Sunday, December 11, 2011

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).

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Say Howdy to Mary Jean Kelso


Would You Have What it Took
To be a Woman Homesteader?


Inspiration for the first in The Homesteader series came from a grandmother I never met. Although she died before I was born, I always felt a kinship to her.
Having been a “change of life baby,” born when my parents were much older than when they had my siblings, My father and mother lived the western cowboy way of life. I soon learned about it  from tales they related.
Included in this oral history was the fact that my maternal grandmother was widowed. She had three step-children and a passel of her own youngsters to support.
What was she to do when she was left without a husband? She moved the family from Oklahoma to New Mexico where she taught school and claimed a homestead.
Moving to New Mexico is as far as her life goes in the story line. It is only loosely based on Mary (Mollie) Ellen Hall Warren in the fact that she was a woman homesteader. Parts of the novel would probably shock her or, in the least, make her certainly want to correct me.
In The Homesteader, published by Wings Epress, Molly Kling is a woman set on a mission. She will do whatever it takes for her and her three step-children to survive and build a home.
The family lives under their buckboard on the bare property and uses the tailgate as a counter to prepare their meals. Molly dreams of a real kitchen in a real house with a real bed.
When her plans are threatened by a wandering stranger (Trace Westerman), she has no compulsion against shooting the man. She fires close to his leg, to get him away from the rocks she and the children have come to claim for a foundation for their house.
An accident requires the stranger’s help. Molly is forced to allow him to return to the homestead with them.
Wary of the stranger, she questions his sanity when he contributes to their dinner menu. Following is an excerpt when Trace and two of Molly’s stepson’s return after the oldest boy, Andy, has delivered the rattlesnake Trace shot for dinner:

            “Having Trace there certainly made life interesting, Molly had to admit to herself as she saw the three of them approaching.  She'd had guests bring something to the supper table before, but never a rattlesnake.  For certain, he'd have to show her how to cook it.  But, she'd be darned if she'd give him the satisfaction of letting him know his contribution disturbed her.  She hated snakes.  Rattlesnakes were the worst to her.  She had almost turned down the land claim when she found they were natural creatures to the area.  Only the family’s desperation kept her from moving on.  Since then, she had done everything in her power to eradicate or, at least, keep the snakes at bay.  She might cook one for Trace but she wasn’t about to eat it.”

            The Homesteader’s Legacy, Back to the Homestead and Life on the Homestead follow the first book, The Homesteader. New characters are added as the series continues. Currently I am working on Annabel’s Story as the series becomes The Homesteader Chronicles.
            Keeping with the historical theme, Whiskey Creek Press published Blue Coat and Kat’s Cradle. Both are situated in historic western sites.
_________________________________
Author Mary Jean Kelso lives in the true west, Nevada, where cowboys abound and start out as cowboys when they are old enough to ask for a hat. The location has inspired Kelso’s writing for over 50 years.  She publishes not only adult and young adult novels but children’s illustrated books as well. Kelso says, “Look for my littlest cowboy, Cowboy James, recently released from Guardian Angel Publishing.”

Kelso’s books are available in print and digital formats at www.Wings-press.com, www.whiskeycreekpress.com, www.guardianangelpublishing.com and www.Amazon.com and other venues.


TITLES;
MYSTERY IN VIRGINIA CITY - Great Basin Press
A VIRGINIA CITY MYSTERY - MarKel Press
ABDUCTED!  - MarKel Press
SIERRA  SUMMER  - MarKel Press
GOODBYE, BODIE  - MarKel Press
THE HOMESTEADER (May 2005 Best Seller -  Wings-Press.com)
THE HOMESTEADER'S LEGACY - (February 2007 - Wings-Press.com)
BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD - (May 2008 - Wings-Press.com)
LIFE ON THE HOMESTEAD - (July 2009 - Wings-Press.com)
GOODBYE IS FOREVER (March 2006 - Wings-Press.com)
BLUE  COAT (April 2006 - Whiskeycreekpress.com)
KAT'S CRADLE (October 2007 - Whiskeycreekpress.com)
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL (August 2007 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND THE ALBINO HORSE (April 2008 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ONE FAMILY'S CHRISTMAS (August 2008 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT GO TO THE FAIR (July 2008 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT IN THE BIG RESCUE (March 2009 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT MEET THE RODEO QUEEN (April 2010 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
THE ADVENTURES OF ANDY AND SPIRIT, BOOK 1 (July 2010 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT IN SEARCH AND RESCUE  (Spring 2012 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT GO ON A DAY COUNT (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
ANDY AND SPIRIT RIDE A TRAIN (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
COWBOY JAMES (Aug. 2011 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
THE BOW TIE BUNNY (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
THE CHICK THAT COULDN'T SCRATCH (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
THE RV MOUSE (February 2010 - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
CHRISTOPHER MAKES MAGIC - (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)
BIRDS IN THE FLOWER BASKET - (TBD - GuardianAngelPublishing.com)

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

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.  :)




Tuesday, December 6, 2011

I'd Be Duchess to "The Duke" Any Day!

Do you have a favorite cowboy?  For those who don't enjoy the western genre, I imagine men who rode the range, chased the bad buys and worked on ranches conjure up images that don't convey any type of romantic notion. Not so for me.  I have an all-time favorite, and even though he's been dead for years, he still lives on in the magic of movies, and in my mind, as I put his face on most of my heroes.


  Honestly though, when you watch my favorite guy, John Wayne, do you ever notice anything besides his sexy swagger and confidence?  To me, he remains the ultimate image of the old west...feared by men and loved by women.  I still remember him storming through the muddy streets in North to Alaska (1960), chasing Capucine, and even though the script dictated she run, I think I wouldn't have.  :)

And how masterful and sexy was he was in McClintock (1963)?   John Wayne starred as a hunky cattleman who found his life suddenly complicated by the arrival of estranged wife Maureen O'Hara.  He always starred with some of Hollywood's finest females, and Maureen O'Hara had parts in many of his films.  In my opinion, they made a stunning duo, and I think she added a lot to Rio Grande made in 1950.



Another favorite of mine, Chisum (1970) was set in 1878 with JW again starring as a cattle king.  I don't think the man made a bad movie, and not all of them were westerns.  He was equally as stunning in war movies, but this blog is called Cowboy Kisses.  *lol*

 Whether you're watching his movies made in the 40s or enjoying Rio Lobo, made in 1975,  John Wayne had swagger.  You can't deny that. Even in one of his last films, True Grit, where he played craggy old Rooster Cogburn, the man still made my heart go pitter patter.



Through the magic of movies and books, we never have to picture a sweaty, ugly fella in a hat, rather we can let our imaginations run wild and put John Wayne's face and attitude on any hero we want.  I mourned the passing of Marion Mitchell Morrison on June 11, 1979.  I'm pretty certain he never would have made such a splash under his real name, but he certainly claimed my heart as The Duke!  Who's your favorite cowboy?


Note:  Thanks to http://www.moviesunlimited for the pictures I 'borrowed.'

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Christmas on the Prairie

An image borrowed from a pioneer plate
I've always loved Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and she had a unique way of describing Christmas through the eyes of a young girl.  The holiday in the 1800s was nothing like the one we celebrate today, but the excitement children felt back then was equally as exhilarating.

This is the start to a story I might write, while I picture a pioneering young miss, anticipating a visit from Santa:
 
Wiping the mist from the window, Sally O’Dell strained to see through the blizzard’s white wall. The barn, only a short distance from the front door, had disappeared in the barrage of snow. The footprints Pa had left only minutes before no longer showed.  Though the house smelled of pine needles and cinnamon, she worried that Christmas’ most important guest, Santa, wouldn’t be able to find her in the storm.  A chill seeped around the recently installed glass and peppered her arms with goosebumps.
Sally closed the splintery shutters,  rubbed her forearms and turned to her mother, who straightened from the cast-iron stove, holding a browned apple pie.  “Momma, are you sure Santa can fly in this weather?”
“Don’t fret, Sally, you’ll cause wrinkles in that pretty little ten-year-old face of yorn.” Eliza O’Dell placed her pie with the other’s she’d baked in the stove she’d received as a gift last year and smiled.  “Santa can do anything.”  She swiped her hands down her apron, walked to the fireplace, and straightened the stockings hanging there.  "Be a darlin' and climb up to the loft and check to see if your sister's awake." ©gingersimpson

Now that I've given you a starting place, think what it must have been like, surviving inclimate weather in a house built by your father's hands and limited resources,  having to give or receive handmade gifts, and not having a grocery handy for all the fixings needed for Christmas dinner.  Most pioneers lacked money for frivolities, and the nearest 'mercantile' might be a several day's ride away from the homestead. While pennies today don't seem like much, they were most important back then.
Pioneer folks were definitely trendsetters.  They couldn't just trot off to a local tree farm or rely on an articifical one, they either cut their own, if they had room, or relied on Mother Nature and her pinecones, holly berries, or mere sprigs of greenery to make their homes festive.  Any decorations were handmade.  Paper chains and angels, and for those lucky enough to have popcorn, strands strung together to form a unique garland adorned the tree. In a few movies, I've even seen small candles adhered to branches to light the evergreen, but I imagine that would give today's fire marshal the shivers.  :)
Fresh game killed by Pa usually topped the holiday fare, with pies, homemade bread and canned vegetables supplied by Momma.  A favorite of the children was Plum Pudding although it originated in jolly old England.  I've never had it, but I understand making it takes some time, talent and special ingredients.
Any toys received were almost always hand-carved or built by Pa, while knitted scarves, mittens, hats and stockings  Momma contributed were not only necessary but welcomed.  Imagine getting a corn-husk doll. No walking, talking or diaper wetting babydolls to be had in the 1800s.  Gifts children presented to their parents were limited only by supplies and their own imaginations.
I picture a family gathered in their log cabin, around a roaring fire, enjoying the story telling of Christ's birth as read from the family Bible by Pa.  Of course, Michael Landon is Pa and he's married to Caroline Ingalls, and Mary, Laura and Baby Grace are nearby.  Okay...so I watched too much Little House on the Prairie, but if I can impact someone's life the way that series has mine, then I'm happy to trudge along in the path set by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her amazing stories.  I wish for each of you the happiness of a prairie Christmas. How do you picture your Christmas set in the old west?

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Say Howdy to Anna Kathryn Lanier

Cooking on the Trail

Wow.  You’d think that the diaries of those who traveled West would be full of cooking trials and tribulations.  But no. After choosing this subject, I searched through my many ‘wagon trail diary books’ and found very few references on cooking. In fact, several of the books didn’t even have ‘cooking’ in the index. However, I think I found enough references to make this blog worthwhile.

One of the many tasks women performed on the trail was cooking. Though cooking and baking was second nature to most women (the highly born women didn’t always know how to cook, as they had hired help to do that job back East), cooking on an open flame was not something the women were familiar with. Even Keturah Belknap, who had never cooked on a stove, but rather a hearth, had to learn the ins and outs of cooking on a camp fire.

Helen Carpenter, a new bride making her way west on her honeymoon, wrote: “Although there is not much to cook, the difficulty and inconvenience in doing it amounts to a great deal—so by the time one has squatted around the fire and cooked bread and bacon, and made several dozen trips to and from the wagon—washed the dishes….and gotten things ready for an early breakfast, some of the others already have their night caps on—at any rate it is time to go to bed.” (1)  She also comments, “It is hurry scurry to get breakfast and put away things that necessarily had to be pulled out the last night…nooning is barely long enough to eat a cold bite—and at night all the cooking utensils and provisions are to be gotten about the camp fire, and cooking enough to last until the next night.” (2)

When the wagon train took a break from traveling, either to observe the Sabbath or to give the animals a rest, women “boiled a big mess of beans, to be warmed over for several meals,” relates Catherine Haun in her diary. (1)

Even in wind and rain, the cooking must go on.  According to Amelia Stewart Knight, “(Dreary times, wet and muddy, and crowded in the tent, cold and wet, uncomfortable in the wagon. No place for the poor children [she has seven].) I have been busy cooking, roasting coffee, etc. today….” A month into the journey she writes, “Fine weather; spent this day in washing, baking, and overhauling the wagons” and the next day, “I have been cooking, and packing things away for an early start in the morning.” (2)
When food was found on the trail, it was not wasted.  Eliza Ann McAuley writes “In cutting a way for the road, the boys find thickets of wild currants. There are several varieties, the black, the red and the white. The boys cut the bushes, some of them ten feet long and loaded with ripe currants, which we strip off and make into jelly, currant wine and vinegar, dried currants and currant pie.” (3)

I’ve camped out with my Girl Scout troops and we did a few campfire meals, so I know from experience how much work it is.  I have to admire the women who did it day in and day out, rain or shine for five to six months at a time!

References:
(1)    WOMEN’S DIARES OF THE WESTWARD JOURNEY by Lillian Schlissel

(2)    PLAINS WOMEN: Women in the American West by Paula Bartley and Cathy Loxton

(3) COVERED WAGON WOMEN:     Diaries & Letters from the Western Trails, 1852 by Kenneth L. Holmes

This post first appeared on Sweethearts of the West blog on July 14, 2010.
copyright© 2010 Anna Kathryn Lanier

Note from Ginger:  Anna K. has a wonderful blog of her own.  I invite you to visit her...and I'm not really crying because no one ever invited me to be a Sweetheart of the West.  *lol*  There are some awesome authors there.  Check it out.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Say Hello to my guest, Lyn Horner


Lyn Horner

Howdy, Ginger. Thanks for having me over for a visit. It’s a pleasure to be with you. I’d like to tell you and your readers about my new book, Dashing Druid. Recently published in Kindle format on amazon.com, this is the second volume in my Texas Druids trilogy.

First, let me say I firmly believe there are people who possess extrasensory abilities. Why? Because I have experienced prophetic dreams and premonitions myself, real enough to scare me a couple times.

Since I know psychics live among us, and I’m pretty sure they existed in ages past, doesn’t it make sense that such gifted folks may also have lived in the Old West? They do in my imagination. Meet the Devlins, three psychically gifted siblings. Descended from legendary Irish Druids, their hidden talents lead them across prairies and mountains, into the land of cowboys and Indians, with consequences not even a Druid seer could predict.

Darlin’ Druid, the first book in this unique series, drew wonderful reader reviews. Now the saga continues in book two. This western romance stars Tye Devlin, eldest of the three adventurers. Tye is a sensitive, an empath in modern terms. He “feels” other’s emotions. Over time, he has erected mental barriers to block out most of the “racket” in order to save his sanity, but when he meets Texas cowgirl Lil Crawford, her troubled feelings easily breach those barriers.

Unlucky in love, Lil sees herself as a gangly old maid. She guards her bruised heart behind a tough façade, working alongside her father’s cowhands. When a handsome stranger with an Irish brogue calls her beautiful, she thinks he’s mocking her. Learning he’s the brother of the woman who wed her lost love, Lil tries to put Devlin out of her mind, yet she can’t help wishing such a man might truly find her beautiful.

Tye Devlin’s flashing smile conceals a painful burden. A failed prospector and silver miner, he’s left with nothing but guilt over a friend’s death and nightmarish memories of a mine cave-in. Seeking peace, he’s come to visit his sister and her husband on their Texas ranch. They convince him to remain with them, and while learning to ride and rope, Tye becomes fascinated by Lil Crawford. The daughter of a neighboring rancher, the part Cherokee beauty attracts him with her golden skin, dark flashing eyes and slim, feminine curves, but it’s her bravery and hidden sorrows that capture his heart. He realizes they’re kindred spirits. However, her parents regard him as a no-good Irish Yankee. Not a promising start for their romance!

Set against a backdrop of Texas ranch life, an iconic cattle drive, and feuding families, this action packed story delves into Tye's painful empathic ability and the impact it has upon his life and those he loves. As he and Lil struggle to survive raging rivers, hostile Indians and a vicious enemy, they must face their personal demons and decide if love is worth the consequences. Explosive surprises will determine their fate.

Ginger and friends, I hope this brief description whets your interest in my Texas Druids. You can purchase the books or download free samples from my Amazon product pages. Darlin’ Druid is also available for Nook on B&N, and Dashing Druid soon will be. You might also enjoy the haunting book trailer prepared for me by Shirley Hicks. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Om4QX4NCMBw



http://texasdruids.blogspot.com/

Note from Ginger:  I had the privilege of purchasing Darlin' Druid and I loved it.  I can't wait to get my hands on Dashing Druid.  I love Lyn's writing and I'm sure you will, too.