Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Welcome to fellow Wild Rose Press Author Mike Torreano-Western Author

The Reckoning Blurb
Ike McAlister returns home to Kansas after the Civil War, his soul bruised and empty. Worse, his parents have been killed by Quantrill’s raiders who are still on the loose. No stranger to death and destruction, he vows to run the killers down.
A clue leads him to the high plains of Colorado, but when his sister, Sue, disappears there his world quickly spins out of control. In the midst of this turmoil a feisty landlady sparks an attraction that’s the only good thing in Ike’s life. Now, in a race
against time he must make a deadly choice. If he continues to pursue the killers, Sue will likely never be found. If he veers off to find her, the killers trail will likely go cold.
Which track to follow? Will the love of family triumph in his broken heart or will it be the passionate hate of revenge?

The cards were coming up aces for the scruffy cowboy across from him. The man was cheating, but Ike couldn’t see how. Ike had been losing to the surly wrangler for more than an hour and still hadn’t figured out his tricks. From what he could see, the man’s shuffle looked okay. His deal looked okay. It had to be something else. The sooner he figured it out the better. The stash of money in front of him had dwindled to next to nothing.

One of the players asked Ike where he was from. “I’m from back east a ways. Came here lookin’ for somebody.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for someone in particular. Mind my asking who?”

The man was a proper-looking sort in a black suit and bolo tie, both out of place in a rundown saloon like the Wildfire. He resembled a banker. Ike decided he might as well answer since he’d already told the sheriff why he was here. “I’m lookin’ for my sister, Sue.”

The cowboy spun a card to Ike that flew off the table. “That one got away from me.”

The Renewal Blurb:
Ike McAlister has finally put the ghosts of his past to rest. He’s found new joy with a spirited wife, a young daughter, and a mountain valley ranch where a man can make something of himself. But a coming railroad through the South Park valley threatens to take his land and tear his hard-won peace apart.
Discovering that the railroad could easily bypass his ranch, he organizes opposition and earns the animus of the formidable foreman. When Ike’s brother Rob, the sheriff, is bushwhacked, Ike sets out on a high stakes quest to find the killer before the killer gets him.
The Renewal Excerpts
Excerpt 1:
Ike McAlister spied three rustlers ahead as he rounded the rocky ledge. A bullet whistled by his head and pinged off a boulder behind him. He dove off Ally and ducked behind the large granite outcropping, waiting for their next move. Cattle thieves weren’t common in this part of South Park, but they weren’t unheard of either. Some of his stock was missing, and he’d picked up these riders’ trail. His partner, Buster, was on the other side of the Park searching for the same stock, so Ike was alone on the valley floor.
He peeked around the rock, gripping his gun handle. The rustlers were driving five cattle south, away from his ranch. At least they hadn’t gotten either of his bulls. The drag rustler looked back occasionally, but none of them seemed to be in any hurry. Ike considered his options. He could follow and if he was lucky, scatter them with his rifle, then drive the animals back to his spread, or he could turn back now and let the bandits have the cattle.
He never was one to turn back. He’d get his stock one way or another.
Excerpt 2:
 He found Lorraine at the other end of the food tables, hemmed in by several women, all chattering about what a beautiful day it was to have a spring festival. He’d certainly gotten lucky when he married her. Ike stopped short for a moment, admiring how she brought life to everything and everyone she met. That wasn’t his way, although she’d tried to encourage him to be more social. He just wasn’t a good learner, he guessed. It made him appreciate her even more. He was about to go back for more food when one of the women standing nearby noticed him.
“Mr. Ike, how nice you could join us. Ladies, let’s make a place for one of the handsomest men in town.”
The compliment came from Eleanor Whitaker, the mayor’s wife. Ike had never thought himself handsome, so he stammered a short reply. “Thank you. I was just thinking how you all added to the beauty of the day.” Where that came from he didn’t know, but it prompted giggles and broad smiles from the women.
Lorraine hurried over to him. “Now, you all just give my man a wide berth. He’s so darned good looking that if you got any closer, I’m sure you’d keel over.”
A flush spread up Ike’s neck.
One of the women asked, “Well, seeing as Ike’s not available, how about his good-looking brother? Is Rob in the men’s raffle today?” She caught Lorraine’s eye. “He can put his feet under my table any time.”
Excerpt 3:
Hannah smoothed a hand over her hair then clasped her hands together. Her eyes bored into Rob’s. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it to yourself?” She pulled his face nearly to hers. Her tone changed from lighthearted to earnest, and she had an intensity he hadn’t seen before.“Is it something I need to know? If not, I’d just as soon not hear it.” He turned and studied her.She loosened her hold, and her gaze darted around the room. “I want to tell you; I need to tell someone.
It’s burnin’ a hole inside me.” Her eyes were ablaze. “Then tell me.”
“I didn’t just come here by accident. I planned it, been plannin’ it for some time as soon as I knew. It just took me a while to work up the courage to come.” She was almost breathless. “And now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do anymore.”
Rob broke in. “About what?”
Either she didn’t hear him or she decided to ignore him. “I’ve thought about what I’d say to him. I even thought about what I’d do to him, but now that I see him, he scares me even more than I thought he would.”
Rob raised his voice. “Who are you talking about?” “Will you keep it to yourself?”Rob nodded.She brushed a hand over her eyes. She leaned toward him and as she whispered in his ear, Rob’s eyes widened.
The Reckoning Buy Link

Find the books on Amazon and with The Wild Rose Press!


Saturday, March 17, 2018

Welcome to Author Caroline Clemmons!

A compassionate woman…

Clara Van Hoosan entered training when she finished school at sixteen. Now, at twenty-two, she is one of the best heilgymnast in the new field of mechanotherapy. When her supervisor receives a request for someone to travel to Texas in America and help a paralytic patient, Clara is pleased to accept. On her arrival in McClintock Falls, she is surprised that the patient she thought would be a teenage boy is a very handsome man her age.

A desperate man…

Two years ago Daniel McClintock was paralyzed from the waist down. He is deeply discouraged and wonders if he is bound to live his life an invalid. Each week he becomes more depressed although not idle. He keeps books for the ranch and paints landscapes with sales donated to the church. The local doctor learns of a new type of treatment developed in Amsterdam, The Netherlands. Daniel can’t go there, so his family writes for a therapist trained in the new treatment to come to them.

A surprise arrives…

Everyone is expecting a man when Clara Van Hoosan arrives. As she and Daniel work together, they become attracted. She believes his is the normal attachment a patient feels toward a therapist and will fade once he’s healed. She tries to hide her feelings for him. Daniel knows she’s The One if only he can convince her to remain in McClintock Falls.

The next morning, Clara dressed carefully. For therapy work, she wore a white muslin split skirt and shirtwaist without a corset. The ensemble allowed her the flexibility needed to work with a patient.

She hurried to check on Daniel. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Glancing around the room, she saw numerous paintings. She recognized the ranch’s landscape in three. Others showed horses, two in which the horses were alone and two with groups of horses.

“Good morning, Daniel. Dr. Sullivan mentioned you paint well and I see he was correct.” She walked the length of the room and back, admiring the lovely paintings. “These are beautiful.”

“They’re for Roan’s store to sell and donate the money to the church.”

“Shall I help you get ready for the day?” She reached for his sheet.

He batted away her hand. “Don’t think you’re going to be helping me. You run along and do whatever it is women do each morning.”

“This woman helps you. I hoped you would reconsider after thinking overnight. We can do this peacefully or in an all-out war, but I will help you.”

He screwed up his face and mocked, “‘I vill helf you’. You can’t even speak proper English.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I am sure my English is far better than your Dutch.”

“Are you so eager to see a man’s privates that you’re willing to help me? Does ogling a man intimately get you all hot and bothered?”

She fanned her throat and pretended to pant. “Oh, yes, I just adore looking at piss and feces.” With one yank, she snapped the sheet from atop him.

“Hey, you… you can’t do that.”

“I already have.” After pouring water into the pitcher, she wrung out a clean wash cloth and carried it and the towel to his bed. She grabbed one of the clean cloths used as his diapers.

He scooted up on his pillows and put out a hand. “Get away, do you hear?”

“How could I not? I am sure men working in the barn heard you. You may as well save your breath. We will start your bath with your face.”

He grabbed the wash cloth from her. “I can wash myself.”

“If you wish.” When he’d cleaned his face and torso, she rolled him to lie on his chest and washed his back and pulled the covering from his posterior.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Checking your skin. Your mother has done a wonderful job of preventing bedsores. There is one tiny area on each of your hips where tissue has changed.”

“You said there weren’t any bedsores.”

“That is right, but these places must be watched carefully or there will be. Now that you will be moving more, that should help.”

She touched a scar low on his spine. “You are fortunate the rock damaged your spine so low. Otherwise I would not anticipate you regaining use of your legs but I do.”

He craned his neck so he could look up at her. “Lady, if I were fortunate, I wouldn’t be paralyzed in the first place.”


How can two people from different eras own the same ranch?

Penelope Jane Terry knows everything about ranching in spite of being a lone woman. She is determined to send to jail the rustlers who believe they can steal what is hers… until she is caught spying on their dirty works and must ride for her life. What Penny doesn’t count on is being hurtled over a 120 years into the future.

Jake Knight believes the attractive woman who stumbled into his home one rainy evening either has amnesia or is certifiably insane. Unless, that is, she is in league with whoever is trying to drive him out of business. Someone is trying to force him to sell his ranch by staging a string of damaging incidents. Jake’s been kept so busy making repairs that he can’t run his ranch. Even if he were stupid enough to wish to sell, the ranch is so firmly entailed that no one can break the conditions.

Jake gradually learns Penny is who she claims, no matter that time travel is supposed to be impossible. They’re locked into a clash that it seems only one of them can win. If an outsider weren’t trying to kill Jake as well as bankrupt him, perhaps he and Penny might be able to reach an agreement. But, there is that treasure….


She should have gone around to the back door, but she couldn’t walk another step. Weariness and sore muscles overwhelmed her and she wanted nothing more than to shuck out of her wet things and lie in her nice bed—if she could summon the energy to walk upstairs. She heard footsteps approaching and raised one foot. Eyes closed, she leaned back against the stairs.

“Had me a passel of trouble, Jake. Help me get these danged boots off, would you? Then I’ll tell you all about it.” A dog’s cold nose pressed against her cheek. She jumped and pushed her hair out of her eyes. A black and white dog stared at her. “Who are you?”

“His name’s Rascal.” An unfamiliar baritone said, “He’s mine.”

She looked up.

Whoa! The man who faced her wasn’t Jake. In spite of her wariness, her mouth dropped open in awe. Instead of her arthritic middle-aged cook, this man was young and tall and definitely fit. And handsome. Unbelievably, mesmerizingly handsome.

He might be as comely as a fairy tale prince, but the regal disapproval on his face appeared anything but friendly.

Energized by fear, she jumped to her feet and grabbed her rifle. “Who the heck are you?”

He crossed his arms and ignored the Winchester pointed at his middle. His dark hair glistened in light that seemed too bright. Dark blue eyes had tiny creases at the corners, as if he laughed a lot.

He sure wasn’t laughing now.

“I might ask you the same question. And what are you doing tracking in mud and dripping water all over my foyer?”

Your foyer? This is my house, and it’s been my house since my daddy and I built it six years ago. Don’t you think for one minute I’ll let you steal my home.”

 The dog growled, the fur of his ruff bristling.

The man snapped his fingers. “Quiet, Rascal.”

Who was this man? He didn’t look the type but maybe he was one of the men stealing her cattle. Could he and his dog have been waiting for her? She gripped the rifle with all her strength. Why hadn’t Jake show up to help her?

Oh, no, had they killed Jake?

He glared at her. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, but this is my house, get it? I grew up here. My daddy grew up here. My granddaddy grew up here.”

Penny’s knees trembled, but she fought fear to appear strong. “Don’t try and trick me. The Double T ranch was started by my granddaddy in 1836. No con man is going to steal it from the Terry family, and you can take that to the bank.”

“The Terry family hasn’t owned this since Penelope Terry died in 1896. Knights have owned it since then.” He threw up his hands. “Hell, why am I arguing with a crazy woman?”

“Crazy?” She was about to light into him when the first part of his statement hit her. “Hey, what do you mean, I died? I’m as alive as you, whoever you are.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I see you’re alive. I said Penelope Terry died. Are you hard of hearing as well as nuts?”

Increasing fear spiraled inside Penny, knotting her stomach. How could this man think her dead? What kind of trick was he working? Had she been conked out long enough that Jake sent men out to look for her and they decided she’d died?

Forcing herself to appear calm when she shook inside, Penny stood erect. “I’m Penelope Jane Terry and you can see I’m very much alive…”


Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To make up for this tragic error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a small office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their rescued cats and dogs. The books she creates there have made her an Amazon bestselling author and won several awards. Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Google+, and Pinterest.

Click on her Amazon Author Page for a complete list of her books and follow her there.

Follow her on BookBub.

Subscribe to Caroline’s newsletter here to receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE, a humorous historical wedding disaster that ends happily—but you knew it would, didn’t you?

She loves to hear from readers at caroline@carolineclemmons.com

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

A little research on Indian Agents...

Just a Little History in Indian Agents

As you may know, I have a western historical romance series; The McCades of Cheyenne that I began researching the idea some time in 2012. The first story Sawyer’s Rose was published in March of 2016-Will a sheriff set on revenge fall for a mail-order-bride with secrets of her own.  The second story, Wyatt’s Bounty was released in April 2017-Will a bounty hunter risk it all to save the lady doctor who walked away.  While these little twists of words make the stories seem interesting, I think there are times I fall short on pleasing those who only want romance while at the same time, western readers think it is too much. I like to say my stories are really family saga with romance and suspense. The third story in this series I am working on now. Dawson’s Haven won’t disappoint, but I had wanted Dawson to be an Indian Agent but as I began the research on the topic, I found that these “Agents” were not always thought too well throughout history. This was a tough one to swallow as we authors want to put our hero in a good light and after doing a good bit of reading on the topic, I decided to change up what capacity that Dawson works in order to assist the Indians. I now have him as hired as an interpreter, but he doesn’t like it when he is referred to as an Indian Agent.  Gonna see if that will work for me, but I thought of all the research and planning I had done to no avail so I’ll present that to you here and let you decide.

In 1789, it was Secretary of War, Henry Knox who first delegated the idea to assign peace agents for working with Indian Tribes. These government assigned employees would act as a buffer in acclimating peaceful relationships between the tribes as well as the relationships between the Indians and government. Most often the agents would reside with the various tribes and were assigned the task of teaching the Indians trade and commerce, along with farming and “White man” religions. Tasks varied according to location but most often the “Agent” was responsible for supervising the Indians in commercial opportunities involving the trade of their goods. By the nineteenth century the Indian Agent was a well coined term for the men who worked to push Indians into dependence on manufactured goods which started during the Thomas Jefferson Administration. While the Indians were forced to purchase commercial goods they could only trade the raw materials such as hides and furs for their part of the deal. Agents at the time were responsible for reporting any illegal violations in what was traded and purchased and reports were sent to leaders on high.

One of the first official tasks of the Indian Agent was to disperse government monies to the chiefs of various tribes who would then render the distributions to the tribe as needed. As would be expected this process slowly turned into one that would open the door for corrupt practices where dishonest Agents and Chiefs were concerned. Allocated monies often didn’t make it where intended. Not all Agents were corrupt but as time went by, many still mismanaged the funds in other ways and poor record keeping added to that process. For the most part Indian Agents had little education and no formal training of correct policy and procedure, not that there were defined practices in the earlier years of the job. Over time the credibility of the Indian Agent declined as rumors of dishonest practices surfaced time and again. It was thought that with the failure of the fur trade, some of the traders opted into the service of Indian Agent at an opportune time. At the same time, however there were Indian Agents who did a good job in their duties and were successful in assisting tribes to acclimate into “civilized” peaceful camps.  

By the Civil War in the 1860’s periodic outbursts of public concern had pushed for more humane treatment of the Indians. President Ulysses S. Grant’s administration was the first to allow for Christian denominations to take control of various tribes but that lasted only a short time with the religious establishments ultimately pulling out of the practice of “civilizing” the tribes. In the 1880’s, Indian Agents, though no longer thought of in that term, spent time educating the tribes in industry and agriculture, with alcohol use strictly prohibited. Most agents of the time were assigned for political reasons rather than their education and knowledge and this lead to the failure of the system for the most part.

In 1896, President Grover Cleveland decreed that those seeking positions such as Indian Agents, Teachers, Doctors, Nurses, etc with the tribes would be certified in their various fields in order to be assigned. This over time improved the quality of those assisting with the tribes, but it did little for promoting Indians themselves to better lines of work.

Early on, and prior to this last bit of progress Indian Agents were assigned and responsible for the following:

Preventing conflict between the Indians and settlers

Watch out for Commerce and Trade Violations

Assist in keeping peaceful negotiations between the tribes and soldiers/military

See that annuities were properly dispersed to the tribes

See successful removal of tribes from lands assigned to settlers

See that Indians weren’t idle and labored accordingly

Teach the Indians to farm and grow crops

Indian Children were to wear “Civilized” Clothing and Learn English in “Indian Schools”

Children were also included in being taught the industrial trainings of the adults

Agents were assigned to keep a Census of the tribe and to give English Names to the Indians

So as you can see, there were some good things that came out of acclimating the Indians to what I will refer to as the “New America”, especially when the agent was a good one but it seems those were few and far between. But as not to bash all the Agents in history, there are a good number of them that I wouldn’t mind reading about some time and I may very well do some for future writes here. I do think we all know that history wasn’t very kind to the Native American tribes. But I am also a fan of not erasing history as it happened, so that we can all learn from it.

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Welcome to Carrie Nichols!!!


Carrie's 2016 RWA® Golden Heart® winning short contemporary, THE MARINE'S SECRET DAUGHTER, is a February 2018 release from Harlequin Special Edition. The first in her Small-Town Sweethearts series.
Carrie Nichols, is a hardy New Englander who traded snow for central AC when she moved to the Deep South. She loves to travel, is addicted to British crime dramas and knows a Seinfeld quote appropriate for every occasion. Carrie has one tolerant husband, two grown sons and two critical cats. To her dismay, Carrie's characters, much like her family, often ignore the wisdom and guidance she lovingly offers.


Back cover blurb:

She has his eyes.
Her mother has his heart.

Years have passed since marine sergeant Riley Cooper last held his best friend’s sister in his arms. Bound for Afghanistan, he believed walking away from Meg McBride was the kindest thing he could do. Now that he’s home, he doesn’t blame Meggie for hating him. But she hasn’t told him everything. And he hasn’t met the little red-haired girl whose gray eyes so resemble his own…





Reality, meet Meg. Meg, meet reality.

This was not how her first meeting in over five years with Riley Cooper was supposed to happen. In her imagination, she was all sexy in a little black dress and killer heels after a relaxing spa day. Yeah, right; she’d spent the day cleaning and probably looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot. So not fair! Riley was supposed to be breathless and falling at her feet, not vice versa. Stupid, stupid asthma. Another twenty minutes and she would’ve been home, not making embarrassing wheezing and whistling noises in front of him.

In the cellar, Meg had thought Riley was a hallucination brought on by her oxygen-starved brain, but it hadn’t taken long for her to see he was swoon-worthy flesh and blood. Riley had this whole bad boy persona going on with close-cropped military hair, Hollywood stubble and chiseled cheeks. What was he doing in Loon Lake? Last she knew, he was in Afghanistan. Her stomach clenched. Why had he returned?

Meg plodded toward the front door. Was it lack of oxygen or his presence making her dizzy? A million questions flitted around in her head like horseflies in spring. Forget curiosity. Giving him the third degree was out of the question until she could speak in full sentences. Another round of coughing left her light-headed. Damn, fresh air wasn’t helping. She rubbed her chest, hoping to ease the new tightness settling there and chase away the black spots dancing around the edges of her vision. Every time she tried to draw in a deeper breath, the cough started again and the cycle repeated. She’d wanted to argue some more, but she could expend effort on one thing and she chose breathing.

Riley brushed past her and opened the front door.

“Wait and I’ll help you into the truck.” He turned back to lock the door.

A shiny black Ford F-150 hulked in the driveway. Great, how am I supposed to climb into that beast? “I’ll manage.”

He grunted and swept past, getting to the truck ahead of her. He opened the passenger door, swearing under his breath as he lifted a brown paper grocery bag off the seat. Glass bottles clinked as he turned, and she glanced into the bag. Bottles of Jack Daniel’s stared back. She choked on the bitter bile rising in her throat. Oh, God, Riley, no. Please. I dont want Fiona to come home to…this.

Meg met his gaze. Riley’s eyes resembled the lake during a summer storm. Those gray eyes—Fiona’s gray eyes—dared her to say something. "Are you okay to drive?"  

He lifted the bag higher, the bottles clinking and the paper bag crackling. "I haven't touched a drop. Check the bottles if you don't believe me."

"I believe you." She stepped out of his way. "Expecting company?"

Saturday, March 10, 2018

Just a hint of what's to come for Dawson's Haven...

Just a hint of what is to come, as it seems a lot of readers are waiting. Just know that it takes a bit to get the story just how it needs to be for the character and the readers, but I hope this lets you know Dawson's Haven will be worth the wait!

Excerpt Dawson's Haven---The first kiss

                He took the bag from her and drew the straps apart and tilted it. A small light blue polished stone rolled into his hand and he held it out to her. She lifted it into her palm as he leaned ever closer, having never shared anything from the small leather bag with anyone before.

                “Turquoise. Polished it myself. For wisdom and protection. It’s…” Her cheek brushed against him once more and he stopped without finishing, wanting the kiss he hadn’t taken.

                Her breath was on his skin but as he leaned closer she pulled away, bounding to her feet and taking off on a run, turning back with a giggle, enticing him to follow. “Catch me and I will return your precious stone.”

                He chuckled. What was it with this woman, so carefree? He scrambled to his feet, giving chase, catching up to her in a few strides. He caught her around the middle and they fell into the high grass, his body across hers. Her laughter echoed through him as he studied her face and lips and settled his gaze on her wide hazel eyes.

                “Kiss me, Dawson McCade.” Her whisper filled his ears as she caught her breath.

                He wanted the kiss and he’d have it too. He placed his hand on her cheek, brushing the bruise that had faded, her skin flawless save a sprinkle of tiny freckles. He pressed his thumb across her lips and her gaze never left him as he touched her, though she wore a pleasant shade of pink. Her lips were plump and moist and—

                The impact of his mouth against hers made his heart race and his groin tighten. She was tender and parted her lips with little coaxing. Touching his tongue to hers, he wanted to consume all of her. Her warm mouth tasted of mint and her sigh of passion or surprise made him moan with the hard want of her. He rested his hand across her belly and slowly slid it to rest underneath her breast.

                She pulled from the kiss breathless, her breasts pushing against his chest and he continued his fervent kisses along her cheeks and across her jaw and to her neck. He raised his head, finding her gaze once more. It surprised him when she lifted her hand and tucked his hair behind his ear making him shiver. The sensation of her touch went clean through to his heart, warming his chest. He’d never wanted a woman as much, but more than that he wanted to know her mind and her thoughts. All of her…

                “My heart’s beating so fast.” She placed a hand to his chest. “I’ve thought of you so often.”

                He had no words, but touched her cheek again as Josie came close enough to drag her reins across them.

                She giggled and grabbed the reins. “Oh, Josie.”  

                “When you were at my cabin, I wanted this, to touch you, kiss you…” And he was falling ever deeper in admitting anything within his heart, knowing full better that she was too young and he had no lifestyle conducive to having a woman in it.

                “Then kiss me again, Dawson.” She ran her hands into his hair drawing him back to her lips.

                In spite of his thoughts, he lowered his mouth to hers, this time kissing her without mercy, tasting and letting his hands roam her body. Hell, he’d like to undress her here and now, taste the pert peeks of her breasts and then, take her as a man, not yielding until her legs quivered and she bowed beneath him in her first pleasure. And then he wanted to simply hold her and lie with her forever in a peaceful state of bliss and warmth he hadn’t known for a long time.

                He sat up abruptly, leaving her in the grass. Hell, he had to stop now or he’d do exactly what he was thinking. That was the problem, he wasn’t thinking was he?

                She sat up and opened her palm breathless. “Your stone.”

                He struggled to inhale enough air to recover and glanced at her, dragging a hand through his hair. He placed his hand under hers and closed her fist around the stone. “It’s yours now.”

                “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I mean it’s sacred.” She shook her head.

                “It is yours.” Some part of him he wanted her to have it, to keep something of him forever safe in her grasp.

                She leaned against his shoulder studying the stone. “What just happened between us?”

                How was he to answer a question like that? Hell, he was more unnerved by what hadn’t happened and the tightness of his buckskin trousers had relented little. He sucked in a much needed deep breath and glanced across the meadow having not felt what he was feeling ever before. “What would you want it to be?”

                The pink blush across her face hadn’t abated. “The beginning of something very beautiful.”

                He gave a slight chuckle and shook his head. “If you knew my thoughts, you’d run faster than you did from those Dog Soldiers.”

                She took his hand again. “I have no fear of you, Dawson McCade.”

                He smiled and stood, dragging her up beside him. “You should.”

Thursday, March 8, 2018

Welcome back to Clint Clay with something new!

Frank Williams had a rough start in life. An orphan, raised on the streets of Chicago, he scraped by but never had a solid roof over his head or good food in his belly. As a Union army grunt, he had those things, but was soon ready for the constant killing to end. After the war, he drifted, a young man trying to find his way in the world. By a few twists of fate, he finally comes to discover his path and a sense of belonging he never thought he would find.


For the first-time, bestselling author Bruce G. Bennett presents three more top bestselling Western novels for you to read from three of your favorite Western authors. Fast-paced adventure with no barrels barred action as three gunmen blow their way across the Old West… The gun is fired… wait until the GUNSMOKE clears!

Lonetree’s Bluff – C. Wayne Winkle

Nathan Lonetree forced his eyes open to almost complete darkness. A long moment passed before he remembered why the darkness and why he lay on a thin bed of sand over rock.

A cave! I’m in a cave, he remembered. Luther Graves was supposed to be hiding here. I came to catch him and bring him in. There’s $500 on his head. That’s one of the biggest rewards I’ve gone after.

Lonetree had been a bounty hunter for four years. Ever since the ranch he grew up on dried up and blew away, literally, in the panhandle of Texas. Having no other skills, he started hunting men. And had been very successful.

Texas Lawman – Frank Williams – Clint Clay

Frank Williams had a rough start in life. An orphan, raised on the streets of Chicago, he scraped by but never had a solid roof over his head or good food in his belly. As a Union army grunt, he had those things, but was soon ready for the constant killing to end. After the war, he drifted, a young man trying to find his way in the world. By a few twists of fate, he finally comes to discover his path and a sense of belonging he never thought he would find.

Gunshots on Hell's Border – Douglas R. Cobb

From Douglas Cobb, the bestselling author of “Crossing the Dead Line: The Guns of Bass Reeves,” and “Men of Iron Will” comes his new hit Western, “Gunshots on Hell's Border.” Justice, mercy and retribution come in many forms. For this cowboy, it comes in the form of his gun—a gun he uses to judge the guilty and provide ample punishment.

Matt “The Boot Collector” Hardy leads an interesting life as a bounty hunter in the territory surrounding the wild town of Fort Smith, Arkansas, otherwise known as “Hell’s Border.” Living by his own rules, he always gets his men, more often dead than alive, ridding the area of the meanest outlaws, and adding their boots to his collection of trophies. A family man at heart, when he isn’t hunting outlaws, he lives peacefully with his wife and son on his farm across the river from Hell’s Border. Everything changes, however, when evil crosses that border and invades his family.

Saddle up and ride with these Western bestsellers through that wild and dangerous place called the Old West. It takes guts to be a cowboy…