Humor to heal what ails us!

 In this time of political unrest and the Covid pandemic, I’d like to lighten the mood by sharing some dashes of wisdom and humor from a charming little book titled Quotable Texas Women. Compiled by Susie Kelly Flatau and Lou Halsell Rodenberger, the quotes touch on many subjects. I’ve chosen a few to make you smile. And think.

The first rule of holes: when you’re in one, stop digging.  ~Molly Ivins, (1944– 2007) newspaper columnist, author, political commentator, and humorist

Older? It’s who you’ve always been, only later.  ~Jan Epton Seale, 2012 Texas Poet Laureate

I confess a great fondness for librarians. They are the quiet custodians of our most valuable treasure.  ~Evelyn Oppenheimer (1907-1998) book reviewer, writer, literary agent, editor

Cowgirls are ordinary women who have done extraordinary things. It’s a spirit they have.  ~Pat Riley, Miss Rodeo Texas

Laughing at yourself is the shampoo of the soul.  ~Artie Stockton, author

Cook things so you can tell what they are. Good plain food ain’t committed no crime and don’t need no disguise.  ~Mary Lasswell, (1905-1994) author

When in doubt—don’t.  ~Joan R. Neubauer, author

If you can’t make up your mind, “What the hell” is usually the right answer.  ~Ellen Reid Smith, author

My husband says he can read me like an open book. The only problem is he doesn’t know what page I’m on.  ~Sydney Newman Dotson, producer, screenwriter, author

At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a child, a friend, or a parent.  ~Barbara Bush, (1925–2018) former first lady of the United States

It’s not just enough to swing at the ball. You’ve got to loosen your girdle and let ’er fly.  ~Babe Didrikson Zaharias, (1911–1956) champion golfer, winner of 2 gold medals in track and field at 1932 Olympics

I am woman—hear me roar . . . or is that my vacuum cleaner?  ~Liz Carpenter, (1920–2010) feminist, reporter, media advisor, speech writer, political humorist

Now, here’s a bit of dry humor from My Voyager. Raphael, a 17^th century buccaneer, has been transported to Galveston, Texas. It’s winter – 200 years in the future, which he has yet to realize. He pretends to have amnesia to explain his disorientation.

With his aching head full of questions, he decided to see what lay beyond the hotel. Striding to the entrance, he pushed open the heavy door and stepped outside. He was greeted by a cold wind that whipped his hair around and cut through his thin shirt. The sight of a wide thoroughfare bustling with activity startled him. Horse-drawn carriages of all shapes and sizes competed for space with pedestrians and an occasional horseman. Hearing a strange clacking sound, he turned his head to look up the street. He gasped, eyes nearly bugging out at what he saw. Charging toward him was a monster!

Painted in bright colors, the vehicle – or creature – moved along some sort of tracks in the middle of the street, with no horses pulling it. Raphael closed his eyes and rubbed his aching head, certain he must be seeing things, but when he opened his eyes the monster was still coming. The clack of metal wheels on metal tracks closed in on him.

Heart thumping in his chest, he stumbled backward, accidentally treading on a dainty foot. A woman’s shriek rang in his ears. Lurching away, he spun to face his victim.

“Mrs. Reynolds!” he blurted in surprise, dismayed by her pained expression and the way she bit her bottom lip. “I apologize for my clumsiness. Are you badly hurt?”

She expelled a shaky breath. “My toes are bruised, but I’ll survive. What are you doing out here without a coat in the middle of winter, sir? And why did you suddenly jump back like that?”

He turned halfway around and pointed at the ugly contraption that had clattered to a halt in front of the hotel, allowing people to climb into it. “That thing frightened me, I am ashamed to say. What is it? How does it move by itself without any horses to pull it?”

His lovely companion laughed. “Haven’t you ever seen a trolley, um, otherwise known as a streetcar? Oh dear!” She pressed gloved hands to her cheeks, her beautiful blue eyes filled with compassion. “Even if you did see one before, you don’t remember it, do you?”

Forced to continue the subterfuge he had begun, he shook his head. “No, I do not. Can you tell me what makes it move?”

“It runs on electricity. Do you know, I mean remember, what that is?”

“Regretfully, I do not. Please explain.”

“I’ll try, but I’m no expert on these modern conveniences.” She pointed skyward above the trolley, which was beginning to move again. “See that cable stretching along the street up there, and the pole connecting it to the trolley?”

“Yes, I see them.” He had not paid attention to these things before, too shocked by the strange conveyance to notice anything else.

“Well, the cable and pole carry electricity which runs the motor that turns the trolley wheels on the tracks.” Smiling, she gazed at him expectantly. “Understand?”

He started to nod but stopped, frowning. “Sí, but what is this electricity?”

Mrs. Reynolds blinked twice then stared at him blankly. “It-it’s like lightning, sort of, and very powerful. If you were to touch the cable . . .” She pointed upward again to the mysterious metal line. “. . . it would electrocute you, that is it would kill you instantly.”

Raphael gaped at her, then at the cable, completely astounded. He knew the power of lightning, of course, but learning it had somehow been captured in such a way left him speechless. Chills raced up and down his spine. Who had come up with this strange way of traveling and why had he never heard of it before?

“Now answer my first question,” Mrs. Reynolds said, breaking into his uneasy thoughts. “What are you doing out here in just that flimsy shirt? You must be freezing in this wind.”

He had forgotten the cold. Glancing down at his thin shirt, he realized he was shivering. “El portero, I mean the concierge told me this is an island. I wanted to see what it looks like.”

His interrogator sighed. “Well, you aren’t going to see much of it dressed as you are now. You’ll freeze to death. Come on, we’ll find you a coat to wear for the time being. Then we’ll see about getting you properly clothed.”

Lyn Horner is a multi-published, award-winning author of western historical romance and paranormal romantic suspense novels, all spiced with sensual romance. She is a former fashion illustrator and art instructor who resides in Fort Worth, Texas – “Where the West Begins” - with her husband and two very spoiled cats. As well as crafting passionate love stories, Lyn enjoys reading, gardening, genealogy, visiting with family and friends, and cuddling her furry, four-legged babies.

Amazon Author Page: viewAuthor.at/LynHornerAmazon (universal link)  

Website:  Lyn Horner’s Corner 

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Line Riders and Line Shacks

Before diving into today's topic, I have some news. Along with western romance, I write paranormal romantic suspense. I'm honored to report my ROMANCING THE GUARDIANS series is nominated for 2 awards in the 2018 Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewers Choice Awards. Yay! If you wish, you can vote here:
https://www.paranormalromanceguild.com/2018-prg-reviewers-choice-awards-ballot/

Categories I'm entered in:

ROMANCE/PARANORMAL/MYSTERY/SUSPENSE/GOTHIC/MYTHOLOGY/FOLK TALES

ROMANCE/PARANORMAL/MYSTERY/SUSPENSE/GOTHIC/MYTHOLOGY/FOLK TALES - SERIES

Now, about those line riders and line shacks. COWBOY BOB’S DICTIONARY definitions:

“Line Rider - A cowboy who patroled the ranch boundry lines, pushing stray cattle back over the line back onto their respective ranchs. Later, on fenced ranches, a line rider would watch for, and repair, damaged fencing.”

“Line Shack - A cabin for use of cowhands when out patroling the boundry line of the ranch for cattle that may have strayed over the line.” http://www.lemen.com/dictionary-l.html (Please forgive the author's misspellings.)

line shack paid photo from dreamstime.com

 Line shacks have history as lifesavers. https://the-journal.com/articles/223 

The description in this excellent article made me shiver and commiserate with old time cowboys who rode the line.

"When late winter weather rolls in I think of cowboys waiting out storms huddled in their line shacks drinking hot coffee from blue metal cups.

"Rode hard and put away wet, with ice-encrusted mustaches, frozen cowboy boots and red bandannas stiff as cardboard, the herders slowly thawed out in remote winter camps stocked with survival rations of beans, jerked meat, biscuit fixins, matches, dry wood and thin wool blankets atop mouse-infested wooden bunks."

The author quotes Teddy Roosevelt from TR's time spent as a rancher in North Dakota. "The men in the line camps lead a hard life, for they have to be out in every kind of weather, and should be especially active and watchful during the storms."

Yet another interesting article pointed out how lonely a line rider's job could be. Living and working alone for months on end might make a cowboy a little "teched" in the head. In cases where two men shared a line shack, it could be a blessing.

I mention their lonely job in this excerpt from Dashing Irish.

getBook.at/Dashing-Irish

Tye dismounted and wound his reins around a hitching post outside the general store, near a buckboard awaiting its owner. He’d volunteered to ride into Clifton and pick up supplies for the line shack he shared with a colored cowboy named Dewey Sherman. The trip was a welcome break from the winter tedium. Riding the border along their section of the ranch, to stop cattle from straying and drive off predators, was a cold, lonely job.

David had stationed him as far from the Double C as possible to keep him away from Lil – to prevent trouble with her father, Tye both understood and resented – but she was never far from his thoughts. He’d foolishly hoped this change of pace might take his mind off her for a short while. So far it hadn’t worked.

Two months had passed since the social in Meridian, yet he couldn’t stop picturing her in that tantalizing red dress, with her beautiful dark hair rippling down her back. He also couldn’t forget the way she’d gazed up at him when she was in his arms, and how feeling her excitement had made his blood pound. He still thought himself unworthy of her, but that didn’t stop him from longing to hold her and kiss her again. As always, he became half aroused at the mere thought.Unbuttoning his jacket, he resettled his gun belt and told himself he’d simply gone far too long without a woman. While in town, he ought to stop by the saloon and take one of the birds of paradise upstairs for a while, but alas, the idea soured the instant it crossed his mind. He wanted Lil, no other.

Impatient with his unruly thoughts, he stepped up onto the boardwalk and crossed to the store entrance. He was about to open the door when it swung inward and an overloaded customer plowed into him. A feminine cry of alarm rang out as tinned goods and paper-wrapped parcels toppled from a crate the woman carried.

Tye grunted in reaction. Then, to his astonishment, he found himself face to face with the object of his pent up desires. Lil stared back at him, lips parted and brown eyes wide with shock.

Lyn Horner is a multi-published, award-winning author of western historical romance and paranormal romantic suspense novels, all spiced with sensual romance. She is a former fashion illustrator and art instructor who resides in Fort Worth, Texas – “Where the West Begins” - with her husband and a pair of very spoiled cats. As well as crafting passionate love stories, Lyn enjoys reading, gardening, genealogy, visiting with family and friends, and cuddling her furry, four-legged children.

Amazon Author Page: viewAuthor.at/LynHornerAmazon (universal link)

Newsletter:  Lyn’s Romance Gazette http://eepurl.com/bMYkeX

Website:  Lyn Horner’s Corner 

Twitter   Facebook   Goodreads   Sweethearts of the West 

Showdown at Fort Sanders

Fort Sanders was a wooden U.S. Army fort constructed in 1866 on the Laramie Plains in southern Wyoming. First named Fort John Buford, it was renamed Fort Sanders after General William P . Sanders who died at the Siege of Knoxville, Tennessee, during the American Civil War. This was the second fort named after Sanders, the first being in Knoxville.

Fort Sanders officers quarters; http://wyomingsteakhouse.com

Originally intended to protect travelers on the nearby Overland Trail from Indian attacks, the  troops later protected Union Pacific crews along the rail line from the Laramie Range to across the plains. The railroad arrived near the fort in the spring of 1868.

In 1869 the town of Laramie (originally called Laramie City) was created about 3 miles north of the fort. After the construction of Fort D. A. Russell in Cheyenne in 1868, Fort Sanders became less important, but the War Department maintained it until 1882 when the buildings were sold. Today, the only building still partially standing on the grounds of the fort is the stone guardhouse, built in 1869.

Remains of 1869 stone guardhouse; photo by Jeffrey Beall ; Creative Commons 3.0 

Although Fort Sanders is less famous than some other frontier forts, it served as the backdrop for an important meeting that settled a dispute over the route of the Union Pacific Railroad across Wyoming. The disagreement was between Thomas C. Durant, vice president and general manager of the railroad, and General Grenville Dodge, the UP’s chief engineer. (Details below)

Thomas C. Durant

If you watched the TV series Hell on Wheels, you know Thomas Durant was depicted as a crafty, self-serving character. Although fictionalized, this portrayal contained grains of truth.

Trained as a medical doctor, Durant gave up medicine to become a financier and railroad promoter. He worked for the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad, becoming acquainted with the company's president, Henry Farnam. The two men formed a new company and contracted to manage construction of the Mississippi and Missouri RR across Iowa, acquiring large land grants in the process. The project entailed building a wooden railroad bridge, the first bridge across the Mississippi River. The bridge connected the M&M with the Chicago and Rock Island RR.

Durant actually built the line less than halfway across Iowa, but he and his cohorts became rich through stock manipulation. The Rock Island eventually took over and completed the route to Council Bluffs, Iowa, on the Missouri River.  

In 1862 President Abraham Lincoln chose Durant’s new company, the Union Pacific, to build the eastern half of the first Transcontinental Railroad. The starting point was at Council Bluffs.

Durant had a ruthless reputation, known for “squeezing friend and foe for personal gain.” Since the government paid for each mile of track laid, he overrode his engineers, ordering track to be laid in large, unnecessary oxbows. And he was in no hurry. Over the first two-and-a-half years, the UP only completed 40 miles of track and some 10 miles more of roadbed. Peter A. Dey, the chief engineer, quit due to a routing dispute with Durant.

Meanwhile, during the Civil War, Durant made a fortune smuggling contraband cotton from the Confederate States with the help of Gen. Grenville M. Dodge, who served as General Ulysses S. Grant’s intelligence chief. Dodge held a degree in civil engineering and also oversaw the rapid repair and rebuilding of railroads, bridges, and telegraph lines destroyed by the Confederates. After the war, Durant employed Dodge as the UP’s chief engineer and the pace of construction picked up.

However, Durant sometimes interfered with Dodge’s choice of route, allowing his consulting engineer, Silas Seymour, to change it – not to the advantage of the railroad. He tried this again when the line reached Rock Creek west of Laramie, Wyoming. Durant’s change added twenty miles to the route, costing the company more.

Meeting at Fort Sanders; General Grant with hands on fence; also present are Gen. Sheridan and Gen. Sherman

Matters came to a head at Fort Sanders in July 1868. General Grant came west along with others as part of his presidential campaign. While at the fort, they they reviewed the dispute between Durant and Dodge. Grant declared Dodge was to make all route decisions, with no further interference from Durant.

Now I must confess I have a soft spot in my heart for fort Sanders. You see, it's where Captain David Taylor, the hero of Darlin' Irish, my very first novel, is stationed. He's on his way back to the fort after a trip east when he meets Jessie Devlin, the feisty heroine, at the Union Pacific depot in Omaha. 

getBook.at/Darlin-Irish (universal Amazon link)

Book excerpt: 

A woman’s shriek rent the air, interrupting his ruminations and jerking him to attention. The sound had come from inside the depot.

“What the devil?” he muttered. Cutting a path between startled travelers, he shoved open the door and stepped into the building. The stuffy interior reeked of tobacco and sweaty bodies. Finding a gap in the crowd, David caught sight of a red-faced young corporal. The trooper bobbed and weaved, arms raised to fend off blows being rained upon him by a woman in a brown poke bonnet. Her weapon was a heavy looking black reticule.

“Scoundrel! I’ll teach ye some manners, I will!” she vowed in a furious Irish brogue. Swinging wildly, she sent the corporal’s blue cap flying.

“Take it easy, lady!” he cried. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

Wondering what offense the man had committed, David shouldered his way through the crowd until he stood directly behind the woman. Slim and a head shorter than himself, she wore a calico gown, the same drab color as her bonnet. Some settler’s wife, he assumed. But where was her husband?

“No harm, indeed! Stand still, ye heathen, and take what’s comin’ to ye,” she ranted. As she spoke, the yellow-haired corporal spotted David’s uniform and threw him a desperate look.

Feeling duty-bound to step in, David cleared his throat loudly and said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but perhaps that’s enough. The corporal might be needed in one piece when he gets back to his post.” His remark drew laughter from several bystanders.

The woman snorted angrily. “Indeed? Well, I don’t give a fig whether the lout is in one piece or twenty!” So saying, she landed a solid whack on the corporal’s noggin that made him yelp.

“Get ’im, darlin’!” a man in the crowd shouted, egging her on.

Afraid the young soldier might retaliate, David reached out to grasp the woman’s arms, stopping her in mid-swing. “Ma’am, if you’ll just settle down . . . .”

“Let me go!” she shrilled, attempting to wrench free.

He should have complied with her demand, but some primitive instinct made him slip an arm around her and haul her back against him. A sweet scent of lilacs and woman washed over him, and he instantly grew aware of her feminine curves.

She gasped indignantly. “How dare ye? Bithiúnach! Muclach! Take your filthy hands off me.”

Glad he didn’t understand Irish, David cursed under his breath when she rammed her heel into his shin. It didn’t hurt much thanks to his leather boots; nor did the small fists pounding on his arms. But her frantic twisting sent the wrong signal to his male parts.

“Calm down, you little wildcat!” he growled. Releasing her, he stepped back before he humiliated himself.

Whirling around, the woman drew back her arm as if to slap him, only to freeze when their eyes met. A choked sound escaped her lips and the angry color drained from her cheeks. Seeing her sway, David grasped her shoulders to steady her. Her hands clutched his forearms as he returned her wide-eyed stare.

Her eyes were sapphire blue, so dazzling that he had trouble breaking their hold upon him. When he did, he noticed how young she looked – eighteen or twenty, he guessed – and what a beauty she was.

His gaze wandered over her smooth, creamy cheeks and dainty nose then lingered on her pink parted lips. Forcing himself to look elsewhere, he noted the dark auburn curls framing her brow. Her ugly bonnet hid the rest of her hair, but he bet it would look like silk when she let it down.

Then he noticed how rapidly her breasts rose and fell, and desire surged through him, swift and strong. He felt a loco urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Reluctantly dragging his gaze back to her sapphire eyes, he wondered what had come over her. A moment ago, she’d been mad as a hornet. Now she stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost.

Dazed by the sight of him, Jessie wondered vaguely if she was having one of her visions. Her gaze kept returning to his gray-green eyes. Crowned by dark brows with an eerily familiar slant, they matched those she’d so often seen in her dreams. Could this tall, uniformed stranger be the man she had left home to find? She hadn’t expected her quest to bear fruit so soon. And the longer she studied his sun-bronzed, square-jawed face, arrow-straight nose and unyielding mouth, the more she doubted he was the one.

Those rakish features were hard, not gentle, and his hauntingly familiar eyes did not caress her like the ones in her dreams. Instead, they devoured her, making her stomach flutter and her heart race. When he boldly stared at her breasts, they tingled as if he were actually touching them. Stunned by her reaction, she inhaled sharply, catching the scent of shaving soap and virile male. She wondered if he would kiss her.

Sweet heaven! What was she thinking? She didn’t want him to kiss her. This fierce looking stranger could not be the man she was seeking. Surely his eye color and slanted brows were merely a coincidence.

Lyn Horner is a multi-published, award-winning author of western historical romance and romantic suspense novels, all spiced with paranormal elements. She is a former fashion illustrator and art instructor who resides in Fort Worth, Texas – “Where the West Begins” - with her husband and a pair of very spoiled cats. As well as crafting passionate love stories, Lyn enjoys reading, gardening, genealogy, visiting with family and friends, and cuddling her furry, four-legged children.

Amazon Author Page: viewAuthor.at/LynHornerAmazon (universal link)

Newsletter:  Lyn’s Romance Gazette http://eepurl.com/bMYkeX

Website:  Lyn Horner’s Corner 

Twitter   Facebook   Goodreads   Google Plus   Sweethearts of the West 

A Texas Christmas 1885

I wrote The Perfect Gift, A Texas Devlins Christmas for an anthology that is no longer available. Now it's a stand-alone novella on Amazon. Today, I will share an excerpt showing how I imagine a family gathering in 1885. I hope y'all enjoy!

It’s Christmas in Bosque County, Texas, and everyone is gathering to celebrate at the River T ranch. The day promises a feast and fellowship for all, but surprises lay ahead for some

Nora Taylor adores Vittorio Medina. He’s been her best friend all of her young life, but now she wants more than friendship from him. She’s too young, he insists while fighting his own growing feelings for her. Besides, she is the boss’s daughter. He’s just a poor cowboy of Mexican blood. They can never be together.

Although Nora refuses to accept what Vittorio says, she’s afraid he will go off and marry someone else before she is old enough to fight for his love . . . until a special gift offers hope.

Excerpt

Jessie Devlin Taylor stepped back to admire the dining room table she and her twelve-year-old daughter Nora had just finished arranging. Everything was in place, ready for dinner to be served. Her good china, crystal and silverware gleamed, and a centerpiece of cedar bows decked with red ribbon stood out against the white linen tablecloth.

On the nearby sideboard, her cherished Christmas angel oversaw several serving pieces waiting to be filled. About ten inches tall, with a gown of ivory, a delicately painted face, golden hair and wings, the porcelain angel was one of Jessie’s most prized possessions. Her mother Nora had brought it all the way from Ireland, stuffed in her bundle of clothing, the only thing left of her former life.

Jessie’s father had saved the precious keepsake when they fled the terrible Chicago fire that destroyed most of the city. He’d presented it to her after moving to Texas to be near his children and grandchildren.

“Doesn’t everything look beautiful, Mama?” Nora said.

“It does indeed.” Slipping an arm around her tall, gangly daughter, Jessie gave her a light squeeze. She wished her sister Rose, brother-in-law Jack and their brood of little ones could be here, but Rosie was expecting again – this would make five children for them – and Jack had insisted they stay home. Considering how rough the ride was by buckboard from their Red River cotton plantation, Jessie conceded he’d been right.

She released Nora. “I’d best go see if all’s ready out back.” Her cook, Maria Medina, was roasting venison and turkeys in the cookhouse, while Jessie’s sister-in-law Lil prepared side dishes in the kitchen. Their food preparations were nearly complete. She just wanted to make sure David and Tye, her husband and brother, had finished setting up tables for the twenty-odd ranch hands from their adjoining spreads. They would soon gather in the courtyard behind the house for their Christmas meal.

“Quiet the little ones before they upset your grandda, aye?” she said, hearing children’s shrieks from the parlor.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nora’s reply came with a sigh and an impatient frown.

Jessie smothered a laugh. She knew Nora wanted to go out front and wait for Lil’s parents to arrive with their ranch hands. One hand in particular.

While Nora hurried across the hall to put a stop to the noise, Jessie headed for the back door. Stepping out onto the walled, flagstone-paved courtyard, she was glad to see two long tables stretching back almost to the cookhouse. Currently, David and Tye were spreading white sheets across the tables they had constructed out of wooden planks supported by sawhorses. More planks lay across barrels and crates along both sides of the tables, improvised seating for the ranch hands. Fortunately, the day was warm, or the men would have to eat in the bunkhouse, not nearly as festive.

David looked up, saw her and smiled. Leaving Tye to finish spreading the last cloth, he sauntered toward her. Even after all this time his dark-haired, handsome looks and long-legged gait made her heart beat faster. The new red shirt she’d gifted him with this very morning along with the black silk bandana knotted at his throat, both cut and sewn by her own two hands, fit well and showed off his deep tan and dark hair to perfection, if she did say so herself.

“Well, darlin’? Does it pass muster?” he asked, draping his arm across her shoulders and hugging her to his side.

She was so caught up in admiring him that it took her a moment to catch his meaning. She directed her gaze back to the tables. “Aye, it all looks fine. Now bring out the box of greens and ribbons if ye please and I’ll lay them out.”

“The boys don’t expect all this fuss, you know. Feed ’em good and give ’em some Christmas cheer and they’ll be happy as foxes in a hen house.”

“Nonsense! As I’ve told ye every year before, I want them to enjoy their holiday the same as we do.” She poked her finger at his broad chest. “Now fetch the –”

He cut her off by pulling her into his arms and sealing her lips with a lusty kiss that flooded her with warm tingles all the way to her toes. When he lifted his head, she sighed in regret.

“You look beautiful in that blue dress,” he murmured next to her ear.

“I’m glad ye like it. You picked out the material,” she said, feeling faintly dazed.

“So I did, and I recall why. It matches your bluebonnet eyes. It’s nice and soft, too.” He ran his hands slowly up and down her back

“’Tis velvet,” she said in a breathy whisper, delighting in his sensual touch.

“Mmm. Tonight, I’ll enjoy taking it off you, very slowly.” Smoky green eyes dancing, he grinned wickedly when she caught her breath, planted a quick kiss on her temple, then stepped away and went to do her bidding.

Jessie required a moment to collect her wits. Then, glancing at her brother, she met his leering grin and felt her face heat with a blush. “What are ye looking at, brother dear? He is my husband. He’s allowed to kiss me if he wishes.” She smoothed the skirt of her gown, thinking of David’s bold promise for tonight, and made sure the pins holding her auburn hair in a coil at the back of her head were still secure.

Tye’s vibrant blue eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ve no argument with that. I was merely enjoying the show and admiring the man’s ability to shut ye up, sister mine.” An even wider grin split his devilishly handsome features.

“Oh, is that right?” she huffed Slamming her hands onto her hips, she narrowed her own eyes, eyes the same color as his. “Keep talkin’, boyo, and I’ll pull your black Irish hair out by the roots.” Of course it was an empty threat, as he very well knew. She loved her big brother far too much to ever do him harm. Although, she wouldn’t mind boxing his ears from time to time.

The wicked imp laughed and raised his hands, palms out. “Oooh, I’m quakin’ in me boots.! Don’t hurt me, mum!”

Making a disgusted noise, Jessie shook her head and batted her hand at him as if swatting away a fly.  Then she marched across the courtyard, heels clicking on the flagstones, toward the cookhouse where Maria worked to find out when the meats would be done roasting. Her stomach grumbled and her mouth watered at the delicious aroma wafting from the small stone building. All she’d eaten for breakfast was a slice of bread and butter, and that was hours ago. Dinner couldn’t come soon enough for her.

* * *

Nora stood on the front porch watching for riders. Goshdarn! What was taking Mr. and Mrs. Crawford so long? Uncle Tye and Auntie Lil had come early to help Mama and Daddy get ready. Lil’s parents were to come later with their men, but surely they ought to be here by now. What if something had happened to prevent them from coming?

No! Don’t even think that! They have to come, they just have to!

Smoothing the front of her Mother Hubbard, a short, baggy little girl’s dress she hated, she wished for a grown-up gown, but Mama had decreed she couldn’t start dressing like a woman until she turned fourteen. At least this Hubbard was made of pretty pink calico printed with sprigs of white flowers, and she liked the ruffled shoulders and neck. The color set off her black hair, which Mama had helped her put up, and her black stockings and high tops. She hoped Vito would approve.

She stuffed her hands into deep side pocket and glanced at her brothers and cousins. She’d shooed the four boys outside so Grandda Seamus could nap in his favorite chair in the parlor. Together with Maria’s younger children, they were playing ring taw, a game she’d once loved but now considered babyish. Crouched around a circle drawn in the dirt, they took turns shooting marbles, trying to knock each other’s marbles out of a small inner circle. Her brother Reece, less than two years younger than her, was winning judging by the pile of marbles he’d collected. Not surprised, Nora scowled, remembering how many marbles the little fiend had won from her and their baby brother Seamus in the past.

A faint thudding sound caught her ear. Shading her eyes, she spotted a cloud of dust in the distance. Then she made out a buckboard and horsemen. Finally! The expected company was almost here. Heart thumping wildly, she whirled and ran inside to alert her parents.

“Mama! Daddy! The Crawfords are coming,” she yelled, forgetting about her napping grandfather. At his grumble of complaint, she said, “Sorry, Grandda.”

Aunt Lil stepped out of the kitchen holding a large bowl and spoon just as Mama walked in the back door.

“Are they here?” both women asked.

“Not yet but almost. Should I tell Maria?”

Her mother nodded. “Aye, and your father and uncle. Lil, let’s greet your folks outside.”

“Right, you go ahead. I’ll set the cornbread on the stove and be right out.”

Nora was already dashing for the courtyard. “The Crawfords are almost here,” she announced to her father and uncle as she raced toward the cookhouse.

“What’s your hurry?”  her father called.

“I have to tell Maria that Vittorio’s coming.”

Hearing the two men chuckle, she tore into the steamy little building. “Maria, Vittorio’s nearly here!”

“Sí, I heard you, niña,” the cook said with a broad smile. Tall and rather plump, with gray-streaked black hair, Maria was one of Nora’s favorite people. She was kind and good-natured and always ready with a tasty snack for all the children. And she was Vittorio’s madrecita, making her special.

Setting aside the huge kettle of gravy she’d been stirring, Maria mopped her sweaty face with her red-checked gingham apron – only worn on Christmas – and motioned for Nora to lead the way. “Let us go and welcome my son.”

By the time they joined everyone out front, Auntie Lil’s folks were pulling up in their buckboard followed by several riders. Nora had eyes for only one, a slim young cowboy with dusky skin and raven hair. Drawing rein, he gave her a bright smile, a smile she had seldom seen since he’d gone to work as a wrangler for the Crawfords and Uncle Tye a few months ago. Four years older than she was, Vittorio had been her best friend all her life.

She watched him dismount and greet his younger siblings who danced around him like eager puppies. Then it was her turn. Bounding down the porch steps, she launched herself at him. He laughed and caught her, lifting her off the ground in a tight hug.

“Hola, pequeña.”

“Hola, Vito! I’ve missed you so much!”

“I suppose I have missed you a little bit too.” He winked and whirled her around, making her squeal and laugh with joy. Caught up in him, she paid not a lick of attention to laughter and teasing remarks from their audience of cowboys, family and friends.

On the porch, Jessie shared a smile with Maria, whose husband Luis stood nearby with David and Tye. Short and wiry, Luis was the River T’s head horse wrangler. He glanced at his wife, grinning over Nora and Vittorio’s exuberant reunion. “I think maybe they are glad to see each other.”

Maria nodded. “Sí, they are each other’s best Christmas gift.”

“Aye, and always will be,” Jessie said under her breath. She’d seen the pair together in a time to come, and her visions never lied. If not for one very special vision, none of this would be happening. She never would have met David, Tye wouldn’t have crossed paths with his Texas cowgirl, Lil Crawford, and Rose might be a shy, convent- bred spinster living in Chicago instead of wed to Choctaw Jack Lafarge.

As if sensing her thoughts, David turned his head and caught her eye. She gave him a misty smile; he grinned and tilted his head toward Nora and Vittorio. Assailed by guilt, Jessie wondered how he’d like seeing the two wrapped in each other’s arms if he knew what her vision predicted.

To see what perfect gift awaits Nora, find this novella on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B016HIGCN2 

Happy Holidays, one and all! See you in 2018.

Canyon de Chelly: Heart of the Navajo Nation

“For nearly 5,000 years, people have lived in these canyons - longer than anyone has lived uninterrupted anywhere on the Colorado Plateau.  In the place called Tseyi, their homes and images tell us their stories. Today, Navajo families make their homes, raise livestock, and farm the lands in these canyons. The National Park Service and Navajo Nation actively work together to manage park resources.” ~ National Park Service.

Canyon de Chelly ca. 1904; public domain photo by Edward S. Curtis

Canyon de Chelly National Monument (pronounced de Shay) was established on April 1, 1931 as a unit of the National Park Service. Located in northeastern Arizona within the boundaries of the Navajo Nation, the monument is comprised of three canyons: de Chelly, del Muerto, and Monument.

Both maps from National Park Service; in public domain



These canyons were cut by streams that spring from the Chuska mountains east of the monument. The land belongs to the Navajo Nation. Canyon de Chelly National Monument is one of the most visited national monuments in the United States. Tourists can drive along the South Rim and North Rim where overlooks offer dramatic views of the canyon below. They are not allowed into the canyon by themselves, except for one trail leading down from the rim to the White House Ruins. If they wish to explore the canyon floor, they must be accompanied by a park ranger or a Navajo guide.

 

 

White House Ruins ca. 1873; photo by Army Corps of Engineers; public domain

 

One of the longest continuously inhabited areas of North America, the monument preserves ruins of early indigenous tribes who lived there, including the Ancient Pueblo Peoples (also called Anasazi). The monument covers 83,840 acres (131.0 sq mi; 339.3 km²) including the floors and rims of the connected canyons.

 

The canyons are known for steep walls dotted with greenery and hundreds of ancient pueblo ruins. The unique architecture, artifacts and rock imagery have been amazingly preserved, providing a peek into the lives of the pre-historic inhabitants. Built between 350 and 1300 A.D, these dwellings were built by the Ancient Puebloan People. In the 1700s, Navajo Indians were driven southwest by their enemies, eventually settling in Canyon de Chelly.

Canyon de Chelly's most unusual geological feature is Spider Rock, an 800-foot sandstone spire that juts from the canyon floor.



Spider Rock; photo © Brian W. Schaller / License: CC BY-NC-SA 3.0 — or — FAL 1.3



Now I will let Josie Tseda, the Navajo heroine of CAPTURING GABRIEL, tell you a little about her homeland as she takes Gabriel on a tour of the canyon. You might call this book a modern day western, set mainly in the rugged mountains of Colombia with horses, gunplay and sexy romance. Eventually, it comes home to Canyon de Chelly.

 

 

US: http://tinyurl.com/gry3oq4    UK: http://amzn.to/1WFRYLE 

CA: http://amzn.to/1Rcc6wU

 

As Josie drove, she pointed out pueblo ruins built into the rock walls and petroglyphs – paintings and etchings created by ancient peoples who once lived in Canyon de Chelly.

“The canyon is one of the longest continually inhabited areas in North America, so archaeologists say. The Anasazi, our Navajo word for ancient ones, built the pueblos, but other, older ones, lived here long before them.”

 

“Do you trace your roots to those ancients?” Gabriel asked.

 

“No, they were the ancestors of the Pueblo and Hopi people. We Navajo come from a different line called Athabaskan. It is said our old ones migrated from the far north hundreds of years ago. They settled in New Mexico and parts of Arizona and traded with the Pueblo people.”

 

“How did the Navajo come to be here in Canyon de Chelly?”

 

She shrugged. “They warred with other tribes and Spanish settlers who invaded our lands. Many Diné – as we call ourselves – fled into what is now Utah and Colorado. Others took refuge in the mountains and canyons. The Spanish found this place, of course, and on a winter day in 1805, their soldiers attacked the Diné living in the canyon. The two sides fought all day. At the end, 115 Navajo lay dead in a cave where they sought refuge. We call the place Massacre Cave. It lies in Canyon Del Muerto to our left. I will take you there.”

 

Gabriel stayed silent while she drove to the site. When they got out to view the cave, he said grimly, “You have reason to hate anyone of Spanish blood, including me.”

 

She sent him a startled glance. “Don’t be silly. What happened here was tragic but that was over two hundred years ago. It has nothing to do with you and me.”

 

“Does it not?”

 

“No, of course not. The Diné fought whites here too, but I don’t hate all white people.” She shivered in the biting wind. “Come on, I’m cold and this place gives me the creeps. Besides, I have something special to show you.” Gripping his hand, she hurried him back to the Jeep.

 

Sorry for telling him about Massacre Cave and making him feel bad, she drove him to the junction of Canyon de Chelly and Monument Canyon where Spider Rock soared skyward.

 

"Madre de Dios!” Gabriel exclaimed as she stopped the Jeep.

 

“Welcome to Spider Rock,” she said, opening her door and stepping out. A blast of wind immediately buffeted her, but she grinned at the look of awe on his face when he joined her to stare up at the eight-hundred-foot-tall tower of stone. “This is the most famous site in the canyon. It’s even been used in television commercials.”

 

“Amazing! But why the strange name for such an impressive monolith?”

 

She laughed lightly. “In our creation story, it is said Spider Woman possesses supernatural power, kind of like you Guardians. She loved the Diné and because monsters roamed the land long ago, killing many people, she gave special power to two of our heroes to find Sun-God, their father. Sun-God showed them how to kill all the monsters. Because Spider Woman saved the Diné, she became one of our most honored gods. Her home is said to be on top of Spider Rock.”

 

“That is a long climb even for a spider woman,” Gabriel said skeptically. “But she has super power. I suppose that makes it easy for her, sí?” Grinning, he drew Josie to his side, sheltering her from the wind.

 

She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Sure. She also taught us how to weave on a loom. Since then, the Navajo have become fine weavers. But the goddess can be fearsome. As children we are warned to behave or Spider Woman will let down her web and carry us up to her home, where she will devour us.”

 

“Fearsome indeed!” Gabriel chuckled, eyes glinting as he gazed down at her “But you must have been a good little girl, since she did not get you.”

 

“Hah! My father might think different.” Giving him a mischievous grin, she was glad to sees she’d managed to lighten his mood. “If you’d like to see the canyon from above, I’ll drive us around the rim.”

 

“I will enjoy anything you wish to show me, querida.” Turning to face her, he kissed her, warming her better than any fire could.

 

They returned to the Jeep and she headed back to the canyon entrance. From there, she wended along the South Rim Drive, stopping at several overlook points where they got out to gaze at the canyon from above. The last stop was Spider Rock Overlook.

 

“What a magnificent sight,” Gabriel said. “I see why you love this land.”

 

“Yeah, it is gorgeous,” she agreed.

 

“Sí, most gorgeous.” He spoke in a soft, caressing tone.

Looking up, she found him gazing at her with such adoration that she caught her breath and stared, hypnotized by his moss-green eyes.

***Canyon de Chelly fills an important role in not only Capturing Gabriel, but in the entire Romancing the Guardians series.

 

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