Sample Saturday is Back

I've been dealing with winter storms and power outages and 18-20 inches of snow piled up around my place, so I am treating myself to a bit of diversion by bringing back Saturday Sample today.

Here's a tidbit from a piece I'm working on that I hope to publish later this year.

Julia Helm wiped the streaming tears off her cheeks, then climbed up onto the wooden spring seat of the farm wagon weathered almost white. Jonathan's firm hand on her elbow steadied her some, but the overwhelming sadness that had brought the tears remained. She looked at the stone house, the wooden barn with its wide doors, the early spring fields smelling of molding corn stalks. Why this sadness? I'll see it all again in two months.
She pulled her brown wool cloak more tightly around herself and wrenched her gaze from the house. Couldn't she just tell Jonathan she had changed her mind? Tell her brother to unhitch the team of gray horses while she ran back inside the house and into her small, cozy room to curl up in the comfort of Papa's upholstered chair? Cousin Camilla didn't need her help to prepare for her wedding. Virginia was so far away. The trip would take two weeks! Two weeks of travel behind the rumps of the horses, being jostled and jolted until her young bones couldn't stand another yard, let alone another mile. And all for what? Camilla's gratitude? The chance to see Aunt Susannah again?

The wagon groaned and creaked as Jonathan climbed into the wagon seat on the other side, pausing before he lifted the leather lines to lean over and tuck a brown woolen blanket under her far knee. "Mind you tell me if you get cold," he said, and grinned at her like a crazy man, his breath clouding around his ruddy face underneath his knitted cap.
~~~

What do you think? Does it engage your interest? Tell me if you know who the characters are.

Until the next time, stay warm and healthy!

Sample Saturday - Trail's End

Welcome to Sample Saturday. Today I'm going to do something a little different: I'm going to post a complete piece. It's short—fewer than 500 words—so you won't be overwhelmed in reading it. Enjoy!
~~~

Trail's End

She heard his spurs jingle in the darkness as he came into the room where she lay, and she opened her eyes, but with no moon or starlight broaching her draped window, she did not expect to see him. Nevertheless, she knew her husband by the odors he brought with him into the room: the musty smell of dust, the pungence of sweat and leather, the hint of tobacco.

A match flared, and he lit the candle on the washstand. Its sputtering flicker lighted the angles and planes of his face, his eyes shaded by the wide brimmed hat he hardly ever removed.

Then he unbuckled the gun belt, and coming between her and the light, he fastened it around the near bedpost. His silhouette stretched long and lean as he paused for a moment, then turned, sat on the bed, and pulled off his boots. They hit the wooden floor, one at a time, with the combined music of bell and drum, then he stood once more and crossed the room to the window.

She supposed he changed his mind about looking out, for he turned before touching the drape, and removed his vest. He moved lazily across the room and hung it on a peg, then he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled the tail free from his jeans, slid the sleeves from his arms, and hung the shirt over the vest.

The candlelight reflecting off his chest seemed to light a glow within her, and she wondered if he was really taking as long as it seemed. Her eyes flicked up to his face and caught his half smile, almost sardonic.

Then he bent over and blew out the light. She heard his jeans fall to the floor as he threw them over his boots, and he was beside her; his warmth and his smell and his strength were there for her to love.

She put out her hand and took the hat from his head. As she placed it on the bedpost over his gun belt she whispered, “First thing on and last thing off, but you don’t wear it in our bed!”

Copyright 1990 Marsha Ward
~~~

A piece this short is oftentimes called "flash fiction." Have you read, or written, any flash fiction? If you've published any, where can we find it?

Sample Saturday - Ride to Raton

Welcome back to Sample Saturday!

Some writers plan out everything they will ever write. When I finished The Man from Shenandoah, I thought I had written the only full-length novel I would ever write. I thought that was it for these people, and any further long-form fiction.

But evidently I had more to tell. I left James Owen sorely wounded in heart and mind, and he demanded that I give him a chance to work through his pain.

Accordingly, I wrote Ride to Raton (It probably should have been called Ride to Raton Pass, but I liked the sound of the three words, and totally forgot the fact that there is a town in New Mexico named Raton). I thought this novel would finish up my account of the Owen family from Virginia.

Boy, was I wrong! The two books have grown to five, with offshoots and spinoffs going in all directions, and more to come.

It's been quite a while since I've posted any scenes or samples from Ride to Raton. This never-before-posted scene occurs after James is shot in Pueblo, Colorado Territory, by a disgruntled former Union soldier. Randolph Hilbrands, a friend of James's father, has taken him into his home to recuperate.
~~~

“Mister James, Mister James, wake up, please? You must be hungry.”

Surprised to hear his name, James rolled over, grinning at the soothing touch of the water on his naked body, and swam upward from exploring the bottom of the pond behind the flour mill on a creek feeding the Shenandoah River. He tried to shrug off the hand that gently touched his right shoulder, but the movement brought such a flood of pain to his side that he moaned before he could catch himself.

“Please, Mister James. Ma said I wasn’t to come back to the kitchen without feeding you. If you don’t wake up soon, your food’ll be stone cold.”

He thrust his head and shoulders above the water, opened one eye, then immediately shut it against the sunlight that streamed through an open window between muslin drapes and hit his face. His body felt bloated, invaded by aches and twitches. And although he was still naked, he seemed to be lying half covered by a sheet and quilt on a bed inside a room, instead of treading water in the millpond.

Someone besides himself was in the room. “Six little beans!” he grunted, trying to shade his eyes with his left hand, remembering that a girl’s voice had addressed him. “It’s brighter than noon day in here. Can you shut them curtains?”

A young girl put the tray of food on the washstand and ran to the window to pull the drapes together. She returned to stand beside the bed, and James blinked his eyes as she drew near.

The girl was about fifteen, he judged, slender and blonde. She wore a white bib apron with a full skirt over a light weight gingham gown patterned with sprigs of lilacs on a white background. Her wavy hair hung below her shoulders, tied back with a white ribbon. The girl smiled, tentatively, and one dimple appeared in her cheek.

“Who’re you?” he asked, wondering how he came to be between the sheets. The last thing he remembered, he had been lying atop the coverlet, enduring the sting of a thousand hornets as Amanda Hilbrands’ needle pierced the flesh of his side. Now he looked around. The tub was gone from the room, and the towel had disappeared from around his hips. James blinked twice, and reached down to draw the sheet over his chest, grateful that the quilt masked his nakedness from the girl.

“I’m Sylvia. My pa runs the hotel. Don’t you recall he brought you here?”

James shut his eyes for a moment, less to remember his arrival than to recall where he had heard the girl’s voice before. He gave his head a shake, then opened his eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed, a long drawn out sound, and fingered the bandage around his chest. “Your ma put this thread into me a couple of hours ago.”

“That was two days back!” the girl exclaimed. “You’ve been asleep since then.”

“Six little beans! Did I take a fever?” James got himself onto his elbows, and the girl bent forward to put a pillow behind his back so he could sit partway up. As the sheet slipped and gathered in creases about his waist, the girl’s hair brushed his shoulder.

The blonde hair—he could see it on another head, arranged in tumbling ringlets behind a face twisted with fury. A voice—with the same timbre as this girl’s voice—batted at his ears: “You never came around, Carl Owen. Cecil was here. I have a right to marry a man I can trust!”

James shuddered.

“No.” A frown furrowed Sylvia’s forehead. “I reckon you’re just wore out. You been through a lot of woe since you came to Pueblo City.” She turned away to bring the food tray, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed with the tray on her lap. “This is a good room, though. Pa let Ida use it for her wedding night.”

A wrenching pain invaded James’s gut. Ida Hilbrands had breathed this air, her body had lain on this bed. The body that should have quieted Carl’s lusts was given to an English dandy—on this bed, beneath this quilt. James swallowed. His throat closed on cotton.

The girl touched his wrist. James’s arm twitched under the cool fingers.

“Are you all right, Mister James?”

He cleared his throat. “You sound like your…older sister.”

“You mean Mary?” The girl’s face brightened. “How is her little baby doing? We all want to see her.” Sylvia picked up a spoon and a bowl and stirred the contents.

James again eased the sheet up to cover his chest. “The little gal’s growing, but no, I wasn’t speaking of Mary.” The sheet bunched in his lap again, and James jerked it upward and pinned it underneath his arm.

“Oh. You mean—”

“Ida! I mean Ida.” His voice rasped in his throat as he said the name.

The girl looked puzzled. “Are you angry with Ida?”

James felt his face settling into ridges as he scowled. Angry? The word was wrong. Wrong and far too weak. I hate her. I despise her wide blue eyes and her lying, cheating heart. He cleared his throat again. “I have reason.” His breath left his lungs in a lengthy shudder.

Sylvia looked at him for a moment, puzzlement crinkling the skin around her eyes. Then she picked up a spoon.

“Here, have a taste of porridge. Ma made it fresh for you today.” Sylvia held the spoon to James’s lips, and he accepted the morsel. “What did Ida do to you? I thought it was Carl she threw over.”

For a moment, he could only chew, then swallow. He sensed no taste, no savor. Before he had a chance to speak, Sylvia put another spoonful of mush into his mouth. He swallowed that down, then, as Sylvia brought up another bite, James shook his head.

They’ll know sooner or later. Pa will come in for supplies, or Ma will send a note to Mrs. H. by a passing stranger. He turned his head to look at the doorway. Will I be gone, first? Or will Danny O’Brien shoot me in the back? He looked at the girl and squeezed his hands into fists. The pain forced his mouth open.

“You didn’t hear, I reckon. Carl got over being mad at Ida. He wed Ellen Bates about a week past.”

“Oh, Mister James! She was pledged to you!” Sylvia dropped the spoon into the bowl, and it clanked against the side.

Instantly, he repented of his burst of words. “Forget I said that. Just forget it!”

“I’m sorry.” Sylvia held her hands tightly together in front of her mouth.

James snorted. “It’s done and over.”

“How could that happen?” The girl moved the tray from her lap to the bed and leaned forward.

Bitterness rose in James’s throat, and he turned his head to swallow it down.

Sylvia bounced once on the bed. “Ida caused it. She sure is mean.”

James shuddered anew, slumping against the pillow. “Go away,” he said.

“What?”

“Take your gruel and leave me be. I’m weary.”

“But you didn’t finish.”

“Tell your Ma I fell asleep again. It won’t be a lie. Look. I’m nodding off now.” James shut his eyes.

He heard her get to her feet and pick up the tray. “I reckon I tired you out, talking so much.”

“It’s not you. I’m wore out, like you said.” James twitched the quilt higher on his chest. Suddenly he bolted upright, winced, then lay down again. “You’d better get your papa, girl. I got to put myself deeper in his debt.”
~~~

If you haven't yet read Ride to Raton, here are links for print and ebook copies:
Print books $15.95: Amazon | Barnes and Noble
ebooks $3.99: Smashwords all formats | Kindle | nook | Kobo | iTunes Bookstore

Please remember that in this new world of publishing, YOUR reviews are vital to authors. Go post a review on any of my books, novellas, or short stories you have read. They don't have to be long. You only need to express what you thought about the work, and perhaps why. Did you like the characters? Did the history of the period excite you? Was the story enjoyable? Would you recommend the work to your friends? Writing a review is your chance to do just that.

Thank you!

Sample Saturday - Faith and the Foreman

Did you see last week's Cover Reveal? No? Fear not, here it is:

You've met Faith and you've met Slim. They both face challenges in their lives, they live in vastly different universes, and they aren't living in any proximity to each other. How are they to meet?

Here's a clue, before next week's release on Friday, July 15th, to online ebook vendors:
~~~

A day later, Faith gasped, tightening her fingers on the day’s newspaper. She looked toward Clarissa, her anxiety seeping away.

“I like that bright light in your eye,” Clarissa said.

“I have a better plan than nursing school.” Faith rose and took the Times to Clarissa.

Her cousin looked up from her needles. Three new white bandages lay rolled beside her on the sofa.

“Look.” Faith showed her the newspaper page. “Here’s an advertisement seeking a school teacher in the West for ten months. The school board will pay transportation costs, provide a living space, groceries, firewood, and they’ll pay a salary besides. I can teach mathematics and reading and writing and... even stitchery! Once I sell the house, the proceeds and a teaching post will provide income sufficient for us both.”

“Hmm. Teaching will suit you better than nursing.” Clarissa resumed her knitting. “How do you win the position?”

Faith crimped the newspaper between her hands. “I must send a telegram immediately to the president of the school board in this town of—” She looked at the advertisement again. “Bitter Springs, Arizona Territory. This will solve our difficulties.”

“You must hurry so your answer to the advertisement arrives ahead of any others.”

“Yes.” Faith hurried to compose a brief message with a list of her academic accomplishments and prepared to go to the telegraph office. “That should serve. Let’s pray I’m the most worthy applicant.”
~~~

While you're waiting for next Friday's release of Faith and the Foreman, be sure to pick up and read a copy of my latest novel, The Zion Trail:

The Zion Trail

$3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
Ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store  

Print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

If you haven't read it yet, here are purchase links for my last novella, Blood at Haught Springs. I encourage you to read it. Take note that it's the first in a new series, Men of Haught Springs.

Available as an Ebook only
$2.99 at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

~~~

Please remember that in this new world of publishing, YOUR reviews are vital to authors. Go post a review on any of my books, novellas, or short stories you have read. They don't have to be long. You only need to express what you thought about the work, and perhaps why. Did you like the characters? Did the history of the period excite you? Was the story enjoyable? Would you recommend the work to your friends? Writing a review is your chance to do just that.

Thank you!

Sample Saturday - Faith and the Foreman

Today, not only do you get a scene from this touching novella that's going to be released on July 15, but a cover reveal, as well! I give you Faith and the Foreman...
~~~

“Slim! Slim McHenry!”

When Amos Ramsey bellowed his name, Slim changed direction from going toward the bunkhouse to heading for the boss. What did he do to make Mr. Ramsey so angry? He couldn’t recall any slip-up today. “Yes, sir?” he said, hoping he still had a job.

“Dan Crowley is leaving. After ten years!” Amos glowered at Slim. “His wife claims he’s too busted up to cowboy anymore. She’s taking him off to Tucson.”

“That’s bad news, boss. He’s a good foreman.”

“You’re takin’ his place. Ask Dan what to do.”

Mr. Ramsey walked off, leaving Slim with his jaw hanging open. Foreman! He wants me to be foreman? He whistled in surprise, struck by the man’s abrupt manner. Usually Ol’ Amos enjoyed conversing with his cowhands, but not tonight. Could be he’s upset about Dan quitting, but he could’ve been more forthcoming with the details of the job. He hoped Hoosier Dan was of a mind to enlighten him.

Slim started toward the foreman’s little bungalow in back of the main house. If Dan wasn’t at supper, Mrs. Crowley would know where he was.

Dan was sitting down to eat, but he took time to shake Slim’s hand and give him a rundown on his new responsibilities.

Half an hour later, Slim left, his head swimming and his hand sore from Dan’s enthusiastic congratulations. Each night I check with Ol’ Amos about the next day’s work, then parcel out the tasks in the morning. I fancy I’m up to the job. Maybe. Before trepidation took over, he went to eat his own supper, wondering how the cowhands would receive the news.

He supposed he could count on Curly Price to offer congratulations. He and Curly had ridden together for several years and were good friends. Baldy Babbitt would most likely put on a pout, but he wouldn’t want the job either. Too much responsibility.

Slim decided none of the other hands would give him more than occasional grief and sass, except Rance Hunter. He snorted. Hunter was a difficult case, prickly as could be. He was the boss’s stepson, but there was no love lost between them.

Slim paused to slap the horseshoe hung over the bunkhouse door before he entered to eat. He would need all the luck he could get.
~~~

Have you purchased your copy of Blood at Haught Springs yet?

Did you review it on Amazon?

Here are the purchase links.
$2.99 at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

Thanks! See you next week.

Sample Saturday - Mended by Moonlight

Hi! Welcome back to Sample Saturday. I've been able to get my main character, Ella Ruth Owen, to talk to me again. Good thing! Mended by Moonlight is on my publishing schedule for this year.

Ella Ruth has gotten herself a paying position at a convalescent hospital in Charlottesville, Virginia, and she starts the job today!
~~~

"What on earth have I gotten myself into?" Ella Ruth whispered to herself the next morning as she debated on what a "Matron" would wear in a Yankee hospital. She began to pace the room, attired only in her shift. Nothing came to mind. The doctor had given her no instructions, no advisement at all except for an arrival time. If she didn't solve her attire dilemma soon, she would be late. She was already cold. Heaven forbid she should start to shiver before she even left the house.

Lula stood patiently at the open door of the wardrobe, silently awaiting her direction.

Ella Ruth turned and strode toward Lula, whose eyebrows had raised expectantly in the last few moments. The girl would soon give an exasperated huff and adopt a less restrained attitude. Ella Ruth threw up her hands.

"What do I wear," she asked. "I have no experience of Yankee hospitals."

"Your uncle, Doctor Allen, he didn't complain none when you wore your ordinary dresses," Lula said, her expression starting to harden.

"All right. All right," Ella Ruth conceded. "Find me something."

When Lula touched the skirt of the gingham dress Momma brought into her room last week, a purple gingham dress sprigged with white flowers, Ella Ruth burst out, "No!" and then took a breath and thought better of railing at her servant. "It's not warm enough," she said in a more moderate tone. That was true enough. Momma meant for her to wear it come spring.

Lula had the temerity to grin. "I's joking with you, Missy. Here's your old wool skirt, plenty good for the Yankees and with wear enough in it for the whole winter."

Ella Ruth nodded, not sure whether she should be outraged or thankful that Lula could dredge up a sense of humor for the occasion. The black skirt would suit. She could wear the black bodice from yesterday, as well.

"I reckon you'll want this apron, Missy," Lula said as she held up a very large white number that surely came out of Cook's wardrobe.

"Where did you get that?"

Lula chuckled. "Cook has three. She won't miss this one."

Ella Ruth felt her nerves settling. Of course she should wear a protective garment over her clothing. Who knew what she would encounter at the hospital? Soiled bandages always made a mess, and if any of the Yankees suffered from illness instead of wounds, there might be more unpleasantness to face.

"Thank you, Lula," she said, and her shoulders relaxed. She gave her head a tentative shake. No pain. Perhaps hard work was to be the cure for her headaches.
~~~

While you're waiting to find out how Ella Ruth's first day on the job goes, be sure to pick up a copy of my latest novel, The Zion Trail:

The Zion Trail

$3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
Ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store  

Print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

And here's the newest piece to read, my novella, Blood at Haught Springs:

Available as an Ebook only
$2.99 at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

Sample Saturday - Faith and the Foreman

A long time ago, I started a novel that I called Slim and the Schoolmarm. Somewhere along the way, I was persuaded to write a synopsis of the book for a contest. That was fatal to the novel: my brain told me I had written the story, and I couldn't get it started again.

Fast forward many years. I received an invitation to contribute a novella to a collection. I brushed off Slim and the Schoolmarm, changed the name to Faith and the Foreman, started the story all over again, and turned it into the novella that I had contracted to write.

Faith and the Foreman was published two years ago in the Old West Collection, volume nine of the series from Mirror Press entitled A Timeless Romance Anthology. Now it's time to publish it as a stand alone short. Look for it later this summer.
~~~

A bell jangled on the horse-drawn street car outside as Faith Bannister folded the letter she’d been reading and rose to pace the room. After two circuits, she stopped before her cousin. “I am ruined.”

Clarissa Pembroke looked up from the bandage she was knitting and shook her head. “The news can’t be all that bad, dear. We’ve managed to survive the bank crisis fairly well thus far.”

Faith waved the letter. “The interest on my stocks is practically zero.”

“You should have told me, Faith. I must try harder to find employment.” Clarissa breathed heavily. “I can’t believe my usefulness as a nurse is over because of a few gray hairs.” She straightened her back as though in denial of aging. “I’m going to a lecture tonight to keep up with advancing science. Doctor Harley will speak on treating poisons.”

“You shouldn’t have to support me, Clarissa. I’ll sell the house to that fat banker who lusts after it.”

“Faith! Mind your language.”

“He’s wanted it ever since Poppa and Mama got killed.” She bit a fingernail, then removed her finger from her teeth at Clarissa’s continuing reproachful look. “I know. Mama tried so hard to break me of that.” She brushed a blonde curl away from her misting eye and whispered, “Stocks and bonds are no replacement for one’s family. I’m most grateful for your companionship.”

Clarissa wiped her own tearing eyes.

Faith turned away. “Perhaps I can enter the nursing school at Bellevue Hospital. Mr. Spencer offered a price sufficient to pay tuition and allow me to rent an apartment.” She shrugged. “I’ll have to let the servants go. If it appears I don’t have time to train as a nurse before we’re destitute, I’ll become a governess or a shop clerk.”

Clarissa shook herself as though to restore a cheerful outlook. “Let’s not fret about finances now, dear. Come with me tonight and enjoy the lecture.” She held up her knitting. “This bandage will be finished by then, and I’ll have another eleven for the good doctor.”
~~~

Have you purchased your copy of Blood at Haught Springs yet?

Here are the purchase links.
$2.99 at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

Sample Saturday - Blood at Haught Springs

Hello! Before I get into today's Sample, I'll let you gaze at the 2015 Whitney Lifetime Achievement Award that now sits on my mantelpiece.

It's heavy! My friend, who accepted the award in my place, had troubles getting it through the TSA because, you know, it's a pointy object. LOL!

Okay, now on to today's Sample from Blood at Haught Springs, which I released yesterday in ebook formats. Lonnie Haught is feeling pretty good. He just got a promising job with a newcomer to Haught Springs.
~~~

Lonnie strolled into the store using the front door, a smile on his lips and satisfaction warming his soul. Even though the bell still jangled behind him, Wes was too preoccupied in tending to a customer to glance up and notice who had come in.

Lonnie’s smile broadened. Wes may have got a jump on him with the leases, but Lonnie would have the last laugh. I’ve got a paying job now. No more depending on Wes for pocket change.

He coughed slightly to make sure Wes looked up and saw him before he sauntered into the back room. He could feel Wes’s glare boring a hole between his shoulder blades, but it didn’t matter anymore. I’ve got a job, a good job. Mr. Badger said it would be worth my while.

He grinned as he lifted his gun belt and holstered pistol down from the nail where he had left them hanging yesterday, and strapped on the rig. Knees slightly bent, he pulled the pistol quickly from the holster. He had to remember not to lock his knees in excitement. He might need to move after a bit of gunplay. He grinned again. Mr. Badger had said he’d probably have a task for him on Monday morning. Maybe he’s got an enemy to put down. Such a nice thought. Gunfighters make top money.

Lonnie tried his quick draw again, then checked the cartridges in the chambers and replaced the pistol in the holster. Straightening up from the task, he took in a deep breath. I’m a bodyguard. Probably a gunfighter, too. Wes can’t say that. He’s only a storekeeper.

Lonnie dusted off a speck of lint that had fallen onto his trousers, and looked out the door. Evidently, Wes had filled the customer’s order and taken it out to her wagon, because now he was hunkered down over paperwork. I’ll never have to do paperwork again. As far as I’m concerned, the old man can give Wes the entire lousy business, lock, stock, and barrel. I’m working for a big man, now.
~~~

Two bonus short stories are included with Blood at Haught Springs: Cottonwood Cowboys and No More Strangers. The novella kicks off a new series set in Haught Springs, Texas, a rowdy frontier town bursting at the seams with action, adventure, and intrigue. Join me in a new world of hard-working, rough and tumble men who sometimes aren't exactly who or what they seem to be.

Blood at Haught Springs is available for $2.99
in ebook formats at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Kobo
It will soon be available at the Nook and Apple iTunes bookstores, as well.

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Springs

Welcome to Sample Saturday. Later this month, I'll release a novella, which will be the first of several tales in a new series: The Men of Haught Springs. Here's a snippet from the story of brothers at odds, Blood at Haught Springs.
~~~

By closing time, Lonnie had not returned to the store. Wes shrugged off his dissatisfaction. His brother had probably headed home early to bear tales to Dad of how badly Wes had treated him. Sack of lazy bones, he thought, and locked the front door. He had one stop to make at the butcher’s, then he’d get home.

The house was a mere block away when Wes had completed his errand, and he covered the distance at a fast pace, gripping the valise in one hand, and a parcel containing a cut of beef in the other. Maggie, the Haught's housekeeper, had requested a roast for tomorrow's dinner. Wes had first thought of bringing home a goose someone had brought in to trade for groceries, but had dismissed the idea. Dad shouldn't have rich poultry yet. Beef broth is better for him while he mends.

Grove Haught's injuries had come about when he was thrown from the seat of a freight wagon and run over by a wheel. Fortunately for him, Wes had run to stop the team before the second wheel crushed his father’s chest.  Even so, the first wheel had done significant damage, and Dad had been in bed recuperating for some time.

This morning, he had seemed better, and said he wanted to get out of bed and sit in the parlor for a while. He had grudgingly accepted Wes's assistance, after asking why Lonnie hadn’t volunteered to do the task. Wes had to explain that Lonnie had already left the house to get in his gun practice before the store opened.

Wes hoped the evening at home would go better than the morning had. Someday Dad will see I'm of more worth than a dozen of Lonnie. He half expected his father to fit out his brother in a coat of many colors, like the man in the Bible had done for his favorite son. Before Lonnie could gain more favor with their father, Wes was determined to prove his worth. Today, he had made a good start, getting those leases sewn up.

A wash of satisfaction swept over him, and he grinned. Another pleasant thought popped into his mind. Miss Nina. Matters could not look better in that department. She as much as begged me to see her again. He realized he hadn’t firmed up any plans to that effect. I’ll have to make an appointment to take her on a picnic or to a dance as soon as possible. He inhaled a lungful of sweet night air and decided that, on balance, it had been a splendid day.
~~~

Watch for next week's cover reveal for Blood at Haught Springs.

Have you picked up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail?
If you've already read it, please post a review at Amazon. Thank you!

The Zion Trail

 $3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Sample Saturday - May 7, 2016, Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday. I'm sharing this week from my work-in-progress (WIP), Mended by Moonlight.

Ella Ruth's mother has arranged a consultation for Ella Ruth with a physician at the new soldier's hospital to investigate the cause of her persistent headaches. Unfortunately, Momma delayed telling Ella Ruth about the appointment until the day she was to appear.

Of course, this has resulted in "words" being exchanged between the two women.
~~~

Mended by Moonlight

"It will do you good to take a drive in the fresh air," Momma said.

"The cold air, you mean."

"Bracing air. You've been indoors too much, my dear."

"All right. I'll go, if Thomas may drive me. There's no need for you to put yourself out to accompany me," Ella Ruth said, and went to get her heavy cloak without waiting for her mother's agreement.

During the buggy trip, Ella Ruth sat stiffly beside the elderly servant, glad for the lap robe that prevented him from seeing how tightly her hands were clasped together. Where are my steady nerves? Did they leave me when Ben died? So far today, her head had not tormented her. She hoped the physician would conclude that if she were allowed to mourn in peace, the headaches would disappear.

When Thomas turned the horse into the drive to the hospital, Ella Ruth saw that a comfortable sum of money had been expended to construct the buildings. Where did they get the money? she wondered. Surely the Union is as bankrupt as we are from the expenses of the war.

Thomas drove up to the largest building, halted the horse, and carefully alighted from the seat to help Ella Ruth down from the buggy. She told Thomas to stay with the horse, took a deep breath to steel herself, and walked through the front door.

Inside, light played on white walls of a small, empty vestibule. She pulled a bit of paper from her reticule and pushed through another door to encounter a hallway where a young man with no arm to fill his pinned-up left sleeve strolled past the door.

"Excuse me," she said, embarrassed to hear how timid her voice sounded.

The young man turned toward her and inclined his head slightly. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Might you inform me where Doctor . . ." She consulted the paper in her hand. "Where I might find Dr. Marshall?"

"Are you the new Matron?"

"Um, I-- I have a consultation arranged with the doctor." She twisted the paper between her hands, disconcerted by the man's direct gaze.

"Ah. He'll be in the wards this time of day." He gestured toward a set of double doors on the right. "It would be more proper if you waited in his office. That's down the other way, the last door on the left."

"Thank you, you're most kind," she said to the first Yankee soldier she'd seen since Ben died. "I'll wait."

She turned away and fled down the corridor. She badly needed to sit.
~~~

I hope everything will go well at the consultation for Ella Ruth. Do you think the doctor will be able to discover the cause of the headaches?

While we're waiting to find out, pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail:

The Zion Trail

 $3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Springs

Welcome to Sample Saturday! A new, prosperous-looking customer has walked through the door of Haught's General Store and Commercial Emporium, and Wesley Haught has turned to be of service. He's had a busy morning, and his mood has been soured from an encounter with his younger brother, but now perhaps things were looking up.. 

This tidbit is from my forthcoming novella, Blood at Haught Springs.
~~~

Wes scraped up a smile for the new customer. “I'm sorry for the wait, sir. I'm Wesley Haught. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Ferrell Badger. I was informed that this is the place to lease property in town. Is that correct?” The man's voice held a no-nonsense note.

Wes's smile broadened. I thought that suit meant money. “Yes, sir. Haught Enterprises handles such transactions. I'm at your service.” He wouldn't bother calling Lonnie to take on the job like he was supposed to do, since he'd been acting like a jerk this morning. It would serve him right if Wes brought in the business instead. Maybe Dad will spare me a little praise, for once.

“I was given the name of Grove Haught.” The man pursed his lips. “Is he here?”

“He's my father,” Wes replied. He shook his head. “He's home mending from a broken leg.” Dad's injuries were somewhat more serious than merely a broken leg, but the stranger didn't need to know that. “I can help you, sir.” Much better than Lonnie can. “Does this concern a house?” He hoped it did. His glance shifted briefly to the girl, who was presently occupied in inspecting a bolt of lavender-colored cloth, feeling the texture of the fabric as she ran her fingers over the surface.

When Mr. Badger made a sound, Wes pulled his attention back to the man.

“A house, yes, but also a building. I noticed the brick structure at the corner appears to be vacant.”

Wes felt his pulse quicken. Two leases! “Ah. That was the bank, but the crisis a few . . .” His words trailed off as he realized he wasn't putting the town's best foot forward. “Yes, that building is available, Mr. Badger. I can show it to you right away.” I hope Lonnie swept it out this week.

He stooped to rummage for the key in a box beneath the counter, and ran the housing possibilities through his mind. The same financial downturn that had forced Banker Pierce from his business had left his large house empty, as well. The no-nonsense set of Mr. Badger's shoulders, combined with his fine suit, spoke of wealth and privilege. The man wouldn't look twice at the rundown Peterson homestead, but the banker's home was a much grander affair, well suited to a rich gentleman's needs.

Wes remembered the place well. After all, his father had built it for his mother when times had been better. Before she and his little sister had died. Before the pain of living in an empty house had become too overwhelming. Before Dad had sold the mansion to Mr. Pierce.

He straightened, holding two tagged keys in his palm. “We can also lease you a fine house, Mr. Badger. You may have seen it as you drove into town. The large white house beside the river?” He gestured in the direction of the site out of town.

The man seemed to consider his recall of the property for a moment. “That could fit my requirements,” he said, frowning a bit, as though he must inspect every inch to be sure.

“Since we can walk over to the bank building, I'll show you around that first, then I'll hitch up the buggy and take you out to see the house,” Wes said, his eyes wandering toward the daughter. “The young lady might like to give her thoughts on the habitation.” He hoped his voice held the same firm note of confidence that his father's always had as he tended to land and property affairs. Wes very much wanted to make the girl's acquaintance, as soon as he could.

“Yes, I suppose Nina should approve of the house,” Mr. Badger said.

Nina. That was her name. Wes's toes tingled. That hadn't happened over a female since Mary Beth Cockrum threw him over in favor of Calvin Greenwood six months before. Now the sensation had returned. Woo-eee! Nina!
~~~

While you're waiting to see what's next for Wes Haught, I suggest you pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail:

$3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store
print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Sample Saturday: Mended by Moonlight 2

Welcome to Sample Saturday. This tidbit is from my work-in-progress (WIP), Mended by Moonlight. Ella Ruth has suffered a nightmare.
~~~

"I'm not subject to nightmares," she protested, brushing her hair away from her face. Her muscles ached from struggling. Her head ach-- No, it felt fuzzy, but did not ache at present. She slipped off the edge of the bed, wanting no more of it for now.

The cold air in the room raised goose flesh along her arms. She hastened to the fireplace and tried in vain to stir the dead embers to life.

"I'll get Thomas to build a fire, Missy," Lula said, and started to leave the room.

"Wait." Ella Ruth held up her hand. "Is it night? How long did I sleep?"

Lula turned in the doorway. "It be cloudy outside, Missy. You slept about a hour. Do you want a fire?"

Ella Ruth began to pace, rubbing her bare arms. She had to get out of this confining room.

"No. Help me dress. I will take a walk in the garden to warm me."

"The garden pretty bare this time of year," Lula protested. "Nuthin' to see out there."

"Nevertheless, I need the air." She paused and looked at her servant. "Did Momma leave?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You will say nothing of this . . . bad dream to anyone. Do you understand?"

Lula nodded, a baffled look on her face.

"No one. Tell me you understand."

Yes, ma'am. Missy, I don't tell tales."
~~~

While you're waiting to see what situation Ella Ruth will get into next, I'd like to suggest that you pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail, available at all major online retailers. $3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books.

ebooks:
Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store
print books:
CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Sample Saturday: Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday. Today's tidbit is from my forthcoming work, Mended by Moonlight. Ella Ruth Allen Owen is not faring well in the aftermath of the American Civil War. She's been struggling with headaches, but now, a new malady is plaguing her.
~~~

Momma did not press Ella Ruth to accompany her on the day's visits, and Ella Ruth retired to her room. Lula had a cold cloth waiting, and Ella Ruth sank into slumber, fending off the painful headache until she remembered no more.

Bye and bye she found herself struggling in the candle-lit parlor with a bolt of lavender cloth that unwrapped above her head, swirling her into its folds until she was caught tight, arms pinioned to her sides. She tried to fight, to wriggle out of the binding fabric, but it held her fast, until she fell in a heap and dissolved into tears.

She awoke then, screaming and thrashing against her encumbering bedclothing.

Lula bent over her, trying to sooth her with soft words as she tugged at the bedspread and sheet.

When she felt the bedclothes release her, Ella Ruth sat up, panting and whimpering, until the her panic subsided.

"Missy, it was a bad dream, no more. You be fine soon."
~~~

Will Ella Ruth really be all right, as Lula promises? She has vowed to remain in mourning in honor of her husband, Ben Owen, but will her parents force her to abandon the secluded life she wants to live?

Stay tuned. While you wait, be sure to pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail, available at all major online retailers.

The Zion Trail - currently in ebook formats

(Print coming March 25):
ebooks: 

Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store 

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Spring 3

Welcome to Haught Sp-- Sample Saturday! In this sample from Blood at Haught Springs, a novella I'll be publishing later this year, Wesley Haught is taking his new clients out to see the house they will be leasing.
~~~

As soon as he could get the buggy hitched, Wes drove it around to the store and halted the horses. He swung down and handed the girl up into the rear seat, although he would have preferred having her beside him. It was the father's place to sit up front, so he could see the house straight away as they approached it. That was more important than Wes being able to make a pitch for the daughter's attention. Even so, his toes tingled slightly.

As Wes drove out of town, he endeavored to make light conversation in order to save his sales push for when Mr. Badger saw the place.

“Have you folks come a long way to reach Haught Springs?”

“Montana,” Mr. Badger replied.

Wes kept quiet, hoping the man would expand on the one-word explanation. When he said no more, Wes asked, “Brutal winters?”

“Very.”

“You'll find the winters to be moderate in our area. You've made a good choice, coming here.”

“My sister, little Annie, couldn't get used to the cold,” Nina said from the back seat. “It made her ill.”

Wes envisioned a small girl shivering in a threadbare coat, like a character in a Dickens story, and then figured that was foolish. This man had enough money to keep his family warm.

He tried again. “What sort of commerce are you in, Mr. Badger? The bank building will need renovations, I imagine.”

“Not so. It suits as it is.”

“It does?”

“I'm opening a bank.”

“Well, that's good news. We could use a bank hereabouts. Business has picked up lately.”

“So I hear.”

And that was as far as the conversation stretched. Wes wondered what his father would have done to prod more responses from Mr. Badger. He hoped Miss Nina was more of a conversationalist. He could scarcely wait to get her alone to find out.

The silence continued as he drove the horses at a sprightly rate down onto the river road, thoughts of the lovely girl behind him filling his mind.

Miss Nina laid a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Is the house much farther? I’m so anxious to see it.”

He swung his head to look toward her, his toes tingling so much he could scarcely respond to her question. “It’s not so much farther on,” he finally managed to say. Her hand lay so softly upon him that he wondered if it was really made of flesh and bones.

“I’m glad. We’ve traveled so far in anticipation of arriving at a good place.”

“Haught Springs is the best place hereabouts to settle, Miss,” he replied. “We have abundant water from the river, and good weather. Your family has made a good choice.”

“Father is quite astute,” she murmured, and patted his shoulder.

He thought he would melt. The skin around her huge blue eyes crinkled a bit as she smiled at him.
~~~

Discount pricing for Read an Ebook Week lasts through tonight, March 12, 2016, at 11:59 p.m. Pacific Time.

Click here to go to my Profile Page at Smashwords.com, where you will find a list of my books and stories.

Use the coupon code RAE25 at checkout for the following discounted items:

The Zion Trail
Gone for a Soldier
The Man from Shenandoah
Ride to Raton
Trail of Storms
Spinster's Folly
Western Stories: Four Tales of the West

The following items are regularly FREE:

The Owen Family Saga Sampler
Thumps and Losers: Two Short Stories
Rapid Recipes for Writers . . . And Other Busy People

Use coupon code RAE25 at checkout.

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Springs 2

Welcome to Sample Saturday! I'm continuing this week with another tidbit from Blood at Haught Springs, a novella I'll be publishing later this year.

Wes Haught has just negotiated not one, but two leases to a newcomer in Haught Springs, a frontier town in west Texas.
~~~

Wes stuck his head into the back room and said, “I have an errand, so I’m leaving you in charge of the store.”  He didn't bother to explain to Lonnie where he was going before he shepherded Mr. Badger and his fascinating daughter toward the door. Let his lazy brother think what he wanted.

He opened the door wide, and Mr. Badger took the lead, stalking out onto the porch. Wes smiled covertly at Miss Nina behind her father's back. She returned the smile with a little arching of her eyebrow, which Wes took to be a good sign.

Showing the building to Mr. Badger seemed to take no time at all, even though Lonnie clearly had ignored the weekly maintenance. As Wes took him through, the man nodded at the features: the railing that divided the customer area from the working space, the teller cages, the banker's office, the back room, and the rear entrance. Mr. Badger agreed to the lease conditions and price without hesitation, and they shook hands on the matter.

“I'll draw up the paperwork and bring it to you at the hotel,” Wes said, exiting the building. “While I put the horses into harness, you and your daughter can sit in the shade of the awning in front of the store. I won't be long.”

Miss Nina lagged slightly behind her father, glancing back over her shoulder and wiggling her fingers in temporary farewell. Wes felt as though she had planted a kiss on his cheek.

After she turned away, he punched the air in elation. Let Lonnie gnash his teeth with rage. If Wes got ahead, it was Lonnie's own fault for being a lazy lout. Dad couldn't quibble over Wes’s management of the business if he pulled off making two leases in one day. He hurried around the block to get the buggy hitched.
~~~

I hope you have purchased your copy of The Zion Trail by now. If you haven't, here are the purchase links:

Kindle | Barnes and Noble (Nook)
iTunes (Apple iBook Store) 
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See you next week!