New Release - Ain't No Angel

Peggy L Henderson

I have a new release this week, so I’m using my posting day to share the blurb and a short excerpt.

Ain’t No Angel (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Series, Book 2)

Delaney Goodman has been running from her painful past all her life.  Dreams of working with horses have long been replaced with the reality of doing anything to make ends meet.  About to hit rock bottom, she accepts a stranger’s proposition, even if it sounds too good to be true. She figures she has nothing, not even her dignity, to lose.  She awakens in an unfamiliar setting - and century - and quickly discovers that she will need more than her charm to complete the task assigned to her.

On the surface, Tyler Monroe has everything going for him -  good looks, the respect of his friends and neighbors, and a thriving horse ranch.  However, his past holds deep wounds with thick emotional scars. When a brazen, beautiful woman arrives in town, Tyler makes an impulsive decision that will cause him to question everything he knows. 

Tyler is unlike any man Laney has ever met.  Laney is exactly the kind of woman Tyler wants to avoid. As the attraction between them grows, questions arise that stretch the boundaries of trust for both.  The secrets that threaten to tear them apart could be exactly what Tyler and Laney need to bring them together.

Excerpt:

Laney watched, mesmerized. Tyler seemed to know a split second before the horse wanted to slow down or turn in the other direction, and with the way he stepped forward or turned, or moved his hands, communicated to the animal what he wanted it to do. Her feet carried her to the edge of the pen without even thinking.

He’s a nineteenth century horse whisperer.

She’d heard of these training methods, where the trainer gained a horse’s trust simply by using the animal’s own body language to communicate. She had no idea this sort of thing was done in the old west.

“Miss Laney, Nice to . . . ah, see you again.”

Startled at the voice, Laney glanced to her right. Gabe McFarlain strode up to her, and rested his arm on the fence. Where had he come from all of a sudden? He smiled broadly, while his eyes lingered on her neckline. Laney’s hand involuntarily darted to where she’d left her dress unbuttoned. A quick glance down confirmed that she wasn’t showing off anything that was best kept covered in this day and age. At least she was reasonably sure that she covered up enough.

“Gabe,” she said curtly, then turned her attention back to Tyler and the horse. If he had noticed her, he hadn’t let on. His sole focus was on the animal running in circles around him. He suddenly stopped, and stood quiet, his hands at his side, and the horse immediately stopped as well, and turned toward him. Rather than moving in the animals’ direction, Tyler turned his shoulder away from the horse. To Laney’s amazement, the colt moved toward Tyler, and followed him around the pen.

“Looks like that one’s ready for you to get on his back,” Gabe shouted next to her.

Tyler glanced up. His eyes settled on Laney. Her mouth went dry. His dark stare was unnerving. Abruptly, he focused his attention back to the horse, and gave the animal a pat on the forehead. The colt lowered its head. Tyler adjusted the cinch around the horse’s belly, moving the saddle back and forth with exaggerated motion.

He’s desensitizing the horse to the movement.

The colt stepped nervously to the side, and Laney could hear soft murmurs from Tyler. Inexplicable chills raced down her spine, and warmth rushed through her as the sultry tone of his voice carried to her from the pen. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining him whisper words to her in that deep, seductive tone.

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Christmas Traditions

Christmas is a magical time of year. Children are overly giddy with excitement and impatient for the big day to arrive. Adults are frazzled, rushing from store-to-store in search of the perfect gift, or the most popular gift that no one seems to have one more in stock, including Amazon. Delicious aromas of cookies baking in the oven waft through the home. Lights twinkle from windows and rooftops. An angel, or a star, sits atop a Christmas tree. Family and friends gather for a feast, which leads to New Year's resolutions of going on a diet. I've often wondered if our fore-fathers felt this same kind of insanity and gaiety, but rather blog about them, I thought I'd use this column for you to become more acquainted with me.  

 

I love Christmas. I have ever since I was a kid, though if you ask my son, he'll tell you differently. The first words that'll probably come out of his are: "Mom can't wait to take down the tree and put it back in the box." While that might be true, (and it's because I'm the one who ensures the branches, ornaments and lights are packed away neatly) I do enjoy watching my son open his gifts Christmas morning. But before that day arrives, there are many other holiday traditions that I enjoy.   

 

Back when I was a child, I had fun opening presents with my brothers and sister, oohing and aahing over what everyone got, visiting relatives and then returning home for an Italian dinner of lasagna. A few days later, we'd load up the car and drive to my grandparents' house in New York City, celebrating both Christmas and New Year's Eve with them. Gram and Gramps lived on the first floor and my aunt and uncle on the second. Gram would cook a German meal and then we'd go up to my aunt and uncle's for a spell to celebrate the holiday. Somewhere during that time, Mom and Gram would sneak down to Gram's, arrange presents under the tree and then Gram would ring a little bell for us to return to her home. We'd open presents, have dessert and watch the ball drop in Times Square. The following morning it was time to return home. For me, this tradition lasted until I married and moved away. For the rest of the family, the tradition remained until Gram passed away.

 

 

As parents, the hubby and I have made our own traditions that, hopefully, our son will look back on with fond remembrance. As a mom, I have my own traditions to keep me sane throughout the season; the first being I do the bulk of my shopping before Black Friday. I hate crowds, standing in long lines and rushing. Once Thanksgiving has past, the tree goes up and the lights are strung on the house--a family activity that is usually done the day after Thanksgiving. Then I take a day when the kiddo is in school and wrap everything. (Again, I hate doing something last-minute. I once put together a drum set on Christmas Eve and never again.) Sometime during the weeks leading up to Christmas, we pick a night to make hot cocoa, pile into the car and go out looking at Christmas lights. As a family, we decide what to have for the Christmas meal and then, in a blink of an eye, it's Christmas Eve. We attend the children's mass at church, where the pews are over-flowing with people and the altar is aglow in candlelight. Even if you're not religious, this is one evening when you can literally feel the spirit of the season. Our last traditions consist of a light supper on Christmas Eve, to be followed by the kiddo waking us up at 5:30 Christmas morning and racing us down the stairs, with the dog squeezing past, eager to get to her stocking.    

 

While our fore-fathers didn't rush to the store, or drive around town looking at Christmas displays, I do envision them as having enjoyed this time of year, of having felt the wonder of the season and their hearts softening as they watched their children's faces light up in awe over something left for them beneath the tree.

Merry Christmas, Everyone! Enjoy the magic of the season!

 

Note: The Christmas tree in the picture is my current tree. The previous one had special meaning to me. It belonged to my grandparents. When Gramps died, Gram gave the tree to my husband and me. We had it for 10+ years, until the day the dog knocked it over, breaking it close to the top and a few of the ornaments. The best we can figure is he was asleep on the couch when someone rang the doorbell. Being the great guard dog he was, he knew he had to get to the window and bark, and didn't care that the tree was in his way.

 

Is it Butter?

 

This photo is of a butter churn
that has been passed down
from my great grandmother.
We are guessing vintage 1880 or 1890.

With the holiday season upon us, I thought I'd share a Christmas memory. We held our annual Christmas Girl Scout meeting at our assistant leader's home because she had a winding staircase and the tallest Christmas tree. She was also an excellent cook. That year, I was about ten and we made butter by vigorously shaking a jar with heavy cream in it. We sat in a circle and passed the jar around so everyone got a turn. I don't remember much after that. I assume we separated the buttermilk from the butter somehow, but for the life of me, I don't recall how. I do remember spreading it over a cracker and thinking how good it tasted.

With that memory fresh in my mind, I thought to share a bit more about churning butter. Historians believe the use of butter dates as far back as 2000BC. Pioneers had butter churns for making the process easier. I have the one my great grandmother used when she made her home at Fort Martin Scott.

Those making the long trek across our nation on wagon trains would place the cream in a bucket and attach the bucket under the wagon. The motion created by the moving wagon would cause the cream to become butter by the time the settlers stopped for the night.

And what about margarine? I discovered a very interesting article on ancestry.com regarding the history of margarine. See why this man went to jail for selling butter.

Excerpt from Once Jilted:

She searched for dried grass and brittle twigs to use as tinder, all the while feeling very unqualified to do the work she’d promised. What would Kane think of her if he knew she couldn’t even start a simple campfire? She kicked at the dried ground. What did it matter what Kane thought? She had to quit thinking about that man and concentrate on finding a suitor who wasn’t so opposed to marriage.

Her chore was interrupted by the arrival of Tom. His wagon clattered toward them. Stopping, he jumped down and hefted a large tin container to the ground. Shauna smiled. "Milk?"

"Yup."

Lefty paid him then sent him on his way. "I usually keep it in the creek, but I reckon you’ll want it close by for breakfast. I can move it out of your way afterwards.

"Thanks." She started to pick up a stick, when a thought struck her. "Lefty, do you skim the cream and save it?"
 

He shook his head. "Ain’t no time for churning butter if that’s what you’re getting at."
 

She nodded. Well, she’d be here for a while, and it only took a week to collect enough cream for a crock of butter. If she started saving now, she could offer the men a real treat in five or six days.
 

After gathering the needed fuel, Lefty showed her how to light it using only one match. He gave her instructions on feeding the flames until she had hot coals to cook with. Armed with new knowledge, she tackled the job with pleasure. Lefty meandered back to his own tent, leaving her alone to finish the morning meal.

While she waited for the right amount of heat, she explored the insides of the covered wagon. Whoever cooked before had not been very organized. A sack of flour rested in the corner near a bin of potatoes. To the right, she found a tin of sugar, while a container of lard was buried behind the bag of cornmeal. Though it took a while to scrounge all the ingredients, she decided on flapjacks for the morning meal. Lefty had shown her a four-legged flat griddle that was large enough to cover the fire pit. She dragged and situated the large cast iron plate over the glowing coals, leveling it with a rock under one corner.

After putting on a pot of coffee, she made sure she had all the ingredients she needed then mixed a large bowl of batter. Testing the griddle, she pronounced it hot enough and poured several spoonfuls of batter onto the sizzling surface. Next to the frying cakes, the water in the coffee pot began to boil. She smiled, pleased with her efforts.

"Ach, woman. Have you noo sense?"

She dropped the spatula, fell back on her bottom, and met the angry glare of Kane. "I’m cooking. Isn’t that why I’m here?" She righted herself and picked up the spatula, dusting off the grains of dirt.

"Aye, I can see that you’re cooking." He squatted beside her and placed one knee on the ground. "Has noo one ever taught you how to cook over open flames afore?"

She shook her head.

"Ne’er bend over like you were doing, lass. You’ll end up with your skirts ablaze or your palms burned. You have noo balance perched as you were."

"I thought I was doing just fine."

"Stubborn bird. Always put one knee to the ground like so," he said, indicating his own position. "This will force your skirts oot of the way and give you the balance you need. Try it."

She did as requested and found he was right. She flipped a perfect flapjack onto a plate and forgetting her annoyance, beamed at him. "Want to be the first to sample my cakes?"
An odd expression stole over his features. He rose without comment and walked away. She stared, dumbfounded. What had she said?   

THANKSGIVING SOUTHERN CORNBREAD DRESSING RECIPE

Are you bustling around preparing for Thanksgiving? For my family, this weekend launches the holidays as well as reminds us of all we have for which we’re thankful. But let me tell you about the first Thanksgiving. No, not the Pilgrims, but the first my husband and I celebrated as a couple.

Hero and I were married in January. Before our wedding, each of us had spent every Thanksgiving with our parents. On this holiday, my inlaws were coming to visit. I had been briefly married before and my inlaws did not really approve of their eldest son marrying a divorcee—in spite of the fact that I had been friends with their daughter since we were ten. Anyway, I was a nervous wreck wondering how I was going to prepare a traditional dinner without any klutzy mishaps.

As luck would have it, my best friend (Brenda) had moved nearby and her inlaws also were going to visit for the holiday. We figured the turkey was manageable due to each bird having cooking instructions on the wrapper. The dressing, however, stumped us. Brenda and I each wrote our mom and asked how to prepare the traditional Southern/Southwestern cornbread dressing. Each of us received the same recipe.

“Crumble a pan of cornbread and add light bread. Add chopped onions and celery and eggs, salt, pepper, poultry seasoning, and sage.  Add enough turkey broth until it looks right. Pour into a greased pan and cook until lightly brown on top.”

No amounts. No cooking time. No specifics. 

Arrrgggghhhh! Picture two young wives in panic.

For a seasoned cook, this probably would have been a recipe. For us, it made no sense. So, Brenda took a Betty Crocker Cook Book and I took Better Homes and Garden’s version. Taking our moms’ ingredients, we made our own recipe and compared notes, adjusted, and finalized our version of Cornbread Dressing. I have to say we came up with a winning recipe. My mom preferred my dressing to her own. Here is the result:

Cornbread Dressing

1 pan of cornbread

5 slices bread, dried and crumbled

1 medium onion, chopped

1 cup chopped celery

2 tablespoons parsley flakes

1 stick margarine or butter

1 cups pan drippings from turkey

2 cups turkey broth (I use the wings, neck, gizzard, and liver)

1 ½ tsp salt

1 tsp poultry seasoning

½ teaspoon black pepper

2 teaspoons or more of sage

3 eggs

In saucepan of water, add the turkey neck, liver, gizzard, and wings. Cook on medium high for thirty minutes. Remove turkey parts and cool until they can be chopped. Reserve broth for dressing and gravy.

In small skillet, melt the stick of butter. Add celery, onion, and parsley. Sauté until onion becomes transparent. Set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, crumble cornbread and bread slices (or use Cuisinart). Add broth and drippings, sautéed mixture, and other ingredients. Add ¾ of the stewed meat (and reserve the other ¼ for the gravy). Taste dressing to adjust seasoning. Add more broth if dressing is too dry.

Pour into well buttered 3-quart casserole or pan. Cook at 325 degrees F for 30 to 45 minutes. Don’t overcook, as everything but the eggs have been cooked and you are just blending flavors and heating thoroughly.

Serve with baked turkey, giblet gravy, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and other dishes.

This reminds me of a funny story. My mom was very, very sparing with spices. She saved her sage year after year and sometimes didn’t even bother to close the lid. By the second year, most of the taste had disappeared. Every time she prepared dressing, my dad would say, “Good, but it needs more sage.” One year, I bought a new, large can of sage and emptied about half the can into the dressing so my dad would enjoy the dish. I have to say that year's dressing brought tears to our eyes. ☺ Good thing we had gravy and cranberry sauce to cut the sage’s taste.

I hope your Thanksgiving plans include loved ones and a happy weekend. Happy Thanksgiving!

A Right Jolly Old Elf

Santa Claus by Thomas Nast, 1963

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

Though he called him St Nicholas, Clement C. Moore's most famous and beloved poem essentially invented the modern Santa Claus in 1823. The legend of a saint became the myth of a "jolly old elf" who drove a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer and could magically pop up and down family chimneys whether they were in a tenement in New York or a little house on the prairie.

What Moore described in words, illustrator and political cartoonist Thomas Nast manifested in pen and ink for Harper's Weekly in 1863.

Visiting the Camp by Thomas Nast, 1863

 America was at war. Nast supported the Union. His political cartoons and illustrations reflected his abolitionist beliefs. President Lincoln said of him: "Thomas Nast has been our best recruiting sergeant. His emblematic cartoons have never failed to arouse enthusiasm and patriotism, and have always seemed to come just when these articles were getting scarce."

It makes sense that Lincoln would go to Nast for an illustration of Santa Claus visiting the Union soldiers - a clever piece of Yankee propaganda.

Nast continued to refine his vision of Santa Claus over the years. By 1881, he had image that would be as easily recognized by children today as those who saw his art when it was first published.

Santa Claus by Thomas Nast, 1881

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

Other artists, particularly Norman Rockwell and Haddon Sundblom, would refine Santa's image, but Clement C. Moore and Thomas Nast defined it.

Stagecoach Travel in Texas-- Only The Hardy need Apply

I'd like to thank Linda Carroll-Bradd for filling in for me today.  I hope you enjoy her very thoughtful post about stage travel.  I know I did.

In the mid-1800s, people needed determination and patience to travel from one side of Texas to the other. Early in the Civil War, the government banished the Butterfield Overland route that had been an established route from St. Louis, Missouri to San Francisco through the southern states. Subsequent to the war, shorter routes were established between population centers. Stagecoaches ran on a weekly or bi-weekly schedule. A trip from St Louis to San Francisco involved about 25 days of travel. The coaches were drawn by six horses and stops were made every 12 miles for fresh teams. Depending on the terrain, coaches covered between 5 and 12 miles per day—running day and night. Passengers were grateful to get hot coffee, biscuits and jerky at these stops; on rare occasions, hot meals were available.

The suggested items to travel with would have filled a large satchel or three. In addition to their clothing, passengers were admonished to pack 6 pair of thick socks, woolen underdrawers, blankets—one in summer and two in winter, 3-4 towels, heavy overcoat, light coat, hat and their choice of pistol or knife for personal protection. A lady such as Jessamay Morgan from San Antonio reading that list and traveling in summer would probably not worry about the woolens or blankets.

Once Jessamay got inside the stagecoach, she would have had her choice of window or middle position (approximately 15” in width) on either a forward or backward-facing bench seat. She would not have wanted to be the last to board because that would leave her on the middle bench with no backrest. As she set out on her journey, she could read the rules about men forgoing swearing and smoking in a lady’s presence, but tobacco chewing was allowed, as long as the chewer spat downwind. I would hope so. Or if the person (presumed to be a male) couldn’t refrain from drinking alcohol, then he must pass the bottle around. Yum. Snoring loudly or using another passenger’s shoulder as a pillow was frowned upon. Improper advances toward a woman could get the male kicked off the stagecoach in the middle of nowhere. Forbidden topics of conversation were stagecoach robberies and Indian uprisings. Sounds like a smart rule. Passengers were encouraged not to jump from the stage in case of runaway horses so as not to be left victim to the weather, hostile Indians or hungry coyotes. Ouch.

Jessamay had a purpose and she looked at all these strictures as part of her great adventure. She was done with the life at Miss Veronica’s Pleasure Palace and wanted to see mountains—at least until she set her gaze on a handsome stage passenger, Slade Thomas. But nothing every goes as planned. The “excitement” of her first trip is interrupted by a holdup, and she and Slade fight the clock to outwit the bandits.

Capturing The Marshal’s heart is available only on Amazon. 

Christmas Reads

www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com

It’s almost here—the time for Christmas traditions old and new. 

A few tidbits: Prior to the 1850’s, Christmas trees in homes were rare. It wasn’t until after President Franklin Pierce set up the first Christmas tree in the White House in 1856, that the tradition took off. Forward thinking entrepreneurs had already been working on building the newly acquired American tradition with the first ‘Christmas Tree Lot’ appearing in New York City in 1851, and shortly thereafter companies such as FW Woolworth began selling glass ornaments and patterns for families to sew their own Christmas decorations.  

Electric lights, promising to be safer than the regularly used candles, were invented in 1882, but again, didn’t grow in popularity until after used in the White House by President Calvin Coolidge in 1923. A German company also created an artificial tree, again, in response to tree fires as well as the number of furs being cut down, but the artificial tree didn’t take off until the 1960’s during the era of plastic and the ‘hip’ silver aluminum trees. (Oh, yes, we had one of those.)

America can claim the turkey dinner as its own. Goose, ham, or beef roasts, are/were common other places, but the turkey, native to America, quickly became the most popular dish served. Benjamin Franklin nominated the turkey to be the ‘national bird’ but the bald eagle won that position.

Along with the tree and food, the holiday soon became a highly celebrated occasion, including family gatherings and community celebrations.  

Our family has many traditions, some old and some new. One of my personal favorites is reading Christmas stories. I gather books year round and save them to start reading as soon as Thanksgiving dinner has been served. 

On that note, I’m excited to have two new Christmas stories released this year. 

Christmas Cowboy Kisses. My story, Christmas with Her Cowboy, is part of this Harlequin Anthology that was released in October. 

Christmas with Her Cowboy by Lauri Robinson—Ranch hand Tanner Maxwell is not pleased that Anna Hagan has returned to the Double Bar for Christmas. But the little girl he once knew is now all grown up….

The other wonderful stories in this anthology include: 

 A Family for Christmas by Carolyn Davidson—When a handsome widower and his young boy are stranded at Joy Watson's Missouri homestead just before Christmas, the true meaning of love and family is revealed.

A Christmas Miracle by Carol Arens—Laira Lynne is striving to save her beloved town. New arrival Rayne Lantree is the only man with the power to make her dream come true…if he'll just believe in a little Christmas magic! 

My second one is in Harlequin’s Undone line, Snowbound with Sheriff will be released December 1st.

Southern Montana, 1886

When Chayston Williams agreed to act as sheriff of Spring Valley, Montana, he never dreamed his duties would include delivering his father's pretty young mail-order bride to the family ranch in time for a Christmas wedding!

Violet Ritter promised her late stepfather that she would marry the man of his choosing. But she's shocked to discover her husband-to-be is old enough to have a grown son of his own! And she's even more surprised by her attraction to the ornery young man….

When a blizzard strands them in the sheriff's office for two days—and two nights—how will Chayston and Violet stop the fire between them from blazing out of control?

Happy Holidays!