zach. She’d learned more about John and his family and shared some of her own past. She steered clear of any conversation that might lead to questions about how she ended up in Charleston.

The crowd grew rowdier as the night progressed, and Alf had come to her defense several times when a few trail hands made inappropriate comments or tried to drag her onto the dance floor. Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself, she dropped her suggestive poses and stood with hands clasped at her waist. The jar atop the piano behind her was half-full, and now she’d find out if her singing or her sleazy stance had earned her the extra money.

She joined in on cue when he played Oh Susanna. She tapped her toe to the music and sang in her loudest voice, although she couldn’t help but wonder how someone came from Alabama with a banjo on their knee. The crowd clapped, and some even joined in the chorus. Odessa, caught up in the fun, did a do-si-do with a heavyset and obviously inebriated customer during a piano interlude. But when she sashayed back to her place, she realized he wasn’t ready to end the dance.

Odessa tried to brush off his clutching hands and continue with the song, but her actions only narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils.

Alf leapt to his feet. “Hands off, mister.”

The drunk punched Alf and sent him sprawling, then blasted him with an icy glare. “Now get up and play, you bastard,” he slurred. “I plan to finish what I started with this here whore, or my name ain’t Augustus O’Reilly.”

People who had glanced over when the music stopped had gone back to their banter and drinks. Alf plunked out Red River Valley, but his gaze rested on Odessa. His face displayed the fear she felt. Time moved in slow motion. Visions of another encounter with an inebriated man flashed in her mind, only this time there was no Zach to come to her rescue.

Her racing heart echoed in her head and she felt helpless. Fingers bit into her skin. Odessa craned away from the burly man. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. O’Reilly. I’m only here to sing.”

“Right.” He guffawed, leering at her chest. “You ain’t showing off those pretty little titties jes to belt out a few tunes.”

This was the very thing Zach had warned her about. Or was it a nightmare?

***

If you want to find out how Odessa fares, you can find her story at Eternal Press and featured on Amazon (plus many other places you can Google).

Imagine Being Swept Into The Old West...

When I try to imagine living in the old west, I get dizzy from the thoughts of giving up all the things I've grown used to.  Of course, back then, not ever having a hair dryer, a dishwasher, mascara, a television, a radio, I wouldn't know to miss them.  In fact, my time-travel romance, Sisters in Time shows two women, one modern day and the other a pioneer wife, who switch bodies and eras, and how they each react to the lack of conveniences... or appearance of 'new-fangled' contraptions.  You realize there's so much to this book, I just want to show it all...Taylor discovering she has no blow dryer or cell phone, while Mariah eventually experiences an automobile and finally an airplane.  And then there's the frustration of the husbands whose wives don't seem to recognize them.

Here's a scene from the perspective of both women.  First, Mariah, fresh from a cattle ranch in the 1800s, awakens in a modern-day hospital, attached to strange tubes and startled by a woman in white and a strange man who keeps calling her 'Taylor' while being way too familiar:

The nurse’s poking and prodding rudely awakened Mariah. “Good morning, Mrs. Morgan. I need to check your vitals.”

Early morning sunlight barely filtered through the window covering. Mariah’s head felt like it hovered somewhere above her. She blinked her eyes hoping she was in the middle of a bad dream and about to wake up. She grimaced as a strange band squeezed her arm and the nurse placed a round, flat object against Mariah’s skin. “Good blood pressure,
Mrs. Morgan. How are you feeling?”


How? Mariah felt terrified. She heard her own heartbeat. “I’m sore,”
was all she could croak out.

“Of course you’re sore. You were in a terrible car accident.”


Car? What kind of accident is a car? Where is my family? Her thoughts
jumbled, but putting them into words seemed impossible.

Her eyes widened when the nurse rounded the bed and Mariah noticed the shortness of her skirt. She bit her lip to keep her mouth from gaping. Unfazed, the woman tucked the covers in at the end of the metal frame. “Do you think you could manage a drink this morning? Perhaps some ginger ale? The doctor left orders for you to have liquids. Once we know you can tolerate drinking, perhaps we can get you a food tray.”

Mariah realized she was hungry. If she’d been here for two weeks, how did she survive without eating? Just the mere thought of being without food for so long made her stomach growl. She struggled, forcing out the words, “Yes…please.”

After the nurse placed a filled glass on Mariah’s tray, she pushed a button on the side of the bed. Mariah rose into a sitting position. Her gaze darted from the mechanism to the nurse, and questions burned in her mind. Oh my goodness! How did you do that?

Amidst her jumbled thoughts, she maneuvered around the tube in her arm and picked up the glass, anxious to ease the soreness of herthroat. As she took a sip, he entered the room.

“Taylor! Look at you. Sitting up! You must be feeling better.”

The man called David Morgan had combed his blond hair and shaved. He didn’t look nearly as haggard as she recalled. He appeared not quite as tall as her Frank, but the shirt he wore revealed the same muscular shoulders. Mariah considered him good-looking, but his clothes, his shoes...everything about him and this place seemed strange. Everyone
dressed and spoke differently. If only someone would explain what was
happening.

“It won’t be long before I can take you home, babe.” David interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll bet you’ll be happy to be back in your own home and bed.”

Mariah’s hand trembled. She set her glass down, lay back against her pillow and looked away. Why would she go home with him? She didn’t even know the man. Using every bit of strength she could muster, she turned her glaring gaze back to him. “I’m not Taylor!” she croaked.
*********************

Next we visit Taylor, a feisty female attorney, who awakens in a room very different from her own:

 Taylor’s head pounded with pain. Trying to focus, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times, then propped herself up on her elbows. Everything looked strange. The room seemed bright and cheery, but things appeared very old fashioned. She fingered the patchwork quilt covering the bed, and puzzled over the antique mirror hanging above an
old-time washbowl and pitcher across the room. An incessant ache
throbbed in her temple.

Where was she? What’d happened to her? A zillion questions raced
through her mind.

“David,” she called for her husband. Her voice painfully resonated in
her head. “David, where are you?”

She slid off the bed. Her legs wavered beneath her and she clung to the bedpost. Slowly, as she regained her equilibrium, she weaved across the room and peered into the mirror. A massive bandage covered the top her head; black circles ringed her swollen eyes. She didn’t recognize herself. “Boy, I look like hell,” she muttered.

As she raised her hand to touch the bandage, the door behind her
opened, and she spied the reflection of a strange man.

“Mariah, sweetheart. You’re finally awake.” He crossed the room
with open arms.

Taylor spun and faced him. Feeling disoriented, she shook her head. “You have the wrong room, sir.”

His brows arched. “Mariah, what are you talking about? What wrong
room?”

“Look fella, I’m not Mariah. Evidently you’re in the wrong place if
you are looking for someone by that name.”

The stranger rushed over and took her in his arms. “Oh my sweet angel, the bump on your head is worse than Doc Samuels thought.”

Taylor shoved him away. “Take your hands off me. Who is Doc Samuels, and who in the hell are you?”

Suddenly, the room spun. Her stomach turned queasy. Needing to sit, she staggered back to the bed, her gaze still assessing the stranger.

 “I’m Frank…your husband.” He followed her, his head cocked, his eyes clouded in confusion.

She swallowed. “Excuse me? My husband’s name is David...David Morgan. I don’t know who you are, mister, but you must be the one who bumped your head if you think I’m your wife.”

“Well, if you aren’t, then just who might you be?”

“Taylor Morgan. I live in Denver. Can you please tell me where I am?”

“You’re in Colorado, about two hours from Denver City. Don’t you
remember?”

“Two hours? How in the hell did I get here?”

Frank’s eyes widened. “When did you start cussing?”

“Don’t worry about it, just answer me. How did I get here?” Her last nerve frayed, and he plucked at it.

“Don’t you recall? We were going to town in the wagon—”

“Wagon? What the hell would I be doing in a wagon? A station wagon?”

Frank took a deep breath. “We were going to town, and Jacob needed to pee. I think he disturbed some rattlesnakes and they spooked the horses...sound familiar?”

Taylor’s mind raced. Who was this loony?  “Who is Jacob? Wagon? What
horses?" She assaulted him with a barrage of questions. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frank...is it? Look, Frank, I have an idea. Why don’t you just call me a cab and I’ll get out of your way.”

She looked down at the tacky nightgown she wore and wondered who had removed her clothing. Tugging at the sack-like shift, she let out an exasperated huff. “If you’ll just retrieve my things, I’ll get dressed and be ready to go when the taxi arrives."

Sisters in Time is available through Eternal Press and featured on my Amazon page.  I promise you'll be involved.  :)

A Cowboy Six Sentence Sunday

Welcome to Cowboy Kisses, my new western blog.  Last week, I added this site, along with my other one, and neither were linked.  Guess I did something wrong.  This week, I used a different email so we'll see what happens.  Today, I'm going to share another six sentences from Sarah's Journey.  This is one of my favorite books and I hope it will be yours, too.  Sarah and her half-breed hero, Wolf, share a campfire.  He has no idea that earlier, she'd discovered him on the ground, where he'd fallen after being gored by an angry buffalo, and then tried to steal his horse. Her plan didn't exactly work.  :)

Guilt washed over Sarah like pouring rain.  How could she ever admit she left him for dead?  And stole his horse, to boot?  She'd been a fool for even mentioning trying to mount one.  Surely, now that they prepared to travel, the question was going to arise again--where was her horse?  She took a deep breath and smiled nervously across the campfire at him.

Sarah's Journey is available at Eternal Press and on Amazon, and a myraid of other places you might Google.  Now head back to Six Sentence Sunday and follow some more links.

Yep...I'm an author!

I recently did a book signing (of sorts) at the Sparta, TN street fair.  I'm always amazed at how many people ask me if I know the author???  Do people really sit at a table at places like that and sign and sell the work of others?  I tried not to giggle when I announced, "I am the author."

And I am...a real author with more books published than I ever imagined...and I look at them every single day and thank my lucky stars for the publishers who took a chance on me.  Okay, so I'm not published with Harlequin or Avon, but with the popularity of e-readers, more and more folks are discovering me, and I can finally buy a Big Mac instead of just a Happy Meal with one of my royalty checks  :)

 Why was I in Sparta?  I used to live in the area, and I love the beauty of the countryside and the rich historical facts born there.  One of my novels, Sparta Rose, although not a legitimate "western" because it's set on the wrong side of the Mississippi, is filled with the same twangs, hats, and tight jeans that give me goosebumps.

My hero, Ty Bishop, is my epitome of a cowboy, and Ellie Fountain keeps his gut in a knot with her mood swings.  One day she likes him, and hates him the next.  Of course, she thinks he's the son her father always wanted, and Roselle (a name she hates) is bound and determined to show both of them she can do anything a man can do, only better.

One of my favorite scenes is where Ellie has challenged Ty to a "shoot off" to demonstrate her new found skills.  She's been practicing in secret with a gun she bought on the sly, and now she's ready to prove a point.  They're on their way to a place away from the house, but is she getting cold feet?  The book is available from Eternal Press and sold on many sites, including Amazon for your Kindle or I-Pad.  Woot!

Ellie had no doubt her admiration of nature's beauty posed a stall for time.  A definite winter threat iced the air, but the grass around them was just as fresh as the first day of spring.  A few evergreen trees dotted the countryside, but the majority of other had lost their leaves, stretching naked branches skyward.  An occasional rabbit skittered to escape the horses' hooves, and in the distance, a hungry hawk circled over his intended prey.

Ellie turned back to TY and made a sweeping gesture of the landscape.  "Isn't this the most breathtaking sight?"

H nodded, but his gaze never left her face.

They continued to ride, and before long, Ty pointed out a stand of trees.  "Over there.  We should be far enough from the house so w don't disturb your pa."

Disturbing her father was the least of her concerns at the moment.  What had she been thinking, challenging Ty to a contest?  Pas was doing better, but maybe she should use him as an excuse to postpone the match.  She nibbled her bottom lip and sighed.  Ty would see right through that excuse.

Ellie halted Chessie next to the nearest tree, dismounted and secured her reins to a branch low enough to allow the animal to graze.  Suddenly her palms dampened with perspiration.  She bragged about her abilities, and now she had to deliver.  True, her skills had improved, but could she live up to her boasting?

Here again she faced the consequences of using her mouth instead of her brain.  She took a deep breath, turned and braced herself.

Ty had already tethered his horse and busied himself setting up a line of cans along a fallen log.  Ellie found a stump and sat, her heartbeat sounding in her ears.

Ty straightened from his task and glanced over at her.  "You ready?"

She stood on wobbly legs. "I...I guess."

"You don't sound too convincing.  We can call the whole thing off if you aren't feeling sure of yourself."

Oh, that irritating tone in his voice.  Call if off?  Not a chance.  She could do this--she had to do this.  Besides, his attitude was downright insulting.  "I'm quite confident of my abilities, thank you."  Ellie spoke through clenched teeth.

She brush by him and walked to the target area.  With a glance over her shoulder, she feigned confidence.  "So how are we going to do this?"

Ty came and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her.  "We'll take turns.  I've set up the first six targets.  I'll go first so you get the idea."

Ellie stepped to the side to give him room.

Ty's gaze focused on the cans lined atop the log.  Beneath the brim of his dusty hat, determination knit his two brows into one.  He widened his stance and rested a hand on the butt of his revolver.

As soon as his gun cleared leather, a blaze of gunfire ensued.  With lightning precision, Ty masterfully downed five of the six cans, and re-holstered his weapon.  Flashing a cocky smile, he turned to Ellie.  "Well, I must have been distracted on that last one, but five out of six is pretty good, seeing as how it probably only took ten seconds or so."

Ellie exhaled.  There was no denying he'd done a good job.  Her heart really started to pound.  What is she wasn't as skilled as she thought?  While watching Ty set up new cans, she mentally pictured her makeshift target filled with holes made by expertly placed shots.  The whole time she fought rising nausea.

Ty strolled back.  "It's your turn."

Her stomach clenched.

"Thanks.  I kinda figured that," she snapped, surprised by her snippiness.  This was her idea, not his.  She swallowed hard.  "Could you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Can you please stand back a little ways?"  She motioned over her shoulder.  "It distracts me to see you out of the corner of my eye."

"Sure, no problem."  He backed up a few paces.

It didn't help.  He was distracting anywhere, anytime.  Oh, if only her mouth didn't get her into these messes.

Ellie swiped beads of perspiration from her brow.  Despite the brisk air, the pressure of the moment burned beneath her skin.  She wiped the offending moisture on her pant leg, broadened the distance between her feet, and readied herself.  She briskly rubbed her palms together, and since they were in the perfect position, she took a brief second to mutter a silent prayer.  Please God, don't let me make a fool of myself.

With determination, she eyed the cans and locked her fingers around the rosewood grips.  Recalling exactly how she'd riddled the floral material at the old mine, Ellie drew her weapon and fired.  One after another the first four rounds found their mark, but the last two dug deep into the earth beyond the log.  Two cans remained.  Ellie's jaw tightened as she shoved her weapon back into its leather restraint.

"Not bad, not bad at all. I'm impressed," Ty said, with a smug grin.

Perhaps it was his attempt at a compliment, but it sounded more like taunting.  She turned and gave him a forced smile.  "You don't have to rub it in.  You won, I lost.  It's as simple as that."

"I'm not rubbing anything in.  I thought you did a good job under the circumstances."

"And what circumstances are those?"

"You-me...a shoot-off for the first time.  I didn't expect you to hit anything."

"Well, thanks for the confidence.  I am only a woman, after all."  Ellie seethed inside.

"Ah, Ellie, don't get mad.  That's not what I meant.  You wanna try again?"

Her mind screamed no, but her mouth overrode the warning. 

"Sure, set 'em up.  Why not shoot at the same time this round?"


Okay...If I didn't have to type the whole dang thing, I'd show you what happens the second time, but, let me share another tidbit with you...use more than one backup.  When I changed computers, I transferred everything onto a thumb drive, thinking I'd be safe.  Somehow, the darn thing broke, and I lost all my PDF copies.  :(  Picture me pouting.  I have them on my Kindle, but that doesn't help when I need to cut and paste an excerpt.  Oh well...another example of live and learn.  Hope to see you back.