I received a very nice compliment on my book Improper Pinkerton. A reader asked me if I'd ever been to Virginia City. Montana. I used the town in my book and she said I'd written it so well she figured I'd been there.
Well, I haven't. I wanted to go to Montana and do the research for Improper Pinkerton but it just wasn't good timing for a trip. Having her comment on how well I described an area I haven't seen made my toes tap and my heart sing. Like all historical writers I spend about as much time and effort into researching a project as I do writing it.
For this book I relied on Google Earth, maps, newspapers, books and a wonderful woman in the historical society of Montana.
The funny thing about the maps and Google Earth, when I searched the countryside around Helena, MT for a place to set a large ranch I found the perfect area, only once I contacted the person in the historical society and told her my findings, she tossed the idea out the window. What looked like wonderful grassland today was a swamp at the time of my book. It was after they built a dam that the land became usable.
I used Sanborn maps to "see" Helena in 1884 and through books on Helena's history I had photos and information about the city. When I'd zero in on a specific building, I contacted the historical society to learn more about it- the lighting, plumbing, set up. My contact there also gave me a list of the best books to use to "see" the town and outlying areas.
Having a reader tell me I depicted a place I've never been with accuracy, means I did my research.
Blurb for Improper Pinkerton
An impetuous Pinkerton agent is out to prove to a righteous
US Marshal that she's the best "man" to complete the assignment and
the only "woman" who can capture his heart.
Mae Simon is on her first assignment as a Pinkerton operative
and determined nothing will stand in her way of accomplishing her task. When
the simple assignment turns into a murder and kidnapping, she has to stop
hiding behind her disguises and trust a man she’s betrayed.
U. S. Marshal Beck Harlan can’t afford to befriend anyone.
Not with a vengeance seeking outlaw killing off his intimate acquaintances.
Yet, he falls hard for the French prostitute he talks into being an informant,
not realizing she is a Pinkerton operative after the same man.
Excerpt:
Beck couldn’t believe his luck. The French girl stood at the
top of the stairway. Sally had said she’d send the woman to him when she was
available, but that was fast. He started forward, and she scampered down the
stairs. He caught her from behind, sliding an arm around the curve of her
waist, and hauled her back up to the room he’d just left.
“Unhand me you buffoon!”
He spun her and lowered his head, covering her mouth with
his—just to keep her quiet. She stopped fighting. Her body went lax, and he
molded her soft contours to his, drawing out the kiss. His heart hammered in
his chest. Her arms entwined his neck. His hands roamed up and down her
clothing. There were no restraining garments underneath. Only thin fabric
between his skin and her round bottom. He reached around to the front and
cupped her breast. She was a hand full.
Her palms flattened against his chest, and she pushed out of
his grasp. He let her go physically, but his mind was back kissing her.
“Monsieur, you have not paid for that privilege!” Her golden
brown eyes lacked the scolding of her words. He peered down at her moist lips
and wanted to drag her back into his arms. He hadn’t needed a woman in some
time, but this woman…lured him.
She spun away and stepped toward the door. She couldn’t leave.
They still had to talk. He stepped around her, blocking her exit. His arms
crossed over his chest to avoid reaching out to her again. Staring down at the
top of her head, he waited. She slowly lifted her chin and stared at him.
“I must find Sally.” She raised her hands as though to push
him aside, then dropped them to her hips when he didn’t budge.
“I just need a few minutes of your time.”
She held out a hand, palm up.
“What?”
“You, monsieur, wish my time. You will pay for it.” She
wiggled her fingers.
He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know what game this woman
played. A moment ago she’d participated in a steaming kiss just as much as he
had, and now she wanted paid for her time?
“Now listen here, I’m not paying to talk to you.”
“But, monsieur, you did more than talk when you,” her face
blushed prettily, “dragged me into this room.”
“I only did that to keep you from screaming.”
“Screaming? I did not scream.” She cocked her head to one
side as though sizing him up.
“You were about to.”
“Non. You took lee-ber-tees.”
He ran a hand over his face. Was she about to scream or did
he take liberties? Now, he wasn’t so sure he didn’t kiss her because he’d been
thinking of it all night as she flirted with Lamont.
That was the cold water he needed. Knowing she’d been with
Lamont moments before.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
There she went with the palm and waggling fingers, again.
“I don’t need that kind of favor.” He pulled his badge out
of his vest pocket. “I’m a U.S. Marshal.”
Her eyes widened, and her full lips formed a perfect ‘O’
before she uttered in her breathy sigh, “But monsieur, surely I have done
nothing wrong.”
Her seductive voice and eyes feigning innocence played havoc
with his control. He knew she flirted. He felt it in every inch of his body. And
damn if he didn’t want to flirt back.
“I’d say working in this place gives me grounds to suspect…”
She stepped closer, pressing her body against his and igniting desires he’d
held at bay the last three years.
“S’il vous plait, do not take me to your jail. I would get
cold and lonely there.” She ran her hands up his chest and looped them around
his neck, stretching her body the full length of him.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, holding her against
him. His body responded to her unlike any other woman. He rested his forehead
on hers and took a deep breath.
Business. He had to keep this a business arrangement. For
her sake. And his.
Paty Jager
www.patyjager.net
www.patyjager.blogspot.com
