Bouquet of Brides – Donna Schlachter
A rough-and-tumble cowgirl
longs for true love, but is afraid to let down her prickly exterior when a city
slicker from New York City, with less-than-honorable intentions, tries to win
her heart and her hand.
Peter Golding has never been
west of the Mississippi, but a tender young woman named Daisy who writes of
love and relationships intrigues him. Through reading her powerful descriptions
of what love should be, Daisy’s stories have captured a part of his heart.
When Peter’s uncle sends him
to find Miss Daisy Duncan and bring her back to New York City, Peter decides to
take matters a step further and bring her back as his bride—surely then his
uncle will be impressed with her. But when he arrives, he quickly realizes that
Miss Lily Duncan is no shrinking violet waiting to be rescued. In fact, she has
to rescue him several times.
Cactus Lil finds her heart
torn between this stranger from the east and her desire for independence. If
she surrenders to her feelings, will she be forced to do his bidding? When she
finds a telegram from her editor telling Peter to bring her back or lose his
job, she believes his attentions to be self-serving. Will Peter choose her or
his job? And will she decide to surrender her heart or send him packing—again?
Purchase Link: http://amzn.to/2CFMF8R
Excerpt:
Double
D Ranch
Near
Cave Creek, Arizona Territory, 1885
Chapter
1
Sally
Jo sank to the ground beneath the pain of her wrenched ankle. “Drat. I simply
cannot walk one more step in these infernal boots.”
Thomas
Peabody, broad of shoulders and narrow of waist, knelt beside her, cupping her
aching foot in hands more accustomed to roping steers or shooting the eye out
of a gnat at a hundred yards. “Miss Sally, allow me to assist you.”
Sally
Jo stared into his eyes. Why hadn’t she ever noticed they matched perfectly the
color of the summer sky? “Why, Mr. Peabody, you’re most gallant.”
He
straightened, reached a hand toward her, and pulled her to her feet. When she
tried to put weight on her aching foot, a jab of pain like a hot poker shot
through her, and she collapsed into his arms.
Right
where she wanted to be.
He
pulled her near, and she closed her eyes, offering her mouth to him. Greedily,
as though drawing his very life essence from her, he covered her lips with his
own. When she thought she would suffocate, she opened her eyes, and saw
mirrored what her racing heart telegraphed to her own mind: this was love.
Lily
Duncan surveyed the words written on the page as she chewed the end of her
fountain pen. Ink blotches on her fingers attested to her hard work this
morning. A clicking sound like a metronome tickled at the periphery of her
hearing while she considered whether she needed to change the word telegraphed to something more
ooshy-gooshy romantic.
Tsick-tsick-tssiicckk.
She
tipped her head to listen. What was that sound?
Lily
tossed her pen on the desk and glanced at the silver clock resting on the
leather-topped surface. Time was running out. She had less than two hours to
finish this story and get it on the last mail stage of the day. That snooty
editor, Mr. Hogan, in New York, was waiting for it.
Not
that she knew for certain he was snooty. Truth was, she didn’t know anything
about him.
She’d
only met him through correspondence, so he could be any age, any degree of
pretentiousness, any color for that matter.
But
that didn’t stop her creating an image in her mind: middle-aged, a monocle,
oiled hair parted down the middle and slicked back, muttonchop sideburns, and a
beard, of course. A house on Fifth Avenue, a society wife, private carriage,
servants, and twelve children. At least.
She
sighed. Thinking about all the reasons why she didn’t like the man responsible
for buying her stories to publish in his fancy eastern magazine wasn’t going to
get the story written. Or mailed.
Tsick-tsick-tssiicckk.
She
pushed back from the desk. What she’d written would have to do. She couldn’t
work with such a racket. She stepped to the window and listened. Not coming
from the front. Must be out back. She crossed the bedroom-turned-office to the
window facing the rear of the house.
This
view was much more utilitarian than the rolling desert and giant saguaros
surrounding the house on the other three sides. A small barn for her three
horses, a hen house, corral, and privy filled her line of vision.
Tsick-tsick-tssiicckk.
Yes,
this is where the sound came from.
And
she knew its exact origin.
Lily
hefted the Colt .38 on her hip. She’d take care of that she-rattler right now.
She strode to the back door and stepped into the late afternoon heat of the desert.
The
musky smell of mesquite, heated by the sun, filled her nose as she paused on
the doorstep. How she loved the desert. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere
else.
Certainly
not a place like New York City. No way. Give her cactus and rocks, cattle and
dipping tanks, horses and leather any day. Unlike her heroines, she wouldn’t
darken the doorway of a town bigger than Cave Creek. And she sure wouldn’t fall
for the first man who looked at her twice.
Not
that many men looked at her even once. She wasn’t ugly. At least, not ugly like
a javelina, with its short bristly hide and snarling tusks. And not ugly like a
turkey vulture, with its naked head and red eyes.
She
preferred men’s dungarees to skirts. She wasn’t much practiced at cooking and
cleaning. But she could outshoot, outride, and outsmart most men she knew.
Which
was probably why most men didn’t take a second look at her.
Lily
neared the woodpile. She’d been meaning to clean that mess up, sweep out the
old tinder from the previous year. Even prop the wood up on a couple of timbers
to discourage snakes and other varmints wanting to find a warm place to spend
the night. But her best range cow had a difficult birth, and her horses needed
shoeing, and the hole in the roof . . .
Too
much work for one person. Not enough hours in the day to get everything done.
What had she been thinking when she started writing?
An
escape, that’s what. Something to while away the long evenings.
Tsick-tsick-tssiicckk.
She
pulled on a pair of leather gloves and tipped her head to one side. If she
didn’t get that low-down, no-good rattler out soon, there’d be a passel of
little ones slithering around.
She
glanced toward the horizon. The sun dropped like a lead sinker as though intent
on ensuring she missed her deadline to get that story mailed today.
And
she sure didn’t need Mr. Persnickety Hogan upset that her latest installment of
Love in the Wild Wild West wasn’t on
time.
About Donna:
Donna lives in Denver with
husband Patrick, her first-line editor and biggest fan. She writes historical
suspense under her own name, and contemporary suspense under her alter ego of
Leeann Betts. She is a hybrid author who has published a number of books under
her pen name and under her own name. She is a member of American Christian Fiction
Writers and Sisters In Crime; facilitates a local critique group, and teaches
writing classes and courses. Donna is also a ghostwriter and editor of fiction
and non-fiction, and judges in a number of writing contests. She loves history
and research, and travels extensively for both. Donna is proud to be
represented by Terrie Wolf of AKA Literary Management.
Find Donna at:
www.HiStoryThruTheAges.com Receive
a free ebook simply for signing up for our free newsletter!
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/DonnaschlachterAuthor
Twitter: www.Twitter.com/DonnaSchlachter
Other Books: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2ci5Xqq and Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2gZATjm
Donna is offering a free print copy of Bouquet of Brides (US only) to one reader of this blog post. To enter, leave a comment below, including your name and contact information (e.g. you(at)123XYZ(dot)com)
Giveaway ends Thursday, January 18, at Midnight, CST. Winner will be drawn Friday, the 19th, and notified via email.
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