Dudes, City Slickers, and Guest Ranches

My current work in progress is set on the Broken J Dude Ranch in Wyoming. This fictitious ranch is where my first series was born and has been given a new lease on life by a descendent of The Cattleman's Daughters.  I knew from book three of that original series that this would be the final outcome for the ranch and had a wonderful time recreating the old, run-down ranch into a Dude Ranch on the plains of Wyoming when Whispers in Wyoming was born.

Wild mare and foal, Roosevelt National Park

I don't know about you, but I have always thought it would a real adventure to visit a Dude Ranch, but where did they get their start?  Surprisingly enough, Dude Ranches actually started in the 1880s. Yep, all the way back there folks from the East were fascinated with ranch life. The first recorded Dude Ranch was established in the Badlands of North Dakota and caught the attention of Teddy Roosevelt when he read a published letter in the newspaper. Howard Eaton and his brothers established the Custer Trail Ranch and opened it up for friends and family to visit. Roosevelt was drawn to the ranch where he set about riding, hunting, and fishing.  (This ranch is now part of the Roosevelt National Park.)


Originally this ranch was funded only by its cattle production, but as more and more people visited to enjoy the adventure, the Eatons found it harder to provide that sought after cowboy hospitality. It was actually one of the visiting guests who suggested paying for room and board at the ranch and soon the high quality of guest care was up to ten dollars a week and soon this was their livelihood.

Trail ride with friends, Florida

The harsh winter of 1886 prompted other ranches in Montana and Wyoming to also try their hand at Dude Ranching. As Yellowstone National Park drew more visitors and the railroad continued to expand ranchers found that more people were interested in visiting a working cattle ranch. Soon these ranches partnered with the railroads as guest stops along the way, both benefiting from increased rail travel and visits.

In 1926 The Dude Rancher's Association was established. After  lengthy discussions, the association set forth these five objectives:

1. Establish cooperation among ranchers and railroad officials
2. Discuss the transportation and proper care of guests
3. Create advertising and publicity for the association
4. Standardize practices
5. Create an efficient sales organization                       

 Soon they had added a sixth: "Having agreed to all five objectives, the ranchers added a sixth - the organized protection of fish and game."

 Modern-day Dude ranches still pride themselves on hospitality, fun activities, and the great outdoors experience. Although the modern era offers a wider range of activities, and even great comfort, the spirit of the Dude Ranch continues to be all about home on the range.

Coming Soon! 

The Cattleman's Daughters

Sources: https://duderanch.org/history
https://www.clazyu.com/blog/working-dude-ranch/what-is-a-dude-ranch-a-brief-history/

CHRISTMAS IN JULY: THE WHEN, WHO, AND WHY ~ By: Andrea Downing

 Ever wonder where the concept of having Christmas in July came from? I did, so I did a bit of on-line research.

The first mention of a Christmas in July is apparently in the 1894 French opera, Werther, based on a book by Goethe. In the story, a group of children rehearse a Christmas song in July; apparently, in the book, Christmas is mentioned but there’s nothing about July.  Whether this had any influence on the general development of ‘Christmas in July’ is, to me, rather doubtful.

A more likely influence is the groups of vaudevillians who gathered at so-called actors’ colonies once the theatres closed for the summer due to the heat. In the time before air-conditioning, actors would take a summer break at  vacation camps and, because they had been working over December, they enjoyed celebrating Christmas in July.  This first occurred around 1915, and the celebration was complete with tree, Santa, and presents.

As vaudeville slowly disappeared from the theatrical scene around 1930, a girl’s camp in North Carolina, Camp Keystone, took up the idea around 1933, again complete with presents and so forth. By 1935, the idea was fairly widespread throughout summer camps.  But it was a Hollywood movie in 1940 actually titled Christmas in July that brought the idea to the nation’s attention. By 1942, a Washington, DC, church took on the idea with services in the summer broadcast over the radio.

Then, in 1944, the U.S. Postal Service along with branches of the Armed Forces threw a luncheon in NYC in July to bring attention to the need for early mailing of Christmas cards to service men and women overseas. By 1950, Christmas in July was a popular marketing tool and used in advertising. The main idea was to clear the shelves to begin getting ready for the real Christmas. It has also become a good chance for our friends in the Southern Hemisphere to have a little Christmas celebration during their winter, while those of us in the Northern Hemisphere sit back and enjoy repeats of Christmas specials on TV and open those Christmas-themed books we didn’t have a chance to get to read last Christmas.

Such as… 

A Christmas Carole

Carrie Matheson is happy to start a new life at the Wyoming ranch she has inherited, but her six-year-old son wants to return to New York. As Christmas approaches and his pleas to Santa receive replies, it’s alarm bells, not sleigh bells that start ringing.
            Tate Schrugge is amused by his new neighbor when she jogs over with some mis- delivered mail, but after she calls him Scrooge, she’s definitely not on his Christmas list.
            If these two can get together, it might be the Dickens of a romance.

 

Just .99 at  https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Carole-Dickens-Romance-ebook/dp/B08BT1MC76/

 

 

EXCERPT:

Carrie jogged in place so she could make the run back to her ranch, and knocked with a somewhat heavy hand on the front door. Footsteps sounded from inside and Carrie pulled the letters out from her pack, scanned them briefly before the door opened and revealed a stout woman.

This person smiled a welcome as she stood giving Carrie the once over, and then took a step back.

Carrie continued her jogging. “Uh. Mrs. Scrooge…I mean, Schrugge?”

The woman’s face abruptly changed. “You call anyone around here Scrooge and you’ll be the one wishing for Christmas past. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry. Sorry, only these letters were mistakenly left over at the Lazy M so I—”

“Hetty? Do you need me?” A deep, rich voice came from further inside the house, followed by the soft tread of socked feet approaching.

Carrie was trying to continue to jog in place but nearly tripped over her own feet when the owner of the voice appeared. She found herself peering up at about six foot three of brown-haired, blue-eyed, chiseled cowboy. Somewhat embarrassed, she noted his gaze run over her from her baseball cap to her sneakers and back up again, a suppressed smile on his face before he spoke. She swiped a line of sweat winding its way down from under her cap.

“Uh.” He seemed at a loss for words. “Can I help?”

Hetty’s knuckled fist sat on her expansive waist and she shook her head. “She’s brought letters from the Lazy M.”

He looked confused. “An invitation?”

Was there the merest glimmer of hope in his voice? “No, um . . . letters meant for you were mistakenly put in my box.” Carrie handed over the pile. “I mean, I’m sure if I were inviting . . .or having a party—oh hell, I mean, I’m sure—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get hold of yourself, will you, and stop jiggling about like that for a second.”  Hetty shook her head in dismay, then looked up to the rancher. “I’ll leave Miss Smelly Neon Bright with you to sort out, I’ve got work to do.” And with that, she waddled away.

Carrie took in a deep breath and started again. “Sorry. The letters were left in our mailbox so I brought them over. That’s all.”

“Got it the first time. Or maybe it was the second.”  His gaze examined her once more and his brow wrinkled. “You said ‘our box’. Are you…?”

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself. Carrie Matheson.” She extended her damp hand and the cowboy grasped it.

“Tate.”

Carrie noticed he didn’t give his last name, but then again, he didn’t have to since she had his letters.

“I was sorry to hear about Tom’s passing. You must’ve been very close.”

“Well. No, actually, he was my father’s older brother and we rarely saw him.”

“Oh.”

“But he left me the ranch I guess as his only relative, so I’m here now.”

“I can see that.”

Carrie stood in stupefied embarrassment for a moment before she tried to jog once more. “Well. I better be off. I’m running.”

“Yeah. I can see that, too. I was sort of hoping that wasn’t your normal attire.”

Carrie caught her breath and had to stop herself from smacking him. The nerve! He probably never wore anything other than jeans and a checked shirt. Even if those jeans did fit remarkably well, and the blue checked shirt brought out his eyes. She glared at him one long instant before stepping off the porch to leave. Then she twisted back to him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Scrooge.”

 

THE HIKE

I'm sharing a piece I wrote earlier this year. 

THE HIKE, AND A LESSON?

Post by Doris McCraw
writing as Angela Raines

Trying to get through the clutter in my mind.
Photo property of the author

I pondered what I would write about this month. The world has taken on a new aspect which begs the question, do I write about pandemics in the past? In truth, I would rather not focus on the negative, there is enough of that already.

For me, the best part of this time is having the ability to go for long walks/hikes. Before I started working at home, I found it hard to get out and wander around for long periods of time. Now with this extra time on my hands, I can spend that extra time outdoors which allows my imagination and research time to come to the fore.

One particular hike brought home the journey I decided to take when I followed a dream of writing. On this particular hike, I decided to try a trail I'd not traversed before. As is my pattern I chose the incline part of the trail first. As I headed upward, pausing of course to take photos of things that caught my eye, my mind likened it to the upper trajectory one makes when they decide to try something new.

The start of the trail
Photo property of the author.

As the trail leveled out and I thought to myself this is how writing and publishing should be. You've put in the effort and the story is flowing. Soon a publisher is preparing to launch that book or short story. But, as with all trails and dreams, the easy part can fool you.

As I started on the downward portion of the trail I was distracted by voices of young people giggling, laughing, and their music blaring, cutting into the beautiful silence that allowed my thoughts to flow. I thought this was much like the chatter of my own mind telling me that I couldn't do it, what was I thinking, I was a fool to follow my dream. Then, I turned a corner and the noise with cut off by the trees and rocks of the trail.

Photo property of the author

Up ahead I saw a bench and I'd covered quite a distance so I sat to rest. The trail was silent, and there were few people out on the trail that day. I sat and listened to the breeze through the trees, the birds singing and talking to one another. There was a rustling in the leaves behind and to the side of me but nothing frightening.

View from the top of the trail
Photo property of the author

Once I'd caught my breath and relaxed I resumed the hike. I shortly was at a point where I ran into a very rocky,, uneven part of the trail. What a wake-up call. Now in my mind, this part of the trail was like all the marketing, the platforms, and all the other parts of being an author that one does not think of when they just want to tell their stories. But, I had come too far to turn around and retrace my steps. It was easier to continue on, so I did.

Should I go on, or return the way I came?
Photo property of the author

Eventually, the trail smoothed out, I came out of the trees and looked at the vistas in front and to my sides. Walking back to my car I realized this long hike had given me perspective on myself and my career as a writer. I made it through the trail and I guess I'm going to make it through as an author.

The end is in sight
Photo property of the author

Perhaps you've had a similar journey. Sometimes the desire to finish what you started is what keeps you going, and after so long, it's better to stay the course instead of stopping.

For those who wonder, I'm still out hiking, taking photos, and thinking about the writing projects I'm finishing and the ones I hope to start. It's a good time.

Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet

Books: Angela Raines Books

Angela Raines FaceBook: Click Here

GTT GONE TO TEXAS

I've lived in Texas most of my life, but a few generations back, my folks moved here from the Carolinas. I don’t have a wealth of information as to why they came, but I’ll share with you what I do know later on in the blog. Bottom line, I can’t say I blame them for coming, there is a lot in Texas to like.

At present, I’ll show you my current location on Lake Travis in Austin. I’m sitting on my back porch – with three dogs – as we watch deer ambling around about twelve feet in front of us.

                              

It’s hot, but the grass I can see is green (thanks to the golf course people) and there are birds singing. I can’t hear all of the birds because I have a Swamp Cooler running full blast about three feet to my right. The reason for the swamp cooler is due to the 89-degree temp that feels like 94 with the heat index. Unfortunately, this isn’t the hottest part of the day.

Nevertheless – there is an appeal to Texas.

Wide-open plains, thick pine forests, pounding surf of the Gulf, even the northern part of the Chihuahuan Desert makes an appearance in the Big Bend Country. And of course – there’s the BBQ, the tacos, the Tex-Mex – not to mention the cowboys. So, Texas has its appeal.
             
                                            

This fall - if these were normal days – on the eve of the first full day of classes at the University of Texas, thousands of excited freshmen would gather in front of the tower for ‘Gone to Texas’, a huge celebration of their official start as a Longhorn and all things Texas. But that phrase ‘Gone to Texas’ isn’t new, it has a long and colorful history. 

If you’re familiar with Clint Eastwood’s movie The Outlaw Josey Wales, then you might not be surprised to learn it was based on a novel with the title GONE TO TEXAS. Nevertheless, the theme and texture of that movie defines the term that came to mean more than the sum of its words.

                               

In the early 1800’s, Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee, and the Carolinas were jumping-off places for immigrants. I know mine migrated to the Carolinas from England, Ireland, France, and Scotland – yes, I’m a Gaelic mutt. From those regions, beginning in the early 1800’s someone was always leaving their settlement and going west to Texas. When their absence was noted, it was always said they’d ‘gone to Texas’. This expression became so common place it was abbreviated to GTT.

I was born to middle-aged parents, who were, themselves, born to middle-aged parents – so the scope of memory in my immediate family was vast. Pioneer days and Civil War memories were fairly fresh in their minds. Thus, those things became more real to me. The concept of ‘Gone to Texas’ was one I was familiar with. One of my grandparents explained it to me, not as an amusing historical anecdote, but as something that was part of our family history. Unfortunately, I am in the minority. Other than the UT grads I know well, most people I know have never heard the term – and that’s a shame.  

One of the first references I could find of ‘Gone to Texas’ was in 1825 when Missouri was seeking to fill vacancies in their state legislature. The article states that one of the openings was due to a Colonel Palmer who had taken French leave and gone to Texas. French leave was the same as AWOL or absent without leave.  

In 1830, a Texan named Dewees wrote to a friend in New York. “It would amuse you very much could you hear the manner in which people in this new country address each other. It is nothing uncommon for us to inquire of a man why he ran away from the States to come to Texas. Strangely enough, few persons feel insulted by such a question. They generally answer for some crime or other which they have committed; if they deny having committed any crime, and say they did not run away, they are generally looked upon rather suspiciously.”

The phrase rose to popularity in the 1840’s, around the time the big land grant companies were offering 640 acres of land to heads of households and half that to single men. This was done to attract immigrant families to Texas. In my family, as in many others, the old tale is that they left their home and scrawled ‘GTT’ in chalk over the cabin door and on the fence post. 

One phase of my family’s immigration occurred after the panic of 1819, they were running from debt and ruin when the sawmill where they worked in the Appalachian Hills of North Carolina went out of business. They lost their livelihood and their land. Fortunately, they brought along a lot of hill country wisdom and Granny Witch magic when they fled the highlands to come to the lowlands of deep East Texas. The second wave of Clarks, Dickersons, Whites and Boulwares who left South Carolina for Texas did so to escape the devastation of loss of their farms after the Civil War. To them, Texas seemed like a mythical paradise with its draw of cheap or free land, plenty of room to stretch out, and an opportunity to start over.   Like my folks, many of the immigrants who headed west were pioneers searching for a new start. This ideal was true in the case of men who later became important in Texas history such as William Barret Travis (I live in Travis County) and Davy Crockett. They saw Texas as a land of opportunity. Sadly, they gave their lives at the Alamo. 

                                                    

Alas, there was another type of GTT-ers – those who were in trouble with the law, like James Bowie, and others who were outright criminals. Texas appealed to them because of its lack of an extradition treaty with the US. They’d ‘Gone to Texas’ to get away from their past or escape the long arm of the law.

The vast expanse of Texas provided many with the opportunity to leave mistakes behind or to migrate to a new place where they could continue their nefarious activities unmolested. I spent my childhood in the Redlands of Texas, a band of land adjacent to the Louisiana border that includes Shelby, San Augustine, and the northern reaches of Sabine County. In the olden days, this stretch of river bottom was known as NO MAN’S LAND. The place was a haven for outlaws and pirates, most notably Jean Lafitte. Of course, rumors of lost treasure abound, just as it does where I live now in Central Texas.

Here in the Hill Country, reminders of days gone by are everywhere and they draw me like a magnet. Not far from my house is LONGHORN CAVERNS, a place where outlaws hid out from the law and there’s DEAD MAN’S HOLE a few miles from me in Marble Falls where they threw many to their deaths who dared be Union sympathizers in the days leading up to and even past the Civil War. 

In time, sadly enough, GTT came to mean the same as at outs with the law. In 1884 Thomas Hughes observed, “When we want to say that it is all up with some fellow, we just say, ‘G.T.T.’ as you’d say, ‘gone to the devil,’ or ‘gone to the dogs.’ Many folks would add those letters behind the name of every rascal who skipped town, like someone would add Sr. or Jr. or the III behind a name.

In my mind, however, I think I’ll stick to the more romantic concept. I chose to celebrate this ideal of leaving one life behind to begin another by creating the Wild West series about seven men who left Tennessee after the Civil War and headed west to Texas. For two stories with a GTT theme, check out KING’S FANCY and RENO’S JOURNEY. These aren’t your run of the mill historical westerns. One is a mail-order bride story and the other is a time-travel.

Stay safe and thanks for reading.

Sable Hunter, GTT – ha!

                                                               Sable's Amazon page
                                                               Sable's Facebook page
                                                                  Sable's Instagram

The Wild Woman who entered a burning building to save plants

By Jacqui Nelson

Prepare to get flowery or...plant-y! I love flowers, plants, trees, and— Well, maybe I should just say, I love botany. And I also love reading about real-life Wild Women of the West who pursued their love for botany ❤️

Alice Eastwood was one of those women. She lived in Canada, Colorado, and California...traveled from Alaska to Arizona to collect plants...and even entered a burning building to rescue her collection.

~ * ~

Alice Eastwood  
( born 1859 in Toronto, Canada ) 

Alice in 1910

In 1873, Alice moved with her family from Canada to Denver, Colorado. Six years later, she graduated as valedictorian from Shawa Convent Catholic High School. For the next ten years, she taught students at Shawa instead of pursuing her own college education. During this time, she taught herself botany by reading publications such as Grey's Manual and The Flora of Colorado.

In 1887, her growing reputation in botany led to her being suggested as the only person in Denver who could competently guide Alfred Russel Wallace up Grays Peak to collect alpine flowers. Wallace was a seasoned explorer and talented naturalist from England who independently conceived the theory of evolution through natural selection and then jointly published it with Charles Darwin. 

Alice was a publishing powerhouse in her own right. She published over 310 scientific articles and authored 395 plant species names (the fourth-highest number of such names authored by any female scientist). Seventeen species are named for her as well as the genera Eastwoodia (in the sunflower family) and Aliciella (in the phlox family).

In San Francisco, Alice not only built the California Academy of Sciences’ botanical collection but saved it during the 1906 earthquake. Ignoring her era’s curatorial conventions, she stored her specimens by type and not scattered throughout the main collection. This system allowed her to enter a burning building and swiftly retrieve nearly 1500 of her specimens.

California Academy of Sciences in 2008

Alice continuously added to the California Academy of Sciences’ collection by going on numerous plant collecting vacations in Alaska, Arizona, Utah, and Idaho. From 1891 to 1894, she worked at the Academy as an assistant and then a joint curator. After 1894 and until her retirement in 1949, she served as its Head of the Department of Botany.

~ * ~

Wow! That’s a busy life. Tending the germanium “jungle” on my balcony (and strolling by the beautiful gardens in my neighborhood) is as much as I feel I’m capable of doing at the moment. But if I could go on a plant exploration trip with someone like Alice, I’d jump at the chance.

How about you? 
Would you venture far from home to collect plants? 

And if you know a present-day botanist like Alice (who likes to guide people to see plants), then let me know. One day soon, I'm hoping to go beyond my germanium “jungle” and explore the vast world of plants...like a Wild Woman of the West 🤠

~ * ~

Read more of my Cowboy Kisses Wild Women blog posts 

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Entering the Pulitzer Prize by Rhonda Frankhouser

Pulitzer Prize

Every writer, no matter what level, or what genre, knows what winning a Pulitzer Prize would mean to their career. I'm no exception. My first love is Western Romance, but I do dabble in what I would consider, literary fiction. It's that little part of me that prompted this article. I'm sharing it with all of you because I truly believe every writer has the right to dream. 

May 4, 2020, the winners of the Pulitzer Prize were announced via an online Zoom feed from Columbia University. It took twenty excruciating minutes of listening to the dozen other categories before the fiction winner was read.

I held my breath and prayed. Up until the moment, I really believed I could win. My heart wrenching novel, Beyond Forever, ticked every emotional and literary box. There was absolutely no reason it couldn’t take the prize.

If by some miracle, my entry was announced, even as a finalist, it could change my life. Up until then I allowed myself to believe my honest story of the last day of a young woman’s life could compete with the works from the great literary minds of our generation.

Beyond Forever

 But let’s start this story from the beginning…

My entry, Beyond Forever, is loosely based on my very own battle with cancer. The sentiment and fear that poured onto those pages came directly from my heart and soul. I created a fictional character living through a fictional scenario of dying at the age of thirty-three, leaving behind the love of her life, and a dysfunctional family who needed her.

I cried through writing the entire first draft. It was painful, yet so cathartic. Ironically, it was never meant to be a novel at all as I was never meant to be an author. My career, and the miracle of the birth of this book were borne of this experience. During a woman’s retreat in the mountains, I asked a friend to read a very rough copy of the story to show how I had written away my own fear of dying. In tears, she demanded I send the manuscript away to agents right away.

And send I did. I had three agents interested. That was unheard of for a first-time author, and it boosted my confidence to the moon, though, that excitement was very short lived.

My hopes of becoming a published author went down with the planes on September 11, 2001. Along with the mourning nation, editors were looking for happy endings. Don’t get me wrong, Beyond Forever, leaves open a door of hope in the end, but publishers shelved my manuscript for another time when our people could handle the struggles faced in this book.

I understood, but I was devastated to say the least.

Some two decades later, the time finally came to publish the long-anticipated novel. I worked feverishly with a very attuned editor to bring a dual perspective to the dying experience. Lily, a young advice columnist, and her ever-dedicated, ever-loving, ever-protective husband, David. I wanted their love to be one for all to emulate. Experiencing the final transition and the closures, then finally the hope for another chance, through both of their eyes, brought a new layer of realism to this sad, yet beautiful final day.

This brings us back to the day I noticed the Pulitzer was accepting entries for the 2020 prize. I hemmed and hawed, considering it, then I felt foolish believing my novel could ever win.

But then I said, WHY NOT ME? If I don’t enter, I’ll never know. It took every bit of my courage, but I did it!

What happened next was more worrisome. I TOLD NO ONE I’D ENTERED. Why not? What was wrong with me? If I was so confident, why didn’t I want anyone to know?   

Let’s be honest, I feared failure. I loathed the thought of others laughing at my arrogance. But then I reasoned, who cares what other people think? I’m at a stage in my life that if I don’t try things now, I’ll regret it later. That’s really what this exercise was all about. That’s the message I’m trying to bring to anyone reading this article. If not now, when?

When the finalists and winner for the 2020 Pulitzer Prize in Fiction was announced, I wasn’t surprised when my name wasn’t read, but I admit, I was disappointed. I believed, wholeheartedly, in this project and I was damn proud of myself for at least, putting myself out there. That, in itself, was a HUGE accomplishment, and it just makes me want to keep on striving.

My takeaways from this experiment are:

·         Winners always enter.

·         Continue writing to the highest standard & read Pulitzer winning novels.

·         Enter as many times as I have a worthy novel.

·         And last, but not least, continue to take every chance.

Stay safe out there and thanks for listening.

Award-winning author, Rhonda Frankhouser, pens stories with beloved ghosts, twisted mysteries, and timeless love. Her favorite genres are Western and Contemporary Romance, with the occasional mainstream tear-jerker to keep things interesting. Rhonda's Ruby's Ranch Series, earned a starred review in Publisher's Weekly; a finalist honor in the Uncaged Review Raven Awards; a second runner up in the prestigious InD'Tale Magazine RONE awards and a Book and Benches, Reviewers Top Pic ~ Books of Distinction award. Her follow up Shadowing Souls Series and Let Yourself Believe Series, have captured the attention of both romance and mainstream readers alike. After a lifetime in Central California, Rhonda and her own knight in shining armor, moved to beautiful Northeast Georgia to embark on a brand new journey.

Subscribe to Rhonda's webpage at https://www.rhondafrankhouserbooks.com/ and get your FREE book.

Follow Rhonda on Facebook https://m.facebook.com/RhondaFrankhouser/

Rescuing the Rancher

by Shanna Hatfield

Later this month, I'll release the second sweet romance in my new Summer Creek series. I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about this story because the rancher in the book is a tough-as-nails woman named Jossy.

When I began developing Jossy's character, I drew a lot of inspiration from someone I've known since I was nine.

Miss Molly was always been full of sass and life and a go get 'em attitude. She can shoe a horse, fix a pickup, drive a tractor, dig a ditch, and then lovingly rock a baby to sleep.  When I think of a hardworking ranch woman, she always comes to mind.

I so admire women who can work like Miss Molly. I'd be dog tired by breakfast if I tried to keep up with her, and comatose by lunchtime. Women ranchers possess a stamina and drive that is hard to emulate let alone describe. 

So that's why, when I wrote about Jossy, I fashioned her determination, her vibrant zest for life, and her strength after Miss Molly. 

In Rescuing the Rancher, Jossy Jansen is a widow who is determined to remain single. 

Then a handsome attorney from Portland shows up in Summer Creek to help with the town's historic building project, and Jossy knows she's in trouble. Big trouble. Which is exactly why she goes out of her way to make sure Nathaniel Knight knows his presence is not wanted around the Lazy J Ranch. 

I thought it might be fun to share a few little snippets from the book with you today. I hope you enjoy meeting Jossy and Nate!

“Have you lost your mind? I’m the last person in the world you want to take with you to do girly stuff in Portland. Your mother and her society friends would leave me staked in the backyard like a feral beast and call animal control to pick me up.”

Her emotions felt like someone had poured them into Grammy’s big blender and set it on purée from the moment she’d first set eyes on the slick city dweller. 

Her hero has arrived

Even if she doesn’t realize it . . . yet

Widow Jossy Jansen intimidates people, mostly by accident. After all, her soon-to-be sister-in-law refers to her as a cowboy version of Wonder Woman. Jossy can’t help it if she’s strong, capable, and bursting with restless energy. Never one who needed a man to rescue her, Jossy struggles with her feelings for an unlikely knight dressed in Armani.

Life as a corporate attorney has left Nathaniel Knight overworked, stressed, and going soft. He hardly recognizes the person he’s become. When his father insists he help out the small community of Summer Creek, Nate dreads spending time so far from civilization. Then he tangles with a rancher far too stubborn for her own good and far too lovely for his.

Can Nate convince Jossy he’s more than just a city boy out of his element?

The book is available for pre-order for just $2.99 through July 29! Find out more on my website or order your copy today:

Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Apple | Kobo

 USA Today bestselling author Shanna Hatfield is a farm girl who loves to write. Her sweet historical and contemporary romances are filled with sarcasm, humor, hope, and hunky heroes. When Shanna isn’t dreaming up unforgettable characters, twisting plots, or covertly seeking dark, decadent chocolate, she hangs out with her beloved husband, Captain Cavedweller.

Shanna loves to hear from readers. Follow her online at:

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