Into The Land Of Shadows by Kristy McCaffrey - June #blogabookscene #westernromance #prairierosepubs @prairierosepubs

By Kristy McCaffrey

Blog-a-Book-Scene is a monthly themed blogging endeavor from a group of authors who love to share excerpts from their stories. Find us on Twitter with the hashtag #blogabookscene and #PrairieRosePubs.

June's theme is On The Road Again. This excerpt is from my historical western paranormal romance novel, Into The Land Of Shadows, in which Ethan Barstow decides to help Kate Kinsella find his brother, who he believes is her fiance.

Excerpt

Kate wondered how far she’d get on foot before the man standing a few feet away caught her and did God-knew-what.

Ethan Barstow.

Of all her bad luck. She had never met the man, but Charley’s recollections of his brother filled her head. Liar. Swindler. Killer.

“You must be Charley’s fiancée,” he said, watching her closely, his gaze dark.

Swell. He knew who she was. She nodded, deciding now wasn’t the time to share the truth about her and Charley's relationship. Instinct told her she needed to ditch Mister Barstow, but losing the donkey was a bit of a problem. Maybe she could find the animal herself on foot. But what if the three buffoons who’d stolen her horse were still out there?

“I arrived in Flagstaff three days ago looking for Charley,” Ethan said. “I was told he’d left town unexpectedly so I’ve been trailing him. I take it you don’t know where he is, either?”

She cleared her throat. “No, I don’t.”

“Is there some reason why he wouldn’t tell you where he was going?”

Well, it’s not me, but Agnes he didn’t tell. It was far too complicated to explain, least of all to this man, so she uttered, “We’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, Charley and I’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding as well,” Ethan said quietly, almost to himself.

Kate plastered the biggest smile she could onto her face. “I think I’ll just go look for that donkey myself. I really don’t want to be a bother to you.”

She moved past the man who was a dead ringer for Charley, possessing the same angular cheek bones and long nose, the same dark hair, the same lean build as her fiancé. Her fiancé! What a ridiculous mess that was. There had been a time, far back in the beginning of her acquaintance with Charley, when she’d found him attractive and fun. It had been short-lived, especially once Agnes entered the picture. Now, she was face-to-face with a man much like Charley, but while his eyes had been green and his demeanor inviting, Ethan’s eyes were blue, almost gray, like a lake frozen over.

There were other differences, as well, and none of them flattered Ethan. He was a man who had killed other men, and Kate knew she would never find anything appealing in that.

“Hang on a minute,” he said. His hand wrapped around her forearm to stop her—a large, warm hand. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who I am since Charley and I haven’t spoken in over five years, but I came to Flagstaff to hopefully put the past in the past. I came to see if Charley and I could bury our differences. The least I can do is to help you find him, especially since we’ll be kin one day.”

She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Up close, she could see flecks of gold buried within the blue, and a few wrinkles in the skin around the edges of his eyes. It must be her imagination that he seemed the slightest bit more friendly. Charley had charm and it would seem Ethan did as well, although Kate sensed it wasn’t without shadows.

A killer of men would undoubtedly have many shadows to keep him company. She couldn’t think of how to reply. The last thing she wanted was company, and least of all Ethan’s company. She’d find her damned fiancé herself.

“Yes, it would make sense to look together.” So much for thinking fast on her feet. Her brother, Owen, had always said she was a little slow off the mark. It would seem he was right.

“You can ride Brandy,” Ethan said as he released her arm.

He moved to his other horse and began untying the bags of supplies he’d brought with him. He moved the largest satchel to his horse and tied several knots swiftly to anchor it in place. Kate chewed her lip. She could just make a run for it. The only after-effect of her fall from the donkey was a splitting headache—her legs were perfectly fine. But Ethan would probably chase her down. And then, he’d wonder what was wrong with her. And then, maybe he’d just shoot her in the back if he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.

The image horrified her. Perhaps she should at least be civil to the man, to ward off her immediate murder. An opportunity for escape would surely present itself.

She had a plan. This was good. She would make small talk with Charley’s brother, then run for her life when she got the chance.

Copyright © 2013  K. McCaffrey LLC

Available in digital and print at Amazon.

Also in the Kindle Unlimited subscription program.

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INTO THE LAND OF SHADOWS By Kristy McCaffrey – May #blogabookscene #westernromance #prairierosepubs @prairierosepubs

By Kristy McCaffrey

Blog-a-Book-Scene is a monthly themed blogging endeavor from a group of authors who love to share excerpts from their stories. Find us on Twitter with the hashtag #blogabookscene and #PrairieRosePubs.

May's theme is Mayday! Mayday! This excerpt is from my historical western paranormal romance novel, Into The Land Of Shadows.

In the land of the Navajo, spirits and desire draw Ethan and Kate close, leading them deeper into the shadows and to each other.

Excerpt

“Let’s head upstream and look for a crossing.” Ethan put the map back into his saddlebag and shifted his gaze to something in the distance. “That doesn’t look good.”

Kate looked over her shoulder. Three riders approached, some distance away. Kate turned Brandy so she could have a better look. Whiskey moved so close to her daughter that Ethan’s shoulder bumped Kate’s from behind.

“That couldn’t possibly be them, could it?” she asked. Appalled that the three men who had stolen her horse were still after her, and trying her best to act as if she bumped shoulders with men she found compelling every day, she made a decision right then and there. “I’m not giving up Fred [the donkey].”

“Then move it, Kinsella,” Ethan said. He pushed Whiskey into a gallop.

They rode the horses, Fred tied behind Whiskey and moving at a good clip, up a rocky incline, climbing above the waterfall to their left. They moved faster, riding parallel to the river. Kate noticed the waterway was wide and although it didn’t look deep she really had no desire to cross so close to the waterfall. A sickening feeling of falling swept over her at the thought of plunging over the mesa.

Ethan kept pushing forward and Kate thankfully had to do very little to keep Brandy on pace with him. Kate chanced a glance over her right shoulder. The riders were moving at a faster clip. Ethan pulled his gun.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, jolted with panic. She was between Ethan and the men chasing them; was he going to shoot her?

He slowed Whiskey just a bit but didn’t take a shot. “Get on the other side of me,” he yelled.

Kate pushed Brandy ahead and to the left. Ethan protected her on one side while the river threatened to swallow her and Brandy up on the other.

The three riders gained on them and the sound of gunfire made Kate’s heart slam into her chest.

“Ride low, Kate,” Ethan commanded. He shot several times in succession and the three riders were forced to scatter. “We need to cross. Look for a low spot.”

Kate started searching the shoreline. They’d moved about a quarter-mile upriver from the waterfall so the current should have lessened but Kate really didn’t want to test that theory.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It all looks pretty much the same.”

“Then let’s go. Remember to hold tight to Brandy, especially if it gets too deep.”

Kate’s mouth went dry as she turned her horse to the left and splashed into the muddy waters. It wasn’t deep and Brandy moved swiftly. The horse jostled Kate up and down as the water rose to Brandy’s belly. Kate’s boots got wet. Brandy kept moving, but started to slow, fighting the current. Kate looked behind and saw Ethan, Whiskey, and Fred still on the shoreline. She swung her head around to look over her other shoulder. One of their assailants closed in. Kate panicked. She should do something. She tried to turn Brandy around but the horse resisted.

“Of all the times to become independent,” Kate growled. “Go back to mama, Brandy.” The horse stayed the course.

Kate looked back again. Ethan had dismounted and shooed Whiskey and Fred into the river. The two animals moved toward her, kicking up a flurry of water. Brandy wouldn’t turn around so all Kate could do was wait for the other two animals to catch them. She watched with mounting concern as Ethan took cover behind a scrub brush with a gun in one hand and a rifle in the other. Enemy number one took aim at Kate. Ethan opened fire as Kate fell off Brandy’s back and into the water.

The current pulled her feet from under her and she frantically tried to hold onto something but lost her grip on Brandy’s saddle. She moved down river with surprising speed. It wasn’t deep, but her feet slipped repeatedly every time she tried to dig her heels into the soft bottom. Her hat bobbed behind her, pulling the drawstring against her neck. She choked as much from that as from the water splashing onto her face, into her mouth, and up her nose.

I have to stop. She’d fly off the waterfall any second. Her arms flailed to find anything. She tried to swim against the current, stroking with one arm then another but gasped for breath.

She jerked to a stop. Her foot was caught on a spindly branch protruding from the swirling fluid. Grabbing the smooth wood with both hands, she prayed it would hold. She was able to stand, but only a little; the water was just below her breasts. The strong current made it impossible to get to shore. She must be close to the waterfall.

Help! Help me!

In the distance she heard a voice. “Kate. Kate!”

“Ethan!” She hoped he could hear her. “Ethan! Over here!”

She searched for him on the western bank.

“Kate!”

He was behind her atop Whiskey. Brandy and Fred were with him, as unhappy as Kate if their agitation was any indication.

“Hang on,” he yelled. “I’m gonna get you.”

He detached a circle of rope from Whiskey’s saddle, unwound it then positioned himself partially in the water.

“I’m gonna throw you the rope,” he yelled. “Grab onto it.”

She nodded, although she doubted he could see her response. Her hands felt slippery on the thin wood she grasped and her breathing came in short, rapid bursts.

Ethan spun the rope above his head and cast it upriver from her. The current brought it to her and she reached out to grab it as it floated by but she missed it by inches. She spun around her wooden anchor and almost lost her grip entirely. In a panic she struggled to grab back on. She heard her voice and realized she was screaming and crying.

“Katie!  Honey, look at me,” Ethan said.

Her back was to him now. She was terrified to move. “I can’t, I can’t,” she chanted to herself. If she yelled, the force of her voice might dislodge her from the only thing keeping her from rushing over the waterfall.

Get hold of yourself, Kate. But she couldn’t. Her arms were paralyzed, and she could hardly breathe. She needed to grab the rope again when Ethan tossed it to her; she needed to just extend one hand from the safety of her barely-there tree. Move your arm. She closed her eyes and prayed for courage. A sob escaped. She couldn’t bring herself to let go. As long as she held on, she survived. If she let go, the water could push her from her only anchor. She squeezed her eyes shut again.

She’d be killed. Her mama flashed through her mind. She hadn’t spoken to her in two years, had barely corresponded via letters. And now she would die and there would be no more opportunities. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted. But her mama couldn’t hear her. Neither could Owen or Petey. Or Mrs. Finley. She’d die, and she was only twenty years old.

“Katie! Look at me.” Ethan’s voice was louder, closer.

She lifted her gaze; she trembled so much that the hair hanging in her face shook. Ethan was in the water, coming toward her.

Copyright © 2013  K. McCaffrey LLC

Available in digital and print at Amazon.

Also in the Kindle Unlimited subscription program.

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Death Masks

By Kristy McCaffrey

A death mask is a likeness of a deceased person’s face following death. Typically constructed of wax or plaster, the impression is made directly from the corpse.

Death Mask of King Tut

In many cultures, a death mask was used during the funeral and was usually buried with the body. The Egyptians made them as part of the mummification process, the most famous being King Tut’s golden mask. They believed the death mask allowed the deceased person’s spirit to find its body in the afterlife.

Some African tribes believed a death mask imbued a wearer with the power of the dead. But in the Middle Ages, the practice became less of a spiritual link and more a way of preserving the dead. Death masks weren’t buried with the deceased but instead were used in funeral ceremonies and later kept in libraries, museums, and universities.

Famous death masks include Ludwig van Beethoven, Napoleon Bonaparte, Frederic Chopin, Oliver Cromwell, John Keats, Nikola Tesla, Mary Queen of Scots, and John Dillinger.

Death mask of Napoleon Bonaparte.

Alleged  death mask of Shakespeare.

In Kristy’s story, BLUE SAGE, a death mask plays an important role.

AMAZON | Also available in Kindle Unlimited

Catch a cowboy … Keep a cowboy …

THE LEGEND OF BAD MOON RISING by Carra Copelin

Sheriff Ben Hammond is finally over the woman who shattered his heart, but when Dinah Horne suddenly returns, can he ignore the passion still burning bright between them?

CITY BOY, COUNTRY HEART by Andrea Downing

Trading horses for subways for two years seemed like a good idea to cowboy Chay Ridgway, but can city girl K.C. Daniels keep a rein on his country heart?

BLUE SAGE by Kristy McCaffrey

Archaeologist Audrey Driggs rolls off a mountain and lands at the feet of rugged cowboy Braden Delaney. Together, they’ll uncover a long-lost secret.

THE DRIFTER’S KISS by Devon McKay

Determined to take back what belongs to her, Addison Reed will do anything. Even trust a complete stranger.

HER MAN by Hildie McQueen

Deputy Mark Hunter falls for Eliza Brock during a murder investigation. Is it fate or bad luck, especially when she may be involved?

BORDER ROMANCE by Hebby Roman

Widow Leticia Villarreal wants to establish a horse-racing stable and an old acquaintance John Clay Laidlaw offers to help. But can she trust him with her business and her heart?

PHOENIX HEAT by Patti Sherry-Crews

After losing her fiancé and her New York City business, Harper Donovan returns to Arizona and meets cowboy Frank Flynn. Will his past and their differences extinguish the heat between them?

Blue Sage Excerpt

Braden sat across from Audrey, a fire flaming between them, holding the darkness at bay. They’d found a flat patch of land not far from the spot where they’d discovered Blue and had set up a small tent and supplies. Braden planned to sleep outside, and if Blue’s affectionate attentions were any indication, he’d have plenty of warmth from the mutt. Not that snuggling against Audrey didn’t have its merits, but he wondered if it was too soon to make a move.

She’d seen him cry like a baby after all. So much for giving an impression of strength and confidence. Damned if he hadn’t spilled his emotions out like a broken water pump. But in some ways losing his dad had broken him.

The horses and Stevie were picketed nearby munching on oats and grass, and Audrey had prepared peanut butter sandwiches for dinner. After the days’ events, Braden had eaten four.

“What did you want to tell me?” he prompted, running a hand along Blue’s back as the dog lay curled up against him.

Audrey crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Bundled in her brightly-colored fleece, the garment seemed to heighten the flush of her cheeks to a rosy glow. Although her hair was still pulled back from her face, strands had escaped and framed the soft contours of her cheeks, her eyes a deep blue-green in the flickering firelight.

Her only makeup was a sunburned nose and faint smudges of dirt, and he watched her like a lovesick puppy.

When had it happened? When had he fallen for her?

He hoped she wasn’t about to tell him she had a boyfriend.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been here,” she said. “When I was nine, my dad took my sister and me for a weekend in the wilderness. I’m fairly certain this is where we were. When you mentioned seeing a family here years ago—I think it was us.”

That caught his attention. He laughed as he scratched behind Blue’s ear, the dog in canine bliss. “I remember you. It was early in the morning, and I was scouting around alone when I saw a dark-haired girl talking to herself.” He grinned. “Then she did a dance.”

Audrey twisted her mouth, appearing self-conscious. She took a deep breath. “Yeah, that was me. First, let me apologize for the fact that we were on Delaney land. I’m sure my dad didn’t realize we’d crossed the boundary between public and private lands.”

“You’re forgiven.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “So, you should know that as a young child I was very sick.”

Copyright © 2017 K. McCaffrey LLC

Author Bio

Kristy McCaffrey writes historical western romances set in the American southwest. She and her husband dwell in the Arizona desert with two chocolate labs named Ranger and Lily, and whichever of their four children that are in residence. Kristy believes life should be lived with curiosity, compassion, and gratitude, and one should never be far from the enthusiasm of a dog. She also likes sleeping-in, eating Mexican food, and doing yoga at home in her pajamas.

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Guest Post: Writing - The Long and Short Of It by Patti Sherry-Crews

Please welcome author Patti Sherry-Crews today!!

Take it away, Patti.

“When are you going to stop writing for boxed sets and write another novel?”

That was a question my daughter asked me some time ago.

Her implication being that writing novellas for anthologies is a lesser feat than writing a novel. The question did give me pause. My daughter is one of my biggest fans, and I often share my work with her because she’s a careful reader, picking out all the little breadcrumbs I leave along the trail from page one to writing “the end.”

So, why put my energies into novellas? I’ve written nine novels (some yet to be published) and numerous novellas for both my publisher, Prairie Rose Publications, and Indie boxed sets.

There are many reasons I write novellas. I like the companionship, the reduced workload involved in a group effort, and the chance to learn from others. I also like to have a couple of projects going at once. I flip back and forth, letting one rest while I go back to another with a fresh eye. I find if I’m not writing it affects my mood. Sometimes I don’t have a big idea for a novel in mind, and to be able to answer a call for submission or write a story for an anthology ensures I have something on my laptop.

But is a novella really a lesser feat? Not at all. Size doesn’t matter. In fact, I’d argue writing a short piece is more challenging.

When I submit to my publisher they have a word count limit. Indie anthologies differ in that way because I can write a longer piece--in fact it’s encouraged as long as it still comes in as a novella. But still, the word count in one of my novellas is typically a third or less than a full novel. There’s less room to have your story arc or flesh out the characters, which is actually difficult to do. I measure every word to make sure it has the feeling I wish to convey, given that I have fewer words to work with to set the mood. Character has to be fine-tuned and defined in a few pages, opposed to chapters.

Editing is something I actually enjoy. I think of the process as polishing. Image of a rock tumbler running in my head. I polish, polish, polish. Every sentence, every word. The advantage of editing a short piece is that I can run through a novella from beginning to end in a matter of hours rather than days. I think that helps with issues such as continuity or to quickly see I’ve used a word or phrase a few too many times.

The short read is also a place to showcase what I’m capable of. And because I feel a responsibility to the other hard-working authors in an anthology, I put my all into these efforts.

So, Missy, I will continue to write both novels and stories for boxed sets!

Available at AMAZON and Kindle Unlimited

Includes Patti's story - PHOENIX HEAT

After losing her fiancé and her New York City business, Harper Donovan returns to Arizona and meets cowboy Frank Flynn. Will his past and their differences extinguish the heat between them?

An excerpt from PHOENIX HEAT

She switched off the ignition and reached for the bag when she heard the sound she dreaded. The sound of another car approaching. She squeezed her eyelids shut. After taking a second, she swallowed hard and opened her eyes. A pickup, riding a cloud of dust—pulling in behind her. Trapped. The driver turned off the engine and sat still for an agonizing few minutes.

Looking in her rearview mirror, she could see the grimace on his face. At last, Flynn climbed out of his truck. She took in a long, deep breath. Still looking in the rearview mirror, she watched his slow progress toward her. A plain white t-shirt and tight jeans might be the sexiest look on a man, she decided. His broad shoulders, trim waist, and muscular arms swinging at his sides couldn’t show more to advantage in any other clothes—except maybe his birthday suit. She caught herself mentally undressing him and bit down hard on her lower lip. He continued forward in an unhurried pace, a scowl etched on his features. An ache in her lungs alerted her to the fact she’d been holding her breath.

She rolled down her window as he approached and looked back at him over her shoulder. His feet landed in her tire tracks leading him closer, boot prints stamping a new pattern in the dust. Maybe she could hand him the bag and be on her way. He leaned down and put his hands on the driver’s side of her car with his arms spread wide. Oh my. He has a tattoo. Around one muscular bicep ran a band of Celtic design. He had his cheek sucked in like he wasn’t too pleased to see her.

“Hi, I brought you some food from the hotel,” she said, surprised by the slight squeak in her voice when she’d been going for relaxed.

“Rosa have you running her errands?” No squeak in his voice. He spoke in a deep, slow drawl. Very sexy.

“I pass by here on my way to work. It’s not a bother. I work at—”

“I know where you work,” he said in that same slow, deliberate way. That man didn’t do anything fast.

“Oh, right, well, here you go then,” she said, shifting the bag in his direction. “Nice of you to do this. I brought the food yesterday, so I know normally I’m to put the bag on the back porch.”

To her discomfort, he stood there, not reaching for the bag, intense eyes boring into her. She lifted the bag higher. “Well, here you are. I’ll just be on my—”

“Yesterday? You were here?” The muscles in his wide-spread arms bulged, making her feel like prey trapped by a more powerful opponent. His body, radiating heat, blocked her view. His male scent filled the car.

“Yes, I let your dog in too. Poor thing was frantic to get in with the storm coming.”

His face got tight and he narrowed his eyes. “Very kind of you, except I don’t own a dog.”

“Oh, well, I—”

“That dog did some damage.” A vein in his neck twitched and his compressed lips went white.

The scorch of shame flashed over her cheeks. “I’m so sorry! It never occurred to me.... Was it bad?”

“Words fail to describe. Let me show you what I came home to yesterday. Come on,” he said when she continued to sit in the car.

He stood back to let her open her door and step out into the hot sun, pulling the bag after her. She stood face to face with him now. With his hands hooked in his belt loops, elbows out, she was aware of the size of him. Large and imposing, his body held her captive without touching her. She didn’t know what to say, and he seemed to be taking his time raking her over with his eyes. He stood so close to her, she smelled the musky scent of him. The individual stubble of each whisker on his chin, clear to her.

Finally, he walked away, moving to the back of his truck, where he picked up something large and threw it over one shoulder—a fifty-pound bag of dog food.

“I thought you said you don’t have a dog?”

“It appears I do now.”

Patti Sherry-Crews lives in Evanston, IL with her husband, two children, one good cat, and one bad but lovable puggle. She writes historical western and medieval romances for Prairie Rose Publications. She also enjoys writing contemporary romances. When she’s not writing, she’s usually walking the dog or indulging her love of cooking.

Find Patti at

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Guest Post: Eight Seconds Of Glory by Andrea Downing

Please welcome guest author Andrea Downing to my blog!!

EIGHT SECONDS OF GLORY

Rodeo revolves around several events that are timed at eight seconds.  Why eight seconds?

Brought by Spaniard colonists to what is now the southwest and California, rodeo originally referred to what we presently call ‘round-up’—the gathering and sorting of cattle. But at those gatherings, cowboys did compete—show off might be a better expression.  The term ‘rodeo’ itself did not have its current meaning until as late as 1929. Prior to that, cowboy sports were not standardized, and gatherings of cowboys to compete had names like ‘Frontier Days’ or ‘Stampede’ or even plain ol’ ‘Cowboy Contests.’   Those contests included trick roping, trick riding, and racing, but one of the feats displayed at the round-ups was breaking a bronco—a wild horse. 

A bronco will buck hard for about eight seconds; after that, its adrenaline decreases, and it becomes winded. A rider showing his skill would have ridden that animal to the ‘breaking point,’ hence broke the horse. To ensure that the bronco continues to buck at reasonable speed and height at the next arena, the first organization to set standards—the Cowboy Turtle Association (because they were slow to organize and stuck their necks out to do so)—set bronc riding in competition at eight seconds. This keeps the stock from being stressed and enables them to be spirited and in condition to compete. Obviously, stock growers don’t want their competition animals to become tame.

Today, in the rodeo event of bareback bronc riding, both the rider and the horse are judged.  The rider stays on by holding his rigging with one hand only—this looks like a suitcase handle on a broad leather cinch. There is also a flank strap, which encourages the horse to kick out straight and wide. This strap is not painful to the animal and, indeed, is covered in sheepskin or neoprene to protect his body. The rider’s free hand may not touch either the horse or himself. As the bronc and cowboy fly out of the chute, the cowboy’s spurs must be touching the horse’s shoulders until the horse’s feet touch the ground after the first move. This is called ‘marking out,’ and if the cowboy fails to do this, he is disqualified.  The rider earns his points by upper body control and moving his feet, toes turned out, in a rhythmic motion of spurring the horse and straightening again in readiness for the next buck. He pulls his knees up, rolling his spurs up the horse’s shoulders, and then returns them for that next jump.

Bareback bronc riding takes an immense toll on a cowboy’s body, and the men suffer many injuries and long-term damage. The swift action and turns of the animal stretch muscles, pull and pound joints, and strain and yank ligaments. It may be one helluva way to make a living, but it sure is exciting entertainment. And a bareback bronc rider makes for an excellent romantic hero….

Now available at AMAZON

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Includes

CITY BOY, COUNTRY HEART by Andrea Downing

Trading horses for subways for two years seemed like a good idea to cowboy Chay Ridgway, but can city girl K.C. Daniels keep a rein on his country heart?

Excerpt: 

Late that night, with the bedroom door locked against whatever demons might lurk outside, exhausted from another bad night of serving to taxing patrons, Chay pulled the covers up and mustered K.C. into his arms.

“Adnan’s leaving. Going back to Pakistan at the end of this semester.”

“I know.” K.C. peered up into Chay’s face, assessing him.

“You knew? How long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shuffled to sit up, releasing herself from his embrace to face him. “I thought you knew, of course. When you didn’t say anything I just assumed….”

“What? What did you assume?” Anger rose like bile in Chay as he whipped around to face her.

“Why are you so angry? I assumed you knew, is all. You seem to see more of him than I do. I sometimes pass him on the street on campus and stuff, but you run with him and see him more socially than I.”

“When did he tell you?”

“Geesh, Chay, don’t bust a gut over it. Yesterday, I think. Am I supposed to tell you everything the minute I hear? You were still steaming over the meal with my parents and I was just trying to sidestep anything that would further upset you. You came home from work in a mood—”

“I didn’t come home from work in a mood.”

“Well, you’re certainly in one now.”

They stared at each other, Chay trying to feel less like his blood was boiling, but it wasn’t working. Without prompting, he blurted out, “And I’m not taking that damn high school test. It’s idiotic, a waste of my time—”

“A waste of your time? Why? Because you prefer going to the gym and running and heading to museums and reading?”

“What the hell is the matter with that? It’s more educational than those stupid questions.” He jumped out of bed and grabbed one of the books in a pile in the corner. Flicking through the pages, he found a sample to give her. “Here, look at this. Look at this crap, K.C. Do you think this is the sort of thing that can hold my interest? That I’m happy doing?”

She flicked a quick glance over the question about basketball players. “It wasn’t supposed to make you happy, Chay. The idea was to give you a high school diploma so you could—”

“Yeah, yeah, so I could go on to college. I’m not going to college, K.C. Once and for all, now hear this….” He put his hands to his mouth as if it were a megaphone. “I, Chay Ridgway, am not going to college.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Chay; at some point you’ll want this and you’ll be sorry if you don’t finish.”

“The only thing I’m going to be sorry about….”

But he left the sentence unfinished, slipped back into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

K.C. rested on one elbow staring at him for a time before she, too, lay down.

Then he rolled to his side to face her and gathered her back into his arms. They had enough to deal with, and he didn’t want the tensions escalating.

If he could help it.

A native New Yorker, Andrea Downing currently divides her time between the canyons of city streets and the wide-open spaces of Wyoming. Her background in publishing and English Language teaching has transferred into fiction writing, and her love of horses, ranches, rodeo, and just about anything else western, is reflected in her award-winning historical and contemporary western romances.

She has been a finalist in the RONE Awards for Best American Historical Romance twice, placed in the International Digital Awards twice, and won ‘Favorite Hero’ along with Honorable Mentions for Favorite Heroine, Short Story and Novel in the Maple Leaf Awards. Her book, Dearest Darling, has also won The Golden Quill Award for Best Novella and been on the short list for winning The Chanticleer Award for Best Short or Novella.

You can find Andrea at

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Guest Post: Ranching In A Man's World by Devon McKay

Today I'd like to welcome author Devon McKay to my blog!!

Ranching In A Man’s World

Ride. Rope. Repair fence. This is what a rancher does. Every day. Come rain, sleet, snow, or shine. Such devotion takes a love of the land. And a determined nature. 

In a world, mostly dominated by men, women are fighting to make their mark. And succeeding. Nowadays, it’s more common to see a female rancher, but it’s been a long haul full of challenges and obstacles for those paving the way. Not only have they had to prove their worth to a doubting cowboy, even finding sturdy work gloves in a smaller size has proven to be a difficult task.

 Perfumed with the scent of leather and spurred on by sheer will, women all over this country are doing what they love…ranching. In The Drifter’s Kiss, Addison Reed knows this all too well. The Drifter’s Kiss is one of seven stories in A COWBOY TO KEEP. 

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The Drifter’s Kiss Blurb

Addison Reed doesn’t want to believe her foreman and family friend is responsible for her missing stock, but the man isn’t making it easy. Hoping to prove he’s innocent, she follows him into a seedy bar and finds herself in a bigger mess…kissing a complete stranger.

            Drifter Sawyer Dawson never settled anywhere for long. In fact, landing a job on a ranch as the new foreman just fell into his lap, and he figured Montana was as good a place as any to settle down for a while. Of course, sticking around might have a little something to do with a sexy blonde with an affinity for kissing cowboys. 

The Drifter’s Kiss Excerpt

Frustrated, Addison Reed tapped the counter with her fingers and targeted her stare on Jacobs. Not being able to trust the man was killing her. She needed something concrete to prove her neighbor, William Ramsey, was the one responsible for stealing her cattle.

Not her dearest friend.

Suddenly, the older cowboy rose, said something to Ramsey, and brushed past the waitress, heading toward the exit. He was leaving? Her heart seized in her chest, then began an erratic beat, thundering loudly in her ears. Now she faced another problem. She stood between Jacobs and the door. Unless she could get out first, he'd pass right by her. Perhaps he wouldn't notice? Or maybe she could blend into the crowd?

She wavered between standing her ground and fleeing. Jacobs may be a thief and a liar, but he wasn't stupid. If she stayed put, and he did see her, then her cover would be blown for sure and she'd never get the proof she needed. He certainly wouldn't believe she chose the bar, which happened to be an hour's drive out of her way, simply on a whim.

No. She couldn't chance it. Wouldn't chance it.

Addison raced to the door, but as she neared the exit the crowd thickened and slowed her escape. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jacobs closing in. Quickening the pace, the heel of her boot slid across the sawdust covering the floor and she lost her footing.

A firm grip grasped her shoulders stopping her fall.

"You again?" A husky voice rose above the blaring sound of the country fiddle rocking the room.

She raised her head and locked onto a familiar green gaze. Great. Of all the people in this place, she had to run into this handsome man. Twice? Frantic, she spared another glance behind to see Jacobs was almost within reach. Seeking camouflage and not knowing what else to do, she faced the stranger.

"If our first meeting made your night, then you're going to love this," she mumbled, then stood on her tip toes and planted a kiss on the cowboy's lips.

Devon McKay Bio

Devon McKay writes contemporary romance with a western flair. If she's not typing at her keyboard, Devon's busy with chores on her small ranch, working on a stained glass project, or walking one of her three dogs through the woods. Her greatest joy is putting a smile on a reader's face and hearing from fans. 
           

Find Devon McKay

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