Friday Guest: Susan Macatee, Time Travel, and a spicy new release!

Today I'd like to welcome Susan Macatee, a wonderful author with a penchant for Civil War romances and an eye for detail. Her newest release is Thoroughly Modern Amanda, a time travel romance that sounds like a lot of fun. I'll definitely be picking this one up!

1. At any given time do you work on only one story at a time and maybe plot out the next one or are there many ideas racing around your head?
I'm always thinking ahead to future stories, but I try to concentrate on my WIP and maybe make notes for the next one. Right now, I'm tied up with promotion for two new releases, but I did write the first draft to a new historical romance over the summer that I plan to start revising after the holidays. Once that's finished and submitted, I'll start plotting out the next story. But I also write short stories for magazines and try to squeeze in a couple while a novel or novella is cooling off, or while I’m in between those longer stories.

2. Is there a genre you haven't written in but would like to? Or wish you could write in?
I'm thinking about trying a contemporary romance for my next story. Maybe even one including a baseball player hero. Baseball is my favorite spectator sport and a lot of those players are real hunks any heroine could fall for. Another genre I’d like to try is romantic suspense, since I like to read it.

3. Do you add an element of romantic suspense in your stories? If so, how difficult is it to maintain the integrity of the mystery?
I do like to include suspense in my stories, most of which are adventure romances, set during and around the American Civil War. My latest full-length novel, Cassidy's War, was set after the war and included a lot of suspense. I think that's an ingredient that keeps readers turning the pages of any genre story. They aren’t really mysteries, though. I never tried writing a mystery, because I like to allow the story to flow, not worry about building a puzzle that has to be solved in the end.

4. Say you have unlimited funds: What kind of writing office/cottage would you create for yourself?
With limited funds, it would probably be what I have now. My desk sits in the corner of my dining room next to the window overlooking the back yard. After being a stay-at-home mom for many years, I've learned I can divide my attention and don't think I could write in a closed up room away from the action. I’d be too distracted wondering what was going on in the rest of the house. lol

5. If you could turn your novel into a TV show, which novel or series would you do?
I'd do a series of time travel stories based on Erin's Rebel and continuing through Thoroughly Modern Amanda.
Where would it be set?
They're both set in 19th century America. The first one during the Civil War, the latter, 1880. 
Network TV (ABC, NBC, CBS), Cable (AMC, BBC, Lifeitme) or Premium Cable (HBO, Showtime, Starz)? I'd say AMC because they have the series, ‘Hell On Wheels’. Mine would be a bit different because of the time travel angle, but both stories contain a lot of action and suspense.

6. Finally, tell us about your latest release!
Thoroughly Modern Amanda is based on my Civil War time travel romance, Erin's Rebel , but takes place 15 years later. Amanda Montgomery was a small child in Erin's Rebel, but is now grown up and holding down a job as a magazine reporter. She isn't the time traveler, though. Jack Lawton is a modern day construction worker who travels back in time to meet Amanda.

Here's the blurb:
Believing anything is possible, magazine reporter Amanda Montgomery dreams about being a modern woman in a nineteenth century world, much like her exceptional step-mother.  But society expects well-off young ladies to focus on finding a suitable husband and raising a family.  And then Jack appears—with no past and unconventional ideas. Does he hold the key to another century as well as her heart, or is she destined to stay in her own time?

Construction worker Jack Lawton wants to preserve an old home that's scheduled for demolition.  But when he sneaks inside for a final look, a loose beam falls on his head, and upon waking, he finds himself in the arms of a beautiful woman.  His only problem—he's no longer in the twenty-first century.  Can he find his way back home? Does he really want to?

And an excerpt:
He bit into the potato relishing the flavor. He wouldn’t mind staying in this century so much with a great cook like Mrs. O’Leary feeding him.

As he devoured the chicken and potatoes, he noticed Amanda picked at the food on her plate.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

She gazed at him, licking her lips. “It’s just…I can’t stop thinking of how you kissed me.” Her face colored and she glanced toward the pond.

“Oh.” Jack swallowed, suddenly ashamed. He was doing the exact opposite of what he’d promised Erin. “Was it good?” he asked feeling lame.

She dropped her gaze, but smiled. “Oh, yes. It was very good.” She glanced up. “The best I’ve ever felt with a man.”

“How many men…” Jack stopped himself.
She shrugged. “I haven’t been with any man, except for a quick peck on the cheek. It isn’t proper for an unmarried woman, you know.” Her gaze bore into his.

“Of course.” His face heated. “It was a stupid question. I mean…I forgot about how things are in this time period.”

She bit her lip. “So, it’s different in your time, I gather.”

Jack gulped. He really hadn’t planned to get into a discussion of future dating customs. He was sure they didn’t even call it dating here. Courting maybe?

“Amanda…” He leaned close, so close her sweet breath tickled his cheek. “I’d like to kiss you again, if it’s okay.”

She glanced around, then nodded.

He scooted closer, to enfold his arms around her back and draw her close. Leaning toward her mouth, he noted her eyes closing as her lips parted on a sigh.

He lowered his mouth and kissed her, lightly swirling the tip of his tongue into her mouth. She didn’t resist, her body pliant in his arms. She pressed herself closer as he angled her so she partially lay beneath him. He deepened the kiss causing his body to react, his erection pressing against her belly.

He longed to lie beside her, but the fact they were outside in a public location, reined him in. He released her. 

Her eyes fluttered open wide. “Oh, Jack,” she gasped. “That was so—so wonderful.”

“Glad you liked it.” Jack grinned. He glanced around. “I hope no one here took note of us.”

Amanda pursed her lips. “I can guarantee we’ll be the talk of the town come tomorrow.” She brushed out her skirt.

“You think?” Jack frowned as he pondered the implications of what he’d just done. Her father wouldn’t much like him taking liberties with his daughter. And if Erin found out, she’d be furious.

Thoroughly Modern Amanda is available at The Wild Rose Press

Leave a comment on this post for the chance to win a PDF copy of Thoroughly Modern Amanda and a $10.00 gift certificate for The Wild Rose Press. And if you’ve left a comment on of my other blog tour posts, you’ll be entered to win the grand prize, a $50.00 Amazon gift card. Winner will announced on my own blog tomorrow December 29th.

Paisley Kirkpatrick, Scottish heroes, and sexy westerns

Who doesn't love a cowboy with their rugged appearance and easy-going charm? Add a Scottish burr and toss in a sassy heroine and you have a great basis for a western. I grew up with Matt Dillon, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Palladin and others who protected the west. Some cowboys like Clint Eastwoods's Rowdy Yates and even Ward Bond as the wagon master on Wagon Train gave us all a peek at what life might have been like in the days of the Wild West.

I spent hours on horseback as a teenager. My girlfriend owned two mares and we used to make up stories and carry out our imagined parts. Of course, they were her horses and she was always grabbed the good part as the bad guy. I had the job of hunting for her -- but, as a great tracker I always captured my prey. I use my colorful memories to season my westerns with a bit of genuineness.

Of course, living where all the gold rush action occurred helps my creativity burst alive. I love writing historicals because history is so colorful and unexpectedly creative. Sometimes I think true stories are more fun than fiction. Placerville, which was named Hangtown and Dry Diggins' during the 1849 gold rush, still has so many of the original buildings and so many tunnels that twist and turn under town. I have set my series in the town of Placerville. I have renamed the town Paradise Pines, which just so happens to be the name of my series. See, how well I planned that. Some times I amaze even myself.

Seriously though, I have drawn the plots for my stories from the many tales I've read about and even gleaned some facts from some the old timers who love relating stories they remember hearing from their parents. Placerville still has imaginary gun fights in town on special occasions and Doc Weiser drives a Wells Fargo stagecoach at Christmas time for the townsfolk to ride 'just like in the olden days'. He has an untrimmed tree lying across the top of the coach and waves to all the people who enjoy watching the coach drive past.

There may not be a gold rush any longer, but there are still open gold mines we can enter and see how the miners spent their lives digging for riches. My daughter and I spent a couple of hours in the Gold Bug Mine and relived what it was like to spend time underground. Luckily for us it was only for a short while. We couldn't even fathom what spending every day, all day long in the dark would have been like. The olden days definitely were not the easy days.

My first book Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel is available at:
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Desert Breeze

Friday Guest: Denise Eagan and writing historical Series

Writing Series Romance

When I started writing many years ago, I never intended upon writing romantic series. My first real completed manuscript, The Wild Half, was always meant to be a stand-alone book.  Granted, it has two romances in it and had I written it with a typical series mentality, I would have been broken into two books. Over the years many people suggested I do that. I tried, but it never would work; the romances are too entwined, the characters too connected.  

My writing process is as much a collaboration with the characters as actual creation, and these characters refused to be separated, no matter which way I turned it.  Having failed at separating those romances, I expected that I’d never write a series.  I sort of felt bad for Nick in The Wild Half because he was left out in the cold, but other characters called to me. I went on to those stories instead.

Then came The Wild One.  It came out of the blue while I was trying to revise another story: two characters, Jess and Lee, whom I’d never even created, suddenly started having conversations in my mind, playing and replaying a couple of scenes like a movie stuck on automatic rewind.  Finally I realized I had to write those scenes if I ever wanted to get the revisions on that manuscript done. Unfortunately once they were on paper, other scenes followed, all out of order and just as insistent. The revisions were forgotten. I was typing as fast as the words came, hoping to God it could all be strung together into something resembling a book. 

And then, suddenly, I was in the middle of Colorado. Jess and Lee were riding into the Bar M the ranch from The Wild Half, meeting up with those characters 9 years after that book had ended.

I was shocked.  Confused.  I don’t write series, and this wasn’t really even that—it wasn’t like they were bringing along a love interest for Nick.  This was just new characters hanging out with those old characters. Apparently, Lee had once tried his hand at being a cowboy at the Bar M, and failed when he discovered he hated cows. The McGraws were his friends, he and Jess needed help, and I, the writer, had no choice in the matter.  It was their story, and my job was just to put it on paper.

And it was fun.  It was a lot of fun.  I’d wondered from time to time about what happened to the characters after I wrote “ the end” to The Wild Half.  Here was the answer and what was more, it felt right.  Lee was visiting his old friends—and so was I!

I remember a reader friend of mine once told me that she loved romantic series because she felt like the characters were all old friends.  I never really got that until I was writing it myself, but that is exactly how it feels to a writer.  We love our characters.  We spend a lot of time with them.  We know them well, sometimes better than ourselves, and so it seems only natural to bring them together, just as we would throw a party to bring together our real-life friends.  The difference is we can’t fix our real-life friends lives, and we can’t really send them off on adventures.  In fiction we can, and it’s a joy.

And so my friends Lee and Jess went and played with my friends Rick and Lilah.  And  Jim and Melinda (I got to meet their children—cool!) and Nick.  Before I finished The Wild One, I also met Lee’s father in a scene where they joked about his rocky romance with Lee’s mother, and I had a prequel, Wicked Woman.  

By the time I’d finished that and gone on to another book, I had the bug, like it or not.  My new characters wanted to meet my old characters and soon “people” were coming out of the woodwork, yelling “hey, I’m in this one, too!”  Rick Winchester, from The Wild Half, is the loudest of all—a big, confident alpha hero, who has a lot to say and seriously enjoys meddling in other people’s lives.  It only makes sense that his and Lilah’s story comes out next.  God knows they’ve waited long enough.

So here’s the first meeting scene from The Wild Half, due out at the end of January.  They’re both sitting on the front steps of the ranch house. Lilah’s just started working at the Bar M.  She’s a hunted woman, with dark, dangerous secrets that she’s desperate to keep hidden. Rick is a curious, and secretly grieving cowboy, in need of a mission.  Their needs are about to collide:

            Up close the man radiated a kind of restless energy, which belied his casual smile and the dimples that framed a carved, masculine mouth. Faded blue denim pants gripped long, muscular legs and a tired, blue cotton shirt spread over those wide shoulders.  His hair was light brown shot with sun-bleached gold and his rugged, square-shaped face was slightly lined. She judged him to be in his late twenties, older than most cowboys.

            His eyes caught hers. The lamp light glittered in the crystalline blue depths and nervous excitement snaked through her belly until, sucking in her breath, Lilah jerked free of his gaze. What the hell?

            He chuckled. "Not much for talkin' are you?" he asked, sitting next to her. The step creaked under his weight as he held out his hand. "Name's Rick Winchester."       

            He had a deep voice marbled by a soft southern drawl, which somehow felt like home.  Fear melted away as it slid over her nerves, numbing her senses and promising unknown pleasures.

            Home? Damn it, she thought, jerking herself back to reality.  She had no home! Swallowing, she set her jaw and focused on the valley again.     

            He dropped his hand. "Okay, then you aren't very friendly, either.  But ya might as well lend me your name 'cuz I'll get it from the McGraws anyhow. Lessn' you're one of them rustlers Jim left me to fend off?  Or a thief?  Mebbe I oughtta send Mack for the sheriff?"

            Her heart jumped as the threat shot home.  "I'm called Lilah Martin.” 

            "Int'resting. . .  called Lilah Martin.  But that ain't your name, is it?"

                Her head snapped around.  She’d used the phrase for years. No one had ever challenged it before.  He was staring down at her, laughter lighting his eyes which for some ungodly reason made her heart flutter.  Damn him.

                She redirected her attention to the yard.

                “Not that it matters,” he continued.  “I just wonder why you don’t use your real name.”

            "My private life,” she said, bathing her voice in ice water, “is no concern of yours."

            "Is that so?  Since when is a person’s name part of his private life?"

            She wouldn’t answer.  Her chest felt tight, her nerves on edge as she noted that he’d started the conversation with the diction of a barely literate cowboy but in the blink of an eye it had changed to that of an educated man.  Moreover, in town he’d been dressed like a typical non-threatening cowboy, with vest and boots and spurs. Tonight he wore  moccasins.  No thump or jingling to warn of his approach, no vest to hold tobacco.  In fact, he smelled of pleasantly of leather and soap.

             Damn, but who was he? Rick. . .Winchester. Oh good Lord, he was Barbara's silent-stepping cowboy.  And not just a cowboy but the McGraw’s foreman.

            His clothes made a scratching sound along the wall as leaned against it, his body turned towards her.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw his shirt stretch tight across that hard, powerful chest as his eyes appraised her.  Her skin tingled in anticipation, but of what she couldn’t name.

            "You're Monty’s Frost Queen,” he observed. “And the McGraw’s new housekeeper.  Lady, you sure don't look like a housekeeper."

            She refused to answer that as well, and for a time the silence between them stretched, tight, tight, until it seemed ready to snap.  "You don't like me much, do you?” he asked finally.   “Now I wonder why, seeing as how I'm such a nice friendly fella and all.”

            Sure, as friendly as a rattlesnake.  "When are you leaving?" she asked, turning to freeze him with her coldest stare.    

            His eyebrows rose, his lips twitched with amusement.  “And you’re just as uncivil as Monty said. Now in general that wouldn’t make me think twice, but you’ve got traces of a southern accent.  New Orleans, if I’m not mistaken, and from a good family, too.  Now I know Southern women are never rude, except maybe to Yankees.  But I'm no Yank, so you’ve no call to be rude to me."

            Damn, he was too observant by far.  But how to put him off track?  Not with a lie—honesty was the only virtue she could still afford.  "And how do I know that you aren't a rustler or a thief?"

                "Easy.  I'm not wearing a gun."

Caroline Clemmons, sexy Texas ranchers, and their sassy ladies

Today I'd like to welcome Caroline Clemmons and her newest release, High Stakes Bride. She'll give away a PDF of High Stakes Bride to one lucky person...and as a Christmas bonus, I'll give away a $10 Amazon or a Barnes and Noble gift card to someone!

1. At any given time do you work on only one story and maybe plot out the next one, or are there many ideas racing around your head?

I only write one story at a time, but I’m always thinking ahead to what I’ll write next, and next after that. If I have a chance to visit the setting for a future book, I take my camera and capture all the details I’ll need (or think I will need). I’ll have to live to be 200 to write all the stories in my head. 

Ha, Caroline, I hear you! I need either more of me or a nifty way to have more time in a day that isn't already taken up by work to finish everything.

2. Is there a genre you haven't written in but would like to? Or wish you could write in?

There is a women’s fiction I’ve considered, but that would be way, way down the road. I’m committed to western historical romance for the next year at least.  I’m currently completing book three of the Men of Stone Mountain trilogy, then I will write two more of the Kincaid series in 2013. Other than that, I’m pretty happy writing contemporary and historical western romance.

3. Do you add an element of romantic suspense in your stories? If so, how difficult is it to maintain the integrity of the mystery?

Most of my stories have mystery as well as romance. I love murder and mayhem in any romance. ☺ I enjoy reading books with a threat of danger, so that’s what I write. My latest series involves poisons as well as other crimes. Have to keep throwing obstacles at the hero and heroine, don’t we?

4. Say you have unlimited funds: What kind of writing office/cottage would you create for yourself?

Probably pretty much what I have now, except I’d move the cats’ litter box to another part of the house. ☺ I enjoy my pale pink room with my dark faux cherry desk and corner computer station, lots of bookcases and storage, and a really comfy desk chair. My youngest daughter (my office used to be her bedroom) decorated it with romantic prints, I’ve added family photos and some of my book covers to the walls.

I’ve always thought I’d like a huge picture window looking out on a pine-covered mountain, but then I’d stare out the window instead of working--and I’d be living in a different area. Native trees in North Central Texas are several types of oaks, cottonwoods, willows, mesquite, and various other deciduous trees. The only evergreens here are cedar, which are a pest tree. One type of oak is live oak. Although live oaks do lose leaves, they are replaced year round so the tree is always green. Uh Oh, I digressed.

One big change is that I would have a paid assistant. Wouldn’t that be great? My husband is a big help now, but I need someone to help with social media so I can write. You know that if we don’t promote, we don’t sell, but all I want to do is write. I enjoy blogging, but not all the social media stuff. I’m always forgetting to check all the sites.

5. If you could turn your novel into a TV show, which novel or series would you do? Where would it be set? Network TV (ABC, NBC, CBS), Cable (AMC, BBC, Lifeitme) or Premium Cable (HBO, Showtime, Starz)?

The setting would be Texas, of course, which is where all my books are set. I have three series I’d love to see as movies: The Kincaids is set in Central Texas about thirty miles from Austin, the Men of Stone Mountain is set in North Central Texas, and the McClintocks are back in Central Texas between Bandera and Medina. I wouldn’t care which network. I’d be more concerned with the script and the actors cast as stars.

6. Finally, tell us about your latest release!

High Stakes Bride is the second of the Men of Stone Mountain trilogy. 

Mary Alice Price is on the run from dangerous men. She had known that when her stepfather died, she would have to hurriedly escape her stepbrothers. Hadn’t she heard them promise her to the meanest man in Texas as payment for high stakes gambling losses? She’s all set to head for the stage and Atlanta as soon as her poor stepfather breathes his last. The problem is she’s only been off their Texas ranch once in over twenty years, so she has no idea how to navigate through the Palo Pinto Mountains. Even with Pa’s gasping directions, she’s soon lost, injured, and ill. One misfortune after another devils her until she links up with Zach Stone. He looks sturdy as his last name and invites her to his ranch where his two aunts will chaperone them. She figures life finally dealt her a winning hand. But how long can she evade her stepbrothers?

Zach Stone has the sweetest ranch in all of Texas, at least he thinks he does. All he needs is a wife to build his family of boys and girls to carry on his ranch and name. He’d though he had a fiancée, but the injury that left one side of his face scarred sent her running. He’s come to meet the stage and his mail-order bride, but finds a letter from her saying she’s married someone she met on the trip. Jilted again. He vows he will never speak to a woman ever again unless she's a relative. He’s sure his heart has frozen as hard as his name. Then he comes across Alice Price and comes up with a crazy plan to pass her off as his intended, have her make everyone hate her, then send her on her way to Atlanta. Sure he’s figured everything out, he figures nothing can go wrong with his plan.

Zach and Alice have a lot to learn about life and living with others. And on the way, they discover each is perfect for the other.

Here’s an excerpt of when they meet. Alice has been on the run and had nothing but bad luck. Zach has just been jilted by a mail-order bride and is camping out to cool off and plan his next move.

Excerpt:

Zach slipped into the bedroll and waited, pistol in hand. He feigned sleep, wondering what kind of man tarried nearby. Whoever it was could have picked Zach off, so the sidewinder must not have murder on his mind.

Probably up to no good hiding out like that, though, because any Westerner would share his campfire and vittles with anyone who rode into camp. Zach wriggled into a comfortable spot and lay motionless. Anger at recent events helped him remain awake.

The footfalls came so softly he almost missed them. He opened his eyes a slit, but enough to see a thin shadow move toward the fire. About then heavy clouds overhead parted and the moonlight revealed a boy who scooped up a slice of bacon and slid it into his mouth.

The culprit set Zach’s tin plate on the ground near the fire, ladled beans into it, and picked up a fork. He squatted down and balanced the plate on his knees before he commenced eating. Zach noticed he kept his left hand in his pocket the whole time.

Something must be wrong with the thief’s left arm.  Looked too young for it to have been a casualty of the War. Lots of other ways to get hurt out here. Whatever had happened to his left arm, his right one worked well enough. He forked food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Zach let him shovel beans for a few minutes. Crook or not, anyone that hungry deserved a meal. When the kid stopped eating, Zach couldn’t figure out what he was doing.  It looked as if he used the fork to scratch around on the ground, so he must have eaten his fill. Zach slipped his hand from beneath the cover and cocked the pistol.

“Hold it right there, son. I’d like to know why you’re eating without at least a howdy to the man who provided the food.”

The boy paused, then set the plate down slowly. “I left money here on a rock to pay for it.”

Odd sounding voice, but the kid was probably scared. Zach slipped from his bedroll and stood, but kept his gun pointed at the food robber. “Maybe.”

Zach walked toward the kid, careful to train his gaze so the firelight didn’t dim his eyesight. Sure enough, he spotted a couple of coins on the rock beside his pot of beans, or what remained of them, and his empty plate.

He faced the intruder. “Why not just come into camp earlier instead of sneaking in after you thought I was asleep?”

“I—I was afraid you weren’t friendly.”

Zach thought he also heard the kid mutter what sounded like “...or maybe too friendly.” Must be the wind, he thought, as he neared the boy.

Zach motioned with his free hand. “I don’t begrudge anyone food, but I hate dishonesty and sneaking around.  Stand up so I can see you.”

The kid stood, hat low over his face and his good hand clenched.

Zach reached to push the brim back. “What’s your name?”

The kid stepped forward. “None of your business, mister.”

A fistful of sand hit Zach’s face. He heard his assailant run. Mad as the devil, Zach brushed grit from his eyes and set out in pursuit. The kid was fast, he’d give him that, but so was Zach. His longer legs narrowed the distance between them.  With a running lunge, he tackled the kid.

“Oof. Let me go.” The lad was all wriggles and kicking feet as he squirmed trying to escape.

Zach wasn’t about to let that happen. They rolled in the dirt. In one move Zach pinned the boy’s good arm. The hat fell aside and a mass of curls spilled around the kid’s face.

His jacket parted and unmistakable curves pushed upward where Zach’s other hand rested. Zach stared in disbelief. Registering his hand pressed against a heavenly mound shocked him and he jerked his paw away.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re not a boy.”

The woman glared at him. “Right, and you’re not exactly a feather. Get off me.”

Zach stood and bent to help her but she curled into a ball where she lay. “Ma’am, you okay?”

“Just dandy.” She sat up, moving like a hundred-year-old. She glared at him while holding her stomach with her good hand. The other arm dangled uselessly. “You’ve likely broken the few uninjured bones I had left.”

His temper flared. “Hey, lady, don’t try to put the blame on me. If you’d been honest and come into camp like any other traveler, I’d have shared my food with you.”

“Yeah, well a woman on her own can’t be too careful and I don’t know you or anything about you.”

Zach saw her point. Though most Western men would respect a woman, it wouldn’t help if she ran into one of the exceptions.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

She glared at him and appeared to debate with herself before she said, “Fell out of a tree. My arm caught in the fork of a branch. Pulled it out of socket and I can’t get it back.”

Well hell. As if he didn’t have enough on his mind. Now that he’d decided not to speak to another woman unrelated to him, this bundle of trouble showed up needing a keeper.

Resigning himself to one more stroke of bad luck, he said, “Take off your coat and come over here to my bedroll.”

The campfire sparked less than her eyes. “I’ll do no such of a thing. Don’t be thinking you can take liberties because I ate your food and I’m injured. I paid for the food.”

Zach exhaled and planted his fists on his hips. “Ma’am, there’s not enough money in Texas to pay me to take liberties with you. If you’ll move to my bedroll and lie down, I’ll put your arm back in place. You’ll likely have to take off your, um, your shirt.”

She looked him up and down as if she weighed him and found him lacking. “I figured you for a rancher. You a doctor then?”

“Ranchers have to know a good bit about patching people.”

She straightened herself and swished past him as if she wore a ball gown instead of a man’s torn britches. Watching the feminine sway of her hips as she sashayed to the other side of the campfire, he wondered how he ever mistook her for male. He followed her and tried not to appreciate her long legs or the way the fabric molded to them like a second skin.

When she reached the blasted bedroll he’d been stuck with, she slid out of her jacket. A grimace of pain flashed across her face as the weight of the light coat slipped down her injured arm. In one graceful move she plopped down on the bedroll.

“You’re sure you can do this?” she asked and looked up at him.

Flickering firelight placed her features in shadow. Moving closer, he figured the poor light played tricks on him, for he couldn't tell the color of her hair. He decided she had light brown or dark blonde curls. Whatever color her eyes were, maybe blue or green, they were big and watched him with suspicion.

“Yes. Sorry, I don’t have any spirits with me to deaden the pain.”

“I never touch alcohol. If you’re sure you can do this, just get on with it.” She unbuttoned her shirt and winced as she slid the injured shoulder and arm free, and then stuck her chin up as if she dared him to make an improper comment or gesture.

He knelt beside her, keenly aware of the differences that proved her womanhood. A chemise of fabric worn so thin as to be almost transparent pulled taut across her breasts. He swallowed and willed himself to ignore the dark circles surrounding the pearly peaks thrusting at the flimsy material. The memory of the lush mound he’d touched briefly wouldn’t leave him. He’d been alone too long and had better concentrate on the job at hand.

“Stretch out and try to relax. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but this will hurt.”

“Hurts already, but I better put my bandana in my mouth so I don’t scream. I’m not a whiner, mind, but wouldn’t want to draw attention if there’s others nearby.” She slipped the cloth knotted around her neck up to her mouth like a gag, then laid down.

She moaned but didn’t fight him. Zach had seen this done numerous times over the years and had performed it twice. He probed her shoulder gently, then rotated her arm to slip it back into place.

He listened for the snick of the bone reseating itself in the socket. When he finished, he massaged the muscles of her upper arm and shoulder. She’d likely be sore for weeks, but the harm she had done wasn’t permanent.

“Have to give it to you, ma’am. You were the quietest patient I’ve ever seen.”

She lay with her face turned away from him. When he leaned over, he realized she’d passed out.

High Stakes Bride is available in Print or E-book at Amazon:

And in E-book from these vendors:

Smashwords:

Barnes and Noble for Nook:

Thanks to Isabel for inviting me to her blog. Thanks to you for stopping by! You can learn more about me at my website; on my blog you can sign up there for my newsletter and be part of contests, giveaways, and news of my releases.You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter @CarolinClemmons (no E in Caroline)