Showing posts with label Guest on Cowboy Kisses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guest on Cowboy Kisses. Show all posts

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Sandra Jones - Guest Author at Cowboy Kisses - #Giveaway

Mississippi River Gamblers


by Sandra Jones


Personally, I’m a pitiful card player—usually the last person anyone wants as a partner at the table. But I think that’s why I admire the psychological skill and brilliance of players like George Devol and Canada Bill Jones.









George De Vol

While researching for my new historical romance, Her Wicked Captain, I read an autobiography written by Devol, entitled Forty Years A Gambler on the Mississippi. In this 1887 memoir, the card sharp paints vivid pictures of his escapades (whether imagined or real) including high-stakes games, lost loves, and fights with dangerous opponents.

According to Devol, he was a runaway living on a riverboat by age ten. By fourteen, he knew how to stack a deck of cards, and he eventually bilked players out of thousands of dollars without remorse. Yes, he was a cheat.

Canada Bill Jones

A contemporary and partner of Devol’s, Jones was born in Yorkshire and migrated to Canada and later Mississippi looking for bigger games.  He’s been said to be the greatest of all riverboat gamblers at the three-card-monte. His cunning, charm, and sense of charity were all attributes I included when I created the riverboat gambling hero of Her Wicked Captain. In fact, it was probably Jones’s sense of selflessness that made him the target of George Devol when his longtime friend attempted to cheat him, thus causing the end of their business dealings together. Afterward, Jones worked his way from boats to railways, moving west and attempting to open gaming establishments. He died of consumption by age 40.



My Visit to New Orleans in May for the RT Booklovers’ Convention and a “Floating Palace”





Excerpt

If he hadn’t introduced himself, Dell wouldn’t have recognized him. Her childhood memories came in spurts and flickers like sparks drifting up from a burning log, to vanish into the void of a black sky. She recalled how big everything had seemed—her mama’s dressing room, the nice bed where she slept the day away, and the giant paddle wheels as the steamboats came into port. How the kids would come running from the city streets to gather around each arriving ship like a swarm of giddy flies, and the older girls would wave at her friend—her playmate, Rory.
“Gory Rory. You ate a pollywog catfish? Ew!” She’d once teased. Gory Rory? Had she really called him that?
Presently, the captain’s strong arms went around her as he lifted her over the rail. His hands lingered on her sides a moment past propriety.
Flushing, she stepped aside. “Thank you.”
He winked at her and helped hoist the rest of the party up from the keelboat onto the packet’s leaning deck. Standing behind her cousins, Dell could still feel the branding on her ribs where his hands had touched her. She willed herself not to panic, but her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. She couldn’t hide, nor could she return to the riverbank, though every second she stood under his nose was another second he might recognize her.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
The steamboat’s whistle rattled to life, and she jerked as if she’d been shot, grabbing the rail. The deafening roars and metallic tones sounded overhead as she gritted her teeth. She vaguely recalled standing too near as a babe, and now fought the instinct to cover her ears like the wailing brat she’d been back then.
For whatever reason, her mama had moved her hundreds of miles away, leaving their home and her husband, Quintus Moreaux. Now here was his former ward, Rory Campbell, standing more than six foot tall with wide shoulders and a rogue’s grin, less than eight feet away.
He and the freedman gave the final visitor, Mr. Gaskin, a boost onto the boat. The lumber mill owner joked that he’d gladly salvage the boards of the vessel, to which Rory declined with rich laughter and clapped a hand on his back.
The shy Rory that Dell remembered had soft, boyish round cheeks, and wasn’t able to put together more than two words around her pretty mother. The confident man standing before them now wore a shadow of golden whiskers on a rigid jaw, but he had the same eyes, the color of green bottle glass lit by sunlight. While the others headed for the bow, her former friend singled her out, sharing his infectious smile.
He bowed slightly, gesturing with his hat. “Ladies first.”
Dell ran unsteady hands down the pleats of her dusty clothes to chase away the twinges of her stomach. She mustn’t call attention to herself. If she lost her composure, he would surely figure out she was Eleanor’s bastard daughter, fathered by one of Moreaux’s black workers. One word from him about her mixed blood, and the town would turn on her.
“Thank you,” she murmured again and glided past, keeping her head down. She felt his measuring gaze, and her chest heated in response.
Sarah and Nathaniel were just steps ahead with the preacher, weaving from the rail, straining to see as much of the vessel as possible. Dell hurried to catch up. Rory’s tread creaked ominously on the deck behind her.


Book Blurb

She played right into his hands. Possessing uncanny people-reading skills like her mama, Philadelphia “Dell” Samuels has spent thirteen years in her aunt’s rustic Ozarks home, telling fortunes over playing cards and trying to pass as white. But the treacherous Mississippi River childhood her mama dragged her away from finally catches up to her on a steamboat captained by her old friend Rory Campbell.

Known to his crew as the Devil’s Henchman, Rory is a gambler in need of a miracle. Following the cold trail of his boss’s wife and bastard daughter, Dell, Rory has only one goal in mind: saving his crew from the boss’s cruelty by ruining him. The only one who can defeat the Monster of the Mississippi is the man trained to take his place. Rory’s convinced he can lure his boss into a high-stakes game against a rival, and with Dell’s people-reading skills, the monster will lose everything.

Under Rory’s tutelage and protection, Dell agrees to the tortured captain’s plan. Passion and peril quickly bring them together as lovers. But when Rory’s plan goes awry, the lives of the innocent depend on Dell’s ability to read the situation correctly—and hopefully save them all.


Buy Links

Author Info
Historical romance author Sandra Jones was born and raised in Arkansas. She loves living in a cabin overlooking White River where she enjoys watching eagles and dreaming about the adventurous frontiersmen who once traveled past in steamboats. When she’s not reading, writing or researching, she’s the cook for her cranky old tom cat, her husband of more than 25 years, and her two grown sons. She also loves to chat with her fans.


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Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Under the Dirt & Grime…by Amber Bentley

 Please blow Amber a Cowboy Kiss.  We hope once she has her contemporary cowboy romance written, she'll come back and let us know more about it.  Welcome, Amber. - Ginger


 Under the Dirt & Grime ~ Why We Love Cowboys

            As I embark to a different writing pace (contemporary cowboy romance), I've been considering a lot about this new series. And of my love for the historical cowboy.
            The cowboys of old had a protective nature. No one, absolutely no one, was getting to their wife or children (sisters and mothers, for that matter,too) unless they were dead. Ahh, the chivalry that makes us all sigh. They worked long hours trying to keep their homes (the outside), land, barns, livestock and so on. Failure, in that time, was such a high price to pay.
            Who would want to see their children go to bed with grumbling stomachs because they were hungry? When gardens didn't grow, livestock died or were stolen – there was serious impact. If there was a drought, it was tough all around.
            Even in the historical romance books, we often portray cowboys as smelling like leather, even whiskey (or something similar). Maybe the cowboy had a bit of dirt covering him and some sweat coming from his forehead. (Think stunning slow motion entrance of what is supposed to be the hottest guy ever laid eyes upon.) However, more than likely, in that time, he was head to toes in grime and some kind of livestock poop. His cowboy hat probably smelled worse than he did.
            More to think on, within a family, men would often take a bath first. Wives and children after – in the same water. It kind of makes you wonder how clean anyone really got.
            Still, even when faced with the hard truth of cowboys past, you can't help but feel some twinge. Some spark. Some desire to have known the over-protective, hard-working cowboy.
            Though today's women profess to be tough, capable of doing anything a man can. Most of all, not needing a man to provide for them or to protect them. I find myself disagreeing.
            Yes, I've been independent for ages. I've taken care of myself. I've worked hard.
            But some part of me longs for times of old. Of not having to be the strong one. Of having that protective, strong man there to take some of the burden from my own shoulders. The time when it was okay for a woman to cry.
            Historical cowboys were often thin. But don't let that make you think them weak. The hard work put a tough ruggedness on them that no gym could ever deliver.
       
     Moving forward to my new venture – writing that contemporary cowboy romance series – the modern day cowboy is portrayed as a centerfold hottie, thick with ripped muscled and an 8-pack set of abs. As though he was pulled right from the gym (which he likely was).
            I'm documenting my journey (on my blog, tagged as City to Country) into actual hands on research for this new series. I'm relocating to a “farm” town. There I've got a few friends that have friends that are willing to turn this city girl into a country one. I'll be going hands on behind the scenes at rodeos, getting a close up look at ranches, livestock and the work that goes into them. As well as the cattle auctions and so much more.
            And real modern day cowboys.
            Will I find they're just like every other man? Or will I find that chivalry isn't completely dead?
            I think, one of the main things I'll find to be true, even in this later time period – being a cowboy, especially a rodeo cowboy, is a lonely rode. Many ranchers still work sun up to sun down and come in to eat dinner exhausted. On the rodeo side, I can't imagine too many girls tying themselves to a rodeo cowboy. Months gone at a time, chasing one rodeo to another trying to be that big winner.
           
We'll see if the new cowboys can live up to my love for the historical ones.

My Blog - http://neversquatwithyourspurson2014.blogspot.com/

Thursday, June 27, 2013

A Big Cowboy Welcome to Merry Farmer



Cows and Romance

What on earth do cows have to do with Romance?  If you look on the cover of my latest novel, Fool for Love, you’ll see a beautiful picture of cows in a pasture along with a handsome couple.  It’s a pretty, pastoral scene, but cows?  Not exactly romantic, eh?

Actually, cows have played a major role in one of the most famous and romanticized professions of the Old West, the cowboy.  Romance novels abound with cowboys.  What could be more romantic than a rugged young man living his life on the open range, embracing freedom and independence, complete with well-formed muscles, deeply tanned skin, and a dazzling smile that would melt the heart of any heroine.  There is a whole mythos surrounding the cowboy that tickles our fancy.

The hero of Fool for Love, Eric Quinlan, was a cowboy.  He’s got everything your classic cowboy could want: good looks, an independent spirit, and a love for the outdoors and his cattle that lead him into some pretty dicey situations.  And the hat.  Eric definitely has the hat.  But wait a minute, didn’t I just say he was a cowboy?  What happened?  Isn’t he still roaming the open ranch, rustling cattle and driving them to market?

Well, the story is set in 1896.  As Eric mentions to one of the other characters, he used to participate in long cattle drives in his youth, but the days of the open range are long over.  Yep, Eric is a cowboy at the end of the Age of Cowboys.  But how exactly did the Age of Cowboys start and why did it end?

When the American West opened to settlers beginning in the late 1840s it was – to the white man’s eyes – a vast, open land full of wild country, perfect for grazing.  This was before the territory was organized into states.  It was the perfect place to raise livestock with which to feed the growing population back east.  Entrepreneurial ranchers from Texas to Montana saw the opportunity and jumped on it.  They brought herds of all sorts of cattle out west to grow, fatten, and reproduce.

These herds would roam the untamed land, the open range.  They would be marked by their owners and rounded up when the time was right by cowboys.  It was the cowboy’s job to gather their boss’s cattle and to drive them to one of the few railheads for transportation back east.  It was a business that was as lucrative as mining.  Granted, the ethics of the practice could be questioned as the land wasn’t really “free and open”, but rather the ancestral territory of the Native Americans.  But for the purposes of this post, I won’t open that can of worms. (But boy will it be opened with the next book in my Montana Romance series, In Your Arms!)

But as I mentioned, by the time Eric Quinlan is facing the struggles to keep his ranch in Fool for Love, by the 1890s, the era of the open range was over.  There was no more need to let cattle roam freely and then have them driven to railheads by cowboys.  By the 1890s that way of thinking was obsolete.

A few factors led to the end of the Age of Cowboys.  As the railroad expanded, there were more railheads at which cattle could be loaded onto trains and transported east, or even west to California.  With the railroad so close by, there was no need for the long cattle drives that cowboys had traditionally overseen.  At the same time, the once unorganized territory of the west was being divided, administrated, and granted statehood.  Montana itself became a state in 1889.  With more and more of the land being owned by states or individuals, what was once free grazing for cattle became trespassing.

But the biggest change that ended the open range was a revolutionary little invention in the 1880s that we take for granted: barbed wire.  Yes, a few little twists of metal brought about the end of cowboys.  Barbed wire was cheap and easy to produce and erect.  It made it possible for ranch owners to enclose their territory and mark it apart from the territory of their neighbors. Suddenly cattle no longer wandered indiscriminately on the untamed land.  Now they lived and graze in carefully marked areas belonging to their owner.


Granted, cowboys didn’t disappear.  What a travesty that would have been!  Instead they became as enclosed as the cattle they looked after.  Like Eric, they became ranch owners, concentrating their efforts on their own herds on their own land.  Or else they became the men who worked for industrious ranchers like Eric.  But life wasn’t always easy and ranches weren’t always secure, as Eric finds out in Fool for Love.  But I’ll leave you to read about that yourself.

Links to Merry Farmer:

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Twitter: @merryfarmer20




Book links:


The Loyal Heart








The Faithful Heart








The Courageous Heart


Saturday, January 12, 2013

A Cowboy Kiss Welcome to Alison Henderson


Digging up Dinosaurs in 1870’s Wyoming


When my daughter was little, she was a huge fan of PBS’s Reading Rainbow. One of the books, Mummies Made in Egypt by Aliki, stirred her fascination with ancient Egypt and led to her present PhD studies in Egyptology. She’s the poster child for the value of reading as a young child. That book literally set the course of her life.

Another favorite by the same author was Digging up Dinosaurs. While my daughter didn’t decide to become a paleontologist, we were both intrigued by the detailed descriptions and drawings of the work of excavating, preserving, and displaying the fossils of North America’s earliest residents. Nineteenth century Americans were even more enthusiastic about dinosaurs. In fact, two eminent professors, O. C. Marsh and E. D. Cope, were downright fanatical.

Marsh
Othniel Charles Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope met in 1864 and started their academic careers as amiable colleagues—Marsh at Yale and Cope at Haverford College. However, soon their opposing temperaments and scientific views (not to mention enormous egos and ambitions) threw them into a bitter rivalry, and Marsh’s public humiliation of Cope for pointing out that he’d attached the head of a major specimen to the tail instead of the neck didn’t help.

In the early 1870’s, word came east of exciting new fossil finds in Kansas, Nebraska, and Wyoming. Cope set off on his first trip to Wyoming in 1872, while Marsh led groups of Yale students on several fossil hunting expeditions, one guided by William “Buffalo Bill” Cody himself and accompanied by armed soldiers to keep the native tribes at bay. It was in Como Bluff, not far from Medicine Bow, that the professors’ rivalry reached its peak.

Marsh received a letter in August of 1879 from a pair of bone hunters calling themselves Harlow and Edwards. (In reality, they were railroad employees whose real names were Carlin and Reed.) The men described several enormous bones they had dug from a “secret” fossil bed and offered to sell the specimens, as well as their excavation services, to Marsh.

Marsh acted quickly but not before Cope was drawn into the fray as Carlin and Reed attempted to play the two against each other in search of the highest bidder. Over the next few years, carloads of fossils were shipped east by rail as the rivals lobbed accusations of theft, sabotage, and double dealing at each other. Eventually, the paleontologists wore themselves out and exhausted their fortunes in their attempts to win the “Bone Wars”.

My latest novella, The Treasure of Como Bluff, takes place in the fall of 1879, and features O.C. Marsh, as well as Harlow and Edwards, as secondary characters.  Here’s the blurb:

In her race against rival bone hunters, the last complication paleontologist Caroline Hubbard needs is an unconscious stranger cluttering up her dig site. Nicholas Bancroft might have the chiseled features and sculpted physique of a classical statue, but she's not about to let him hamper her quest to unearth a new species of dinosaur and make her mark on the scientific world.

Nick has come to Wyoming in search of silver but, after a blow to the head, finds himself at the mercy of a feisty, determined female scientist. Despite his insistence that he's just passing through, he agrees to masquerade as Caroline's husband to help save her job. Once their deception plays out, they face a crucial decision. Will they be able to see beyond their separate goals and recognize the treasure right in front of them?

It’s a humorous story set during a fascinating time in American history and features a hero who spends entirely too much time in a pink sunbonnet. I invite you to check it out.

Alison Henderson