The Kannally Ranch

by Rain Trueax

Fire and water from the well

Simple gifts but freely given

In the house where good men dwell

 words etched  in wood in the Kannally home

Because of the popularity of historical romances and westerns, we have an idea of what Old West ranching was like. The reality was often quite different. An example is Arizona's Kannally Ranch.

Like other westward seekers, in 1902, 23-year old Neil Kannally (probably a nickname as there is a Cornelius M. Kannally listed in the cemetery with the rest of his family) left his home in Illinois, with the hope that sunshine and a drier climate would heal his damaged lungs. Because of a lack of definitive records, it's difficult to know for sure (a reason for that will be revealed later), but his father might've been Michael Kannally, who since 1857, had built up a prosperous grocery business in Sterling.  

If so, it could explain how Neil could afford to go west and stay at a health resort in Oracle, 38 miles north of Tucson, at about 4000 feet in elevation, which specialized in healing those with tuberculosis. The sunshine, higher elevation, and treatment helped, and a year later he urged his brother Lee to join him.

 

In 1903, the two purchased the 1880s McCarius homestead of 160 acres, good land for cattle with room to expand. 

Here's where the romance comes in, right? I mean two bachelors-- they'd have to be handsome and strong if they hoped to operate a ranch. Wouldn't they want wives? It is possible that Lee was on the young side for that as records put his date of birth as 1888, which would've made him 15. Not that unusual for youths to head west-- hardly an age for marriage-- at least of men.

Whatever the case, the brothers set out to work their land. They slept in a small adobe cottage that had come with the property. From a second-generation, Irish Catholic family, the young men eventually asked more siblings to join them. Vincent (possibly 28), 30-year old Mary (sometimes called Molly in articles), and 7-year old Lucille came to the Kannally ranch. Is it possible the parents had died for a child to come that far with her siblings? To accommodate the growing family, the brothers added onto the original adobe and then built cottages for their sisters. They all filed for homesteads and expanded the ranch land.

Surely now there'd be a romance-- well, if there ever was one for any of the five, it never came to fruition. None of the Arizona Kannallys married or had children. The thing is the information on them is sparse and sometimes mixed up for names or dates. This was done deliberately at Lucille's request after her death in 1976. As the sole surviving sibling, she requested all family historical records be destroyed. What mysteries might they have revealed-- we'll never know nor will we know her motivations. Imagination has to do the work now for what the dynamics were for these family members.

When WWI came along, articles said that Lee went to war. I checked service records on Ancestry and there were quite a few Kannallys that served-- including a Captain Vincent Kannally. Was this the Vincent who had come west with his sisters? Was it one of the things family members did; and of course, Neil could not go given his lung damage. In the war, Lee suffered nerve gas damage that afflicted him the rest of his life. He took up painting as a way to find peace. 

The beautiful home on the property was built between 1929-1933 of adobe, designed by a Kentucky architect, H. Newkirk. It was neither planned nor paid for by the ones living on the ranch, but by two other brothers, who had followed different paths. 

Although William and Michael visited the ranch, they never lived there. The home was the dream of William, who was in the lumber business, and partially financed by Michael, a Chicago lawyer. The four-level Mediterranean home with its Moorish influences was Italianate in its inspiration. [Photos of the Historic Kannally Ranch Home]

Here comes another of the mysteries that the family's story is full of, possibly due to Lucille's decision. Some articles claim Lee was a self-taught painter and never thought highly of his work. Others say he studied in Paris with the impressionists... Whatever the case, Lucille valued his impressionistic paintings (with a feel of DeGrazia another Arizona artist). Today, they are hung throughout the home. 

Living on the ranch, the brothers and sisters were not recluses. They held formal dinner parties, entertained the bishop of Tucson, and Magma Copper executives. Lucy also threw lavish luncheons for her lady friends. It is certainly a home well set up to entertain.

Interestingly though, the home had no bedrooms. At night the family went, even when icy, down the path to the original homes where they slept.

There may be mysteries in their relationships or else why destroy the papers, but it appears they won't be revealed now. I read that there was a history put together by locals in 1986 but that the facts didn't agree. 

The one certain fact is they grew that ranch into a major cattle operation, with nearly 50,000 acres, which included what would one day be the mining town of San Manuel. They sold the bulk of the land in the 1950s when possibly ranching became more than the brothers could handle with health and aging issues. 

One might imagine that Lucille was a great outdoors woman, since in her will, she left the remaining property to Defenders of Wildlife. It is said that wasn't the case. The home was her domicile. She and her sister liked to

wear beautiful dresses. Their brother Michael had paid for them to travel to Europe, and it's said they wished to have been fashion designers.

As an interesting tidbit, with no certain place for where to put it, Lucille traveled to Machu Picchu in 1976, became ill, returned home, and died a month later. What led her, a woman who loved being in her home, to want to travel to that distant but fascinating place? It's not the usual thing for someone 78 years old (especially back then) due to high elevation and difficulty of getting there.

For the ranch's final destination, in attempting to find the right use, the Defenders of Wildlife donated the home and land to the Arizona State Parks Board. Today, it is Oracle State Park, a 4,000-acre wildlife refuge, picnic area, historic home for tours, and environmental learning center.

Stories like those of the Kannallys are of great interest to writers-- followed by great frustration, as finding motivation is a writer's stock in trade. Curiosity goes right along with it. Sometimes, with all of that, there is no real way to find the story-- at least historically speaking

A CHILD'S WINTER WONDERLAND

 

This month on Sweethearts of the West, our members are sharing memories of Christmas past. Since this is after the big event, I’d like to share an experience that I remember clearly even though it was (mumble, mumble) years ago.

Do you remember the first time you saw snow? For you folks in the Midwest and Northern part of the country, I’m sure you don’t.

My parents lived in a tiny North Texas town near Childress when I was born. I was only a few months old when we moved to the Bakersfield area of Southern California. How I dreamed of snow for Christmas but none fell on our locale.

My grandparents lived in a small Oklahoma town, Hollis, which is only a few miles from the Texas state line. My grandfather was severely injured in a tractor accident and was told he could no longer farm.  While he was in the hospital, my resilient grandmother sold the farm, bought a house in town, and hired a neighbor to move furniture and belongings to the new home. Not new, but new to them.

My precious grandmother

Each summer my dad would drive us to visit my grandparents. This summer he was particularly busy and couldn’t get away. Mother was anxious about her mother and step-father and their welfare. For Christmas, Mother and I rode the train to visit my grandparents. An adventure for a six-year-old girl!

First of all, my grandmother had an eight-foot Christmas tree in the living room. My parents always had a tiny table-top tree, so I was thrilled to see what—to me—was a huge tree. Of course, there were already presents underneath. But, the best was yet to come.

One day during our visit, four inches of snow fell. Real snow! Mother and I built a lopsided snowman, but he looked grand to me. I wore my grandmother’s too-large rubber boots and clomped in the snow until Mother insisted I come inside.

This is NOT how our snowman looked.

Let me tell you, my friends, that was a magical time for me. So much so that I remember it clearly still. The smells, the sunlight on the snow, the joy.

My hope for you this special season is that you see the world’s magic with the eyes of a child. May you find health, prosperity, and peace in the coming year.  

Caroline Clemmons is an award-winning and Amazon bestselling author. Her latest releases are MURDOCH'S BRIDE  (set in snowy Montana in 1887), WILD WESTERN WOMEN – MISTLETOE, MONTANA (set at a snowy Christmas time in 1890), and ANGEL FOR CHRISTMAS (contemporary). Each title above is clickable in the event you wish to purchase one (hint, hint). Snuggle down with a book to relax and recover from the season's hectic demands. 

Caroline and her husband live in cowboy country of North Central Texas with a menagerie of rescued animals whose numbers seem to grow. Resistance is futile.

MY FIRST CHRISTMAS MEMORY

  

When Celia suggested we each write about an aspect of Christmas this month, I had so many ideas I had trouble choosing. I decided to share the first Christmas I remember. I was three years old and we lived in Bakersfield, California.

Even though our house was small, our Christmas Eve family get together was at our house that year. My mom was Daddy’s second wife and much younger than he was. In fact, his eldest son was two years older than Mother. I was the little darling second family, shy and quiet—most of the time. My younger brother wasn't born until I was ten. 

My niece, Linda Camille, was six months old that year and just sitting up alone. My brother-in-law, Buster Reed, was everyone’s favorite because he was such a truly good man. You can understand why I wasn’t surprised that he knew Santa and had arranged for him to fly into Bakersfield for our gift exchange. Sure enough, Santa arrived and he knew all our names as he handed out gifts. He gave me a doll buggy and a large doll. I don’t remember what anyone else received, but I remember Linda’s eyes growing wide as saucers as she stared at Santa. Mine probably did too.

There I am with my
doll and buggy

After Santa had given out gifts, Buster had to take him back to the airport so he could fly to the North Pole in time to deliver all the other children’s toys that night. In reality, Santa was Buster’s older brother, Roy, and the suit was very realistic. I suspect my sister made it as she was an excellent seamstress. Years later, when Roy had passed on and my half-brother, Herschel Johnson, was Santa, that suit was still impressive. In fact, several teen-aged girls who were guests for the evening were flabbergasted and said Santa almost made believers of them again.

I’m happy my own daughter was able to see that Santa a couple of times. I treasure the memory of Santa knowing my name as he wheeled in my doll buggy. We didn’t have much money, and I later learned that my mother had lovingly refurbished a second-hand buggy she’d bought in poor shape. The result looked perfect to me. I wish I’d have been able to keep it, but when we moved back to Texas, all we could bring had to fit in our car. We looked like the Grapes of Wrath in the reverse direction. Sadly, only small things could be included. At least I have a photo of me with the buggy.

Thanks to all of you precious readers who follow this blog. Our members value your comments and the time you spend reading our posts. Blessings to you whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or another holiday! We love you!

Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Caroline Clemmons has released her new Christmas romance, ANGEL FOR CHRISTMAS, now available from Amazon at  http://a.co/76fM1rx

She also has a Christmas novella in the bestselling box set, WILD WESTERN WOMEN -- MISTLETOE, MONTANA, available from Amazon at http://a.co/7NbAHDw. 

She lives in North Central Texas with her Hero and a menagerie of rescued pets. Find her at www.carolineclemmons.com and join her newsletter subscribers to receive a free novella as well as be notified of contests, new releases, and other news. Find all her books at her Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Caroline-Clemmons/e/B001K8CXZ6/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1481169530&sr=8-2-ent

My Unconventional Family

Sarah McNeal is a multi-published author of time travel, paranormal, western, contemporary and historical fiction. Her stories may be found at Publishing by Rebecca Vickery and Prairie Rose Publications. Her website: http://www.sarahmcneal.com  

My Unconventional Family

This month we were asked to write our blogs about ourselves. I’m not used to blabbing on about myself, but I do like to talk about the people who raised me and helped mold me into the person I am today—my parents.

   This is my great-grandmother, Sarah Jane Barnhart for whom I was named.

(My grandmother and grandfather McNeal. My grandfather always wore this hat. He was born the year after the Civil War ended. That just astounds me.)

(My mom and me. Looks like a Steinbeck novel)

My parents had some very different notions of how to raise children. For the most part, I’m grateful for it. My dad was the Thomas Jefferson of the family constitution. We were allowed a great deal in the way of freedom, but we also learned early on that there were consequences for our actions. I suppose that’s always true of freedom, in that it required responsibility for one’s own actions.

My older sister, Mary, and me on our first Christmas in North Carolina

We were never forced to share our toys. Now you might think not sharing would make us guarded and selfish, but that was not the case. Because we knew we didn’t have to share, we didn’t feel the need to guard our toys. No one was going to snatch them away from us. We did learn an important life lesson, too. We could negotiate using toys as a tool. It went sort of like this: I’ll let you play with my Betsy Wetsy (there really was a doll named that who did that) if you will let me play with your tea set. We were actually quite generous with our stuff most of the time. We even gave some toys away when the church asked for donations for kids without Christmas.

(I'm crying because Mary was invited to a party and I wasn't. She's all dressed up and I'm in my crappy dress. This picture was taken on the Naval base at Virginia Beach when Pop worked ocean weather on a coast guard cutter.)

My parents did not hang over our shoulders demanding that we do our school work. I hated homework. I found many ways to procrastinate about getting it done. Since there were no rules regarding a time or place for doing homework, I, in my infinite wisdom, decided I could just skip it. Well, I found out there is a consequence to not doing homework that has nothing to do with grades (a thing I also didn’t care much about.) After suffering the deep humiliation of not having a report to give when it came to my turn, I became mortified. After several humiliating episodes before my schoolmates, I did do homework, but I can’t really say I studied. It was fortunate for me that I was a great listener and note taker, or I may not have passed a single grade. The first time I seriously studied was my senior year in high school, and of all things, it was in English. College changed my errant study habits forever.

We didn’t have censorship in what we read. If the book was in our house, we were allowed to read it. The only time the lack of censorship in reading material came to be tested was when I started reading my mother’s True Detective magazines when I was around ten. The horror of these supposedly true stories were told in graphic detail and gave me nightmares. They never told me to stop reading these stories, but the secret stash of these magazines suddenly dried up. I can only assume in retrospect, that Mom no longer bought them, or else she found a really good place to hide them. Although fascinated by these horrific stories, I was glad to get back to my Little Lulu and Casper the Ghost comics. And, by the way, comic books were encouraged in our house. It was Pop’s sneaky way of getting us to read.

We weren’t allowed to roam the neighborhood, but we were allowed to roam the woods. When I think of it now, it’s hard to decide which of these places were the most dangerous for little kids. We spent hours building teepees out of limbs and pretending to be explorers unfettered by parental rules.

This is Pop on our birthday back in 1975. He wore it on TV where he was doing his weatherman gig on the news. That same day, Jimmy Carter was on the show campaigning for president. In Pop's sock was a skindu (a traditional dagger) that security must not have noticed. 

I was a firebug. My older sister was the perfect accomplice.  We planned a very long time how we would put a candle in a papier-mâché Halloween pumpkin. Our plan unfolded one morning in the hall closet. It was difficult to get that darn match to light, but we finally accomplished it and, voila, a very exciting flame ensued.  When we grew tired of sitting in the closet watching the candle burn, we left…and we left the candle burning. After the fire department left, we did receive one of the rare spankings from Pop. I had a total of three, and each one involved a life-threatening action on my part.  After the fire spanking, I declared I was leaving home and packed up my toys in my wagon. My clever parents said I would have to wait until after dark so I wouldn’t embarrass them in front of the neighbors. A good bluff; they knew I was afraid of the dark. Later, after they thought we were asleep, they were in the kitchen which was close to our room, talking about our escapades and, amazingly, were laughing about it.

While being punished for something, I think it was sticking bubble gum under the chair, I sat facing the wall in the chair of shame. Bored and angry, I decided it was a good idea to tear the wallpaper off the wall. The consequences could have been great, but I was fearless. They laughed about my actions because, as it turned out, I was helping them since they planned to remove the wall paper and paint. Well, who knew?

As teenagers, my sister and I were grounded for wrecking Mom’s car and lying about it. Lying was one of those things that had automatic punishment added to it. We weren’t supposed to use the phone for a week. Pop disabled our phone upstairs, so it was dead. We made it through 24 hours of silence before we decided to hunt for the phone box and figure out how to fix it. We found it, replaced the wire Pop disconnected, and, in victory, called the inside phone from our room. When Pop answered and he knew we fixed our phone, he took us off our no-call grounding and commended us for finding how he had disabled our phone. See what I mean? We were allowed so much freedom. But don’t think there weren’t some rules. A big one was not to smart-mouth our mother. Another rule was no skipping school and, finally, no lying. We could do just about anything else, but those three had dire consequences. I never skipped school in my life. I did smart-mouth my mother—once only, and I did tell a few lies when my back was to the wall, but the truth proved to be the easier way out of a situation. Sometimes my parents had difficulty discerning my "stories" for lies, but they got good at telling the difference.

We didn’t have a bedtime after we reached the age of twelve. I spent a few days at school miserably trying to stay awake and learned the lesson on this particular freedom. Weekends and summer were my glory days when I stayed up all hours, but I ditched the idea of staying up on school nights. I’m not one for misery.

You might wonder how my sister and I managed to graduate from school without failing a grade and get into college. It seems we had so much freedom to do what we wanted, you might think we would be undisciplined and unruly, but we weren’t. We respected our parents and we had the satisfying knowledge that we could take care of ourselves. Our parents took a big risk allowing us so much freedom.  The worst consequence was to disappoint them. I just couldn’t take that look on their faces when I lost their respect.

My parents led by example, teaching us things about life, love, and family. As much as my mother had chronic depression and battled heart disease from my early childhood, she didn’t complain about it. She faced it with dignity, perseverance, and courage in the face of adversity. Mom taught us how to sew and improvise when we wanted something there was no pattern for, and how to cook even when all the ingredients weren’t in the pantry. She could make a tasty meal out of sawdust.

(This is Pop releasing a squirrel who managed to get into the bird trap Pop used for catching birds to ban.)

Pop took us on walks in the woods and showed us all he knew including a reverence for all God’s creation. He made math into a game and never criticized me for never being good at it. We learned how to garden using compose heaps and soap instead of commercial fertilizers and poisonous chemicals. He was a feminist long before the notion became popular. He believed women were smart and needed to be educated. He once told me that I should always be self-reliant because, you never know when you might end up needing to support your family. He was a dedicated conservationist and banned birds for the Fish and Wildlife Service from the time he was a kid. I’m glad now that he didn’t allow us to have a TV even though I resented it when I was a kid. My sister and I spent our days reading, going on adventures, and cooking up outrageous schemes. We were never bored.

Even though they made their fair share of mistakes, my parents made us feel safe, secure, and loved. They gave me the strength, courage and freedom to be who I really am. My parents were a gift. Because of their wisdom and guidance, I have been able to face some very difficult times in my life without giving up or feeling sorry for myself. They believed in me. I couldn't ask more than that.

A Bit About Me Today 

I have been married—twice, actually. Although I never had children of my own, I have fur babies I love very much, Liberty the cat and Lily, the golden retriever. On September 11, 2001, Liberty was hit by a car and, after she was treated for her injuries, my vet put her up for adoption. I saw her when I brought my dog in for her yearly exam. She was the sweetest little kitten. We bonded and I adopted her. Lily was a rescue dog. I got her when she was 4 months old. She had been dumped in a high kill shelter by a couple who said they couldn’t love her. They had recently lost their previous golden and probably tried to fill the void too soon. I had lost my previous golden, Kate, due to cancer, but Lily and I healed each other through all the sadness we had experienced.

Lily, my Golden Retriever

Liberty sleeping under her "sun lamp" on my desk

I became a practical nurse and worked just about every department in my early years. But I wanted to work in critical care, especially coronary care, so I went back to school to become a registered nurse to qualify for critical care. It was hard to do. I worked full time and had to drive an hour each way to get to and from college. After 3 years, I finally succeeded and worked 21 years in coronary care, and then transferred to the emergency department and worked the last 17 years of my career there.

I'm standing in front of the CCU monitors. I know. The frog is weird. I made it for the Christmas tree when I was about 16. I wore it to cheer up the patients.

I’ve been writing most of my life. It took a long time and many classes in creative writing before I finally became published in 1999. I didn’t write romance in the beginning. I was more into sci-fi and fantasy fiction. On the suggestion of one of my writing instructors, I tried writing romance, and loved it. Although I write mostly western romance now, I also write paranormal, time travel, and a few contemporary stories and novels. My western romances take place in Wyoming in the fictional town of Hazard and involve the Wilding family first introduced in my time travel western, Harmonica Joe’s Reluctant Bride. In my short story in the Christmas anthology, WISHING FOR A COWBOY, I wrote, A Husband for Christmas, about Jane and her son, survivors of the Titanic and rescued from a fire by Banjo Wilding. Just when it seems Jane and Robin will spend their lives alone, Banjo’s uncle, a half Lakota named Teekonka, shows them there just might be a brighter future than they ever imagined, in spite of all their emotional pain.  It’s now out as a single.

A BOOK GIVE AWAY!! I'm giving away a copy of A Husband For Christmas to someone who comments today. Include your email address in your comment for a chance to win.

  A HUSBAND FOR CHRISTMAS is now being offered as a single. It first appeared in the Christmas Anthology, WISHING FOR A COWBOY. I'll be giving away a copy of this story to someone who comments today.

A night of horror… a wish for a new life...and a secret love

BLURB:

Jane Pierpont and her son, Robin, survived the Titanic, but her husband went down with the ship and the emotional scars of that night have kept her and her son locked into that frightening event years later . Robin is terrified of deep water and Jane has nightmares and survivor’s guilt. She yearns for a family, a loving husband and maybe another child, but she feels disloyal to Michael’s memory whenever Teekonka RedSky comes near her.

Teekonka RedSky loves Jane and her son, but all his efforts to help them past their painful memories of the night Michael Pierpont died have been unsuccessful. Unwilling to give up, can his Lakota beliefs help him bring peace to Robin and free Jane to love again?  
EXCERPT:

Teekonka let go of the latch and stepped back into the room. He took Jane’s hand in his, its warmth radiating into her chest. “I wondered if you and Rob would attend the festival with me.”
Jane felt confused. “The hotel is just down the street from here. We can manage to get there quite well on our own.”

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “You don’t understand, Jane. I’m asking you and your son to go with me because I want to court you.”

Jane pulled her hand free. Self-reproach engulfed her. Before her stood a handsome, strong man who wanted to court her and include her son, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Surely, Michael’s spirit was close by, and he would never approve. He couldn’t help dying. “I…I’m flattered that you should ask, but I can’t. My husband—”

Teekonka’s jaw clenched. “Your husband is dead. He’s been dead for seven years.” He stepped back from her. A frown turned his firm lips down. After he walked to the door and lifted the latch, he turned to her again. “I’m sorry. I apologize for reacting so angrily.  You still love your husband. I understand.” The door closed, and he was gone.

Jane stood alone in a room that had suddenly grown cold and dim. 

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Thanksgiving.

Home and Family

Two of my favorite things for Thanksgiving. We’ll all gather at my oldest son’s house for the turkey eating this year, and it promises to be a very fun day. There will be no black Friday shopping for us, besides the fact most of it is already done (online), I am not a fan of all the hype and stores opening early, etc. etc., dear hubby is the best man in a wedding of a wonderful friend on Saturday, so we’ll head south on Friday for the rehearsal dinner. 

A bit of history: Thanksgiving has been celebrated with family and friends since 1621 when the Pilgrims and a tribe of the Wampanoag hosted a three day feast after a plentiful harvest in the new world.  A hundred and fifty or so years later, in 1777, George Washington declared all thirteen colonies should take place in a national day of public thanksgiving and prayer on the last Thursday in November. Then in 1863 Abraham Lincoln gave the Thanksgiving Proclamation that declared the last Thursday of November (based on Washington’s earlier declaration) a National holiday.  Franklin Roosevelt changed it to the second to the last Thursday, however, after much confusion, two years later, in 1941, congress passed a law making Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday in November. 

We all know the count-down to Christmas hits full force once Thanksgiving is over. I’ve already started watching the Hallmark channel’s holiday specials. I love, love, love those shows! We’ll also spend a few evenings watching the classics including It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34^th Street. I met Karolyn Grimes a few years ago, she stared as Zuzu as a child. She's a wonderful lady! (You can read more about how she touched my family's life on my blog www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com)

I will also read Christmas stories, lots of them! I look forward to December all year for that purpose. Once in awhile, I’ll cheat and read one in July or so, but for the most part I save them to read now. I’m also very excited to share two of my stories that were written for this year. 

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

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

The other wonderful stories in this anthology include: 

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

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

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

Southern Montana, 1886

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

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

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

Happy Holidays!

Lauri