KristieJ is at Petticoats & Pistols Today.

Wendy has a Contest a going on!

We will an excerpt up tonight from Sarah McCarty‘s next book Tucker’s Claim (along with a contest, cuz Harlequin rawks) and a contest post (cuz lots of authors rawk) or 2 (cuz Avon Inspire rawks as well), if I don’t toss my computer out the window (We won’t say how many times the computer timed out putting this up and an excerpt in draft… moving back to the laptop.).  Otherwise it will be later in the day after I talk some other duck into formating it (coughwendygetshomecough).

Yes they only put up with me for the books, I know this.

The ever wonderful Cheryl St.John agreed to put together (VERY last minute for us) a post on Inspirational Romance and how they fit with Westerns so well. I promised not to whine, at least not in the post, *g*! Our host finally got us up and running so I am running very late. Sorry about that our slow start here… hey I have been a bit behind on this blog stuff the past year. Any mistakes below are mine, leave a comment and I will correct, and contest post will follow as soon as I get back.

Those of us who write and read western romances are as chipper as a bunch of jaybirds by the upsurge in attention the genre has been receiving of late. We are following The Great Western Drive (also see KristieJ & Wendy) week with anticipation. I’m more than curious to learn what the publishers are saying. Thanks for being western’s #1 fan, Sybil—oh wait, you have to share that #1 spot with Wendy. But wait just another gosh darn minute—wasn’t this Kristie’s idea? Okay, thanks to the three of you for the western love we’re feeling—and not only this week, but all the time. Keeping a finger on the pulse of this market is harder than tyin’ down a bobcat with a piece of string.

Victoria Bylin, who writes for Steeple Hill‘s new Love Inspired Historical line told me she was attending RWA in Reno, hearing about the supposed death of the western when she ran into an agent. The agent told her the western wasn’t dead at all. It had just moved to Christian fiction.

When I asked Vicki why she thought that was happening, here’s what she told me: “Faith and westerns go hand in hand. It took tremendous courage for the early pioneers to load their wagons and travel 2,000 miles. They found hope in the Bible and drew strength from the stories about the children of Israel seeking the Promised Land. Westerns are about adventure, new beginnings, courage and risk. So is Christianity.

“I personally think the middle dropped out of the romance genre. A few years ago, the books that sold were either hot-hot-hot or inspirationals. The middle ground readers (and writers) had to make a choice. I love inspirationals and always have, so the choice was easy for me.

Vicki went on to say, ” I loved writing for Harlequin Historicals, but I’d run out of ideas that required a higher level of sensuality. With LIH, there’s still plenty of romantic tension, but I’m able to go in a direction that’s true to my beliefs about love, courtship, marriage, family, etc..” Her latest story is The Maverick Preacher. (Syb note: didn’t see at eHarl but you can get at amazon hurry!)

So I asked a few more writers for their thoughts. Linda Ford, Dakota Child, LIH September had this to say: “One reason I think westerns and Inspirationals are a good match is because the struggle between good and evil in westerns somewhat mirrors our spiritual struggles. Villains come dressed as gunslingers or smooth talking con men but recognizing them and defeating them requires our characters to confront truth and apply it. Much the same way as how we all deal with spiritual struggles. In other words, the western is almost allegorical and therefore, satisfying to the reader as we all face moral issues in our lives.

“I think readers like them because of this but also because of the adventure and bigger- than-life characters who confront huge obstacles like conquering a new and challenging land, dealing with incredible tough situations and emerging as victors. I like writing westerns because cowboys and ranchers are strong, independent, self-sacrificing men. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a hero?”

Well, Linda, I can’t resist a cowboy, that’s for sure. When my HH Her Montana Man (syb note: you can still get this at amazon just saying) was out, I happened to stand in Wal-Mart and take a long look at all the covers. I counted twelve books with cowboy hats on the covers. Marketing knows something about how to make readers pick up books, so that tells me readers do want to buy those cowboys.

My gun-toting preacher in The Preacher’s Wife has garnered me more reader mail than any book in a long time, and that one is an inspirational. I like to write inspirationals because it’s an extension of who I am and how I think. I don’t think many of my readers were surprised that I expanded to write for both HH and LIH. A few have asked me to please not abandon HH, and I can assure them I will not.

I liked what Lyn Cote, Her Inheritance Forever, had to say about the relationship between westerns and the inspirational market. “Westerns are tailored made for the inspirational market because at that time except for the native tribes, everyone in America and its territories was Christian of some sort. Their faith in God was as expected as breathing air. And in a time where there was really no “science of medicine” to speak of and life could end in an instant, faith was got people through. Just like today.

And my friend Laurie Kingery—some of you will remember her as Laurie Grant—whose The Outlaw’s Lady is in stores now told me: “Westerns are a natural for the inspirational historical genre because it was a time of great growth and conflict in this nation, a simpler time when folks moving to the frontier territory found their faiths not only comforting, but necessary to survive in an often hostile climate. Their existence was threatened not only by the weather, but by Indians, outlaws and wild animals. The settlers’ goal was to create civilization wherever they settled, and a church was often one of the first buildings erected, though they often came after saloons!

“They had few possessions, and no distractions such as TV, computers or cars, so perhaps it was this very fact that made possession of faith very important. Most of our forbears didn’t question the existence of God or the veracity of his Word–they’d seen it proved true in their own lives, and the Bible might be the only book they possessed.”

All I know is I’m grinnin’ like a weasel peekin’ in a henhouse door to discover all these cowboys and know how many readers are loving them some westerns!

Wendy the Super Librarian‘s review of Her Montana Man by Cheryl St.John
Historical western released by Harlequin Historical 1 Dec 08

Every reader has what I call a “comfort author.” Those authors who write books that are the equivalent of “comfort food.” The macaroni and cheese writers, if you will . For me, it’s Cheryl St.John. I’ve loved some of her books more than others, but she has yet to outright disappoint me. I also tend to tear through her books at a fast clip, which I really appreciated with Her Montana Man, since I’ve been trying to ward off the beginnings of an epic reading slump.

Jonas Black has a powerful crush on Eliza Jane Sutherland. Jonas owns the local hotel and saloon in Silver Bend, Montana, and while he’s a respectable business man, Eliza Jane is practically local royalty. Her family owns the local brick yard and literally built the town. No, she’s way out of his league. Still, he can’t resist watching her every afternoon when she heads to the local tea shop for some refreshment.

Eliza gets one hour a day to herself, only because her younger sister, Jenny Lee, insists on it. Eliza takes care of Jenny Lee, whose weakened heart has finally confined her to what will soon be her death bed. She also takes care of Jenny’s young son, Tyler, and does her best to hide her distaste for her odious brother-in-law, Royce. Royce swooped in on Jenny Lee with his slick ways and smarmy charms only to get his hands on their father’s business. However, Eliza will do anything to protect Jenny and Tyler, which includes not speaking ill of Royce. All bets are off though once Jenny Lee succumbs and Royce turns his oily designs on Eliza Jane. She needs help, and for that she turns to the most decent man in town….Jonas Black. A man her brother-in-law would sooner gut than say a kind word about.

St.John has a knack for writing about nice people with a host of baggage, but she’s really outdone herself this time around with Jonas. This guy is just about the most perfect hero ever to grace the pages of a romance novel. He’s a tough guy with a marshmallow interior. He stands up for people who cannot defend themselves, like when an abusive ex shows up at the hotel demanding to drag one of the maids out by her hair. He’s charming, he’s sweet, and he’s hopelessly infatuated with our heroine, which just endears him all the more.

Eliza is a heroine in need of rescuing, but I appreciated the fact that she fought back in her own small way. She has her name, and is well respected in town, but she’s still a woman and at the mercy of men’s whims. Royce thinks he has her securely under his thumb, but that doesn’t stop her from plotting, scheming and fighting back. There’s a particularly fantastic moment during her sister’s wake that had me standing up and cheering for her.

My only quibble is that towards the end Eliza acts a little dense. She knows what Royce is capable of, yet she acts surprised when she learns to what lengths he’s gone to gain the power and control he craves. She’s smarter than this, and she should have figured it out. I also felt she held out on telling Jonas the whole truth for a little too long, especially after he had more than proved himself hero-worthy. But the girl certainly has trust issues when it comes to men, so it was hard to hold that against her.

Her Montana Man is another enjoyable read from an author who has proven to deliver consistently readable and heart-warming stories. A sure bet for her many devoted fans, and a good introduction for those of you haven’t yet boarded the “comfort food” train.

Grade: B

Summary:

Protecting people runs through Jonas Black’s blood, and Eliza Jane Sutherland is one woman who needs his strong arms around her.

A rugged Montana man, Jonas will guard Eliza from her vile brother-in-law as fiercely as he guards his own heart. But though he can fight her enemies, he can’t fight the attraction between them.

Soon Jonas is sure they have a future together—only Eliza hides secrets that could change everything….

Read an excerpt.

Mosey on over to the group author blog, Petticoats and Pistols today (Thursday, November 5) for a chance to win a copy of Cheryl St.John‘s December release, Her Montana Man.

Go, shoo!  What are you waiting for?

Shannon C.’s review of His Secondhand Wife by Cheryl St.John
Historical western romance published by Harlequin 1 Jul 05

I think it was Super Wendy that first told me about Cheryl St.John. I know that Sybil adores her, and after a run of particularly “meh” western romances, I picked this book off the TBR pile. Whoever recommended the book certainly didn’t steer me wrong, and I’m going to be eagerly reading more of Ms. St.John’s backlist as soon as possible.

This is a pretty simple story, with no extras like a suspense thread or paranormal elements, and I really liked that. Noah Cutter, physically scarred and thus wary of people, takes in Kate, the widow of his flamboyant brother, because Kate needs a place to live. Kate’s also pregnant with Noah’s brother’s child, and Noah wants to ensure that the child remains in his life so it can inherit the Rockin’ C ranch.

I really liked the conflicts Ms St.John set up in this book. Noah wants to provide for and protect Kate, and, because of his physical scarring, is pretty sure she’ll despise and pity him. He feels like he tricks her into staying with him, and he struggles with his own loneliness. For her part, Kate wants to be useful, to feel like she is contributing something to Noah’s life. She is drawn to his solid, quiet strength, and she knows instinctively that she can trust him. But both of them have a hard time communicating their needs to each other, and not in a childish, petty way, either. The reader can see where each of the characters comes from, and can empathize with both.

And these are some great characters. After my last stint of bad-ass gunslinger types with emotionally wrought pasts about which they obsessed constantly, Noah’s torment felt genuine, because he didn’t emote about it at great length. He repressed it, and I love me a strong silent hero. Plus, he was a virgin, and in my opinion, that just makes him doubly hot.

As for Kate, she was an excellent foil for Noah. She was cheerful and optimistic and willing to work hard. I actually felt like she was an adult rather than a silly woman-child. She does have a TSTL moment, but I really loved that it came about when she was actually out of her head with fever, which I thought was an excellent subversion of that trope. I also loved that Kate made friends outside of Noah, which made her come off as a much more well-rounded individual.

There were no villains or sequel-baits in this story, though I gather some of these characters have showed up in Ms. St.John’s other books. There is a wicked stepmother character, but in the end she had motivations I could respect, even if I didn’t agree with her methods.

The great thing about this book for me is that it’s stuck with me long past my actual reading of it. Even now, I smile at the memory of certain scenes, and “awww” at appropriate places when I think about Noah and Kate’s romance. If that’s not a keeper book, I don’t know what is, and I would definitely recommend it.

Grade: A-

Summary:

Scarred in body and soul, rancher Noah didn’t consider himself fit company for anyone. But when his brother’s philandering finally caught up with him, honor dictated that Noah claim his brother’s widow as his own….

Standing on her doorstep, with his collar turned up and a rifle by his side, Noah was about the most intimidating man Katherine had ever seen. And though one man’s false promises had already dashed her dreams, she instinctively trusted this stranger. Even more, Kate suspected she’d only be a fool this time if she didn’t take a chance on Noah for the sake of herself…and her unborn child!

No excerpt found.

Wendy the Super Librarian‘s review of The Magic of Christmas by Carolyn Davidson, Victoria Bylin & Cheryl St.John
Historical romance anthology released by Harlequin Historical 1 Oct 08

Sometimes I think Harlequin delights in separating me from my money, and The Magic Of Christmas anthology could be Exhibit A in my bankruptcy hearing. It’s an anthology, a western, and all of the stories are centered around Christmas. How could I possibly resist that? What I’m happy to report is that even though one story completely failed me, the other two were real standouts.

A Christmas Child by Carolyn Davidson

I know a lot of readers who consider Davidson’s Harlequin Historical books comfort reads, so I’m sad to report that this story didn’t work for me at all. Marianne Winters’ parents die from typhoid, but not before her mama gives birth to a baby boy. Looking for a fresh start she heads to Walnut Grove, Missouri, where help is in short supply until she meets widowed preacher, David McDermott.

Marianne is described as “barely able to care for herself” and “a girl, for she was not yet a woman.” Even though the reader finds out later in the story that she’s 18, I couldn’t get the image of a prepubescent waif out of my head. Couple her with the older, wiser, and worldly David who is pushing her towards the altar in two days? Yeah, major ick. The stilted dialogue didn’t help matters either.

Grade: D+

Marianne Winters has no one in the world but her baby brother and, with Christmas approaching, she needs somewhere warm to stay. Will she find her home, and a loving heart, with the lonely pastor, David McDermott?

Read an Excerpt.

The Christmas Dove by Victoria Bylin

One of the reoccurring themes I enjoy in westerns is second chances. Bylin mines this plot device for excellent effect in the story of former bratty rich girl, Maddie Cutler. Maddie ran off with a gambler who promised adventure. Now she’s come home to Crystal River, Wyoming wearing a red dress and her infant daughter, Cora, in tow. Gamblers have a way of turning respectable girls into “fallen women,” a lesson Maddie learned the hard way. She’s totally unsure if her father will welcome her home, but she has to try. When she arrives in town, she runs into Dylan McCall, the man whose affections she once spurned. He agrees to take her home, only to have a blizzard strand them at his cabin.

What I loved about this story was that both Maddie and Dylan thought they weren’t good enough for the other. Also, Maddie has a lot of amends to make. Both are carrying around emotional baggage, but soon realize that they’re perfect for each other. The ending is a bit too tidy when it concerns Maddie’s homecoming with her father, but this story is inspirational, uplifting, and a really good read.

Grade: B+

Maddie Cutler once snubbed bad boy Dylan McCall, but with nowhere else to turn she has come back to town-with a babe in arms. Dylan is a reformed man, and on seeing Maddie again he longs to heal her hurt-and claim her once and for all!

A Baby Blue Christmas by Cheryl St.John

I’m a huge Cheryl St.John fan, and her story closes out the anthology on a high note. Gabby traveled to Ruby Creek, Colorado to talk some sense into her idiot cousin. Willow fell in love with an outlaw, got pregnant, and when the man left her, she decided to chase after him. Gabby knows Willow’s going to pop any day now, so she’s desperate to find her. Instead she finds Willow’s twins in the local livery with the angry owner. Turner Price finds two newborn baby boys in his stable and when Gabby shows up shortly there after he figures she’s the mama. She does some fast-talking, and soon she and the boys are staying in the house Turner has all but abandoned.

My only quibble with this story is that I expected Turner to be a little bit smarter. The babies are so newly born they haven’t even been cleaned up properly. When Gabby shows up at the stable she does not look like a woman who just gave birth to twins minutes before. Yet, he buys her story that she’s the mother. Happily this deception does not go on for long, and the story moves along at a fast clip as Gabby and the boys heal Turner’s wounded heart and Willow’s story gets some closure.

Grade: B

Turner Price hasn’t been the same since he lost his wife and child. But when he finds a young woman and newborn twin babies in his stable, he realizes this may be his second chance to be a loving husband and father, just in time for Christmas!

Read an Excerpt.

After a rocky start with the Davidson story, this Christmas anthology finishes on a high note thanks to Bylin and St.John. Their stories especially would make lovely Christmas Eve reads while you’re relaxing by the fire and waiting for Santa.

Overall Grade: B-

by Cheryl St.John

Sometimes when I’m invited to write a novella, I pull out my binder of story ideas that haven’t come together and plots that didn’t pan out for a novel-length book. I select something that sounds fun and then I work in the theme. When I was invited to be in this Christmas anthology with Carolyn Davidson, she had chosen “babies” as the connecting theme.

I didn’t have an idea waiting.

The first thing that came to mind, however, was that I wasn’t satisfied with one baby. Oh no. I had to have two. Twins.

Now how do you give single characters babies? Well, you either have to kill off their spouse or give the heroine a cad lover who ran off or spring someone else’s baby on them. But what about an emotional connection? This person with the babies needs to be passionate about loving and wanting them. Ah ha. Family. And from there I came up with Gabby Rawlins, a misfit with a devil-may-care cousin who is her antithesis. Willow is obsessed with an outlaw lover, to the point of chasing him across the country while pregnant. Concerned, Gabby follows her cousin all the way to Ruby Creek, Colorado, where a stubborn blacksmith has discovered two newborns in his stable. Oh yeah. Turner Price is a brooding sexy alpha male. Need I say more about him?

But back to the babies. What was I thinking? One baby is a challenge in a romance; two were even more difficult. Which is which and where is each one in the scenes where they appear? New mothers out there know how tough it is to care for one newborn. Some of you might know about twins. But in primitive conditions—there were no Pampers or baby wipes—and with a budding romance to orchestrate? Well, it wasn’t easy, but writing A BABY BLUE CHRISTMAS sure was rewarding in the end.

Photographs always inspire me, so I search for photos that capture the essence or the spirit of the story or I find a character or something that portrays the theme. For this story I found a picture of a main street in a small town. Locations and setting take on a personality for me, and this town was no different. Ruby Creek had a personality I wanted to revisit, so I’ve already proposed a book in the same setting for a story I’m calling HER MAKE-BELIEVE HUSBAND. (Just a little teaser there.)

Now I’m looking forward to getting my author copies so I can read Carolyn and Vicki’s stories and see what they did with their babies! THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS anthology is an October release.

The Magic of Christmas (Anthology) by Carolyn Davidson, Victoria Bylin, and Cheryl St.John, coming October 2008.

It is shaping up to be a not fun day… I know excuses excuses… here is something to read while you wait *g*
The excerpt was first posted May 10, 2008. And most likely the guest post will go up about noon. Sorry! I promise a much more detailed post singing the praise of Cheryl St.John in a bit *g*. Or really just search her name here… there has to be 1, 2 or 100 posts already doing so

 E-X-C-E-R-P-T

THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS HH Anthology
Excerpt from A Baby Blue Christmas

October 2008

Chapter One

November, Ruby Creek, Colorado

There was always at least one rude traveler for the duration of a stage ride, and this time it was an overweight and cloyingly perfumed woman in a bright green traveling suit. She’d slept nearly the entire trip since Salt Lake City, snoring in snorts and whistles that punctuated every tedious, bone-jolting inch of the way.

Gabrielle couldn’t complain. She was exceedingly grateful it was Snore Lady beside her and not Whiskey Breath. From his seat directly across from her, the man with the bristly brown-stained beard gave her sidelong looks that made her skin crawl. The one time she’d erroneously met his gaze, he’d smiled. His teeth were brown and decayed. One of the rules of etiquette required that he offer to share the bottle, and he’d done so begrudgingly. Only one passenger had accepted his invitation. Gabby wouldn’t have touched her lips to that bottle if she’d been dying of thirst.

Gabby had taken only short trips with the Wells Fargo Overland in the past. Heat and dust were definitely worse during summer months, so late November was marginally better for a hasty and ill-planned trip. Being packed in like sardines was an advantage this time of year and in this unfamiliar part of the country.

The coach hit another rut and her teeth jarred yet again. Snore Lady gasped in her sleep and then lapsed back into vigorous and prolonged inhaling and exhaling.

The driver struck the side of the coach to gain their attention, and a gentleman in a gray wool suit opened the flap to listen to his message. A flurry of snow filtered in and dusted the buffalo robes.

Gabby stared at the flakes glistening on the dark fur. She was from the Steptoe Valley in eastern Nevada and had only seen snow in stereoscope slides. Having been forewarned about winter, she’d bought a warmer coat at a layover in Utah.

“Last bend before Ruby Creek,” the gentleman traveler conveyed.

Having been delayed most of the afternoon for wheel repair, they were finally reaching her destination in darkness. Gabby prayed the hotel would check her in at this late hour. To hurry her travel, she’d brought only one small satchel. All she needed was a place to lay her head for the night.

She’d been following her cousin for weeks, traveling by any means available and inquiring from town to town. She had learned that Willow had come to Ruby Creek only a day or two ago. This was the closest Gabby had come to finding her since starting out a month ago. She didn’t let herself think about what could happen if she was too late. Willow always landed on her feet, but the baby she was about to give birth to was defenseless.

With a final lurch, the stagecoach slowed, turned a new direction and came to a halt with a screech of springs. Snore Lady roused. “Where are we?”

“Ruby Creek,” Whiskey Breath replied.

The obese woman raised the flap and peered out into darkness. “It’s late! Nearly bedtime.”

Gabby exchanged a glance with the man in the gray suit.

The coach rocked as the driver and a passenger climbed down from the top seat. The door opened outward, a bitter cold draft and more fascinating white flakes swept inside.

“Ruby Creek!” the driver called. “Those goin’ on will have to find a room for the night on Well’s Fargo’s tab. We’re half a day behind, but we cain’t go no farther in the dark. Too dangerous for the horses.”

The reflection of the moon and stars on the snow lit the night with an odd silent brightness. Gabby stepped down into the freezing inch-thick blanket of white. Her thin-soled shoes made a squeaking sound with each step. Drat. She’d bought the coat, but hadn’t thought of warmer footwear.

Eager to be on the road, Gabby had been the first passenger aboard the coach that morning; her bag was buried between crates and trunks. Waiting impatiently as the driver and a man from the freight line unloaded, she turned to cast a look at the town.

Four gas lamps burning at uneven intervals lit Ruby Creek’s Main Street. She made out hanging signs for the hotel, a livery, mercantile and pawnshop. Other signs painted on windows were indistinguishable in the dark. Dissipating smoke curled from half a dozen chimneys.

Within minutes, the cold seeped through her shoes and chilled her toes. Beneath her coat and dress, frigid air encased her legs. Within seconds numbness set into her thighs.

By the time the men uncovered her satchel, she was the only one left standing at the station. She took her bag with a weary thank you and pointed herself toward the sign that read Friberger Hotel. The frosty layer that had settled on the boardwalk made her final steps treacherous. She slipped and slid and finally grabbed the doorknob as a lifeline. The door opened and she slid into a chilly lobby, relived to at last be indoors.

“Full up!” A wiry man with hair standing in pewter-colored tufts around his ears called to her as soon as she closed the door behind her.

Now what would she do? Her whole body ached, and she was so tired, she could have fallen asleep standing there.

Carrying a no vacancy sign, the proprietor limped toward the front door. The crown of his head was bald and pink. “Just let the very last room.”

He hung the sign in the front window.

Gabby set down her bag. “I need a place to stay.” Refusing to give in to desperation, she thought quickly. “I’ll share a room with someone and pay the entire cost.”

The man obviously wanted to get back to his bed, but he sighed and obliged her by plodding up the stairs. He was gone a long time, so Gabby looked around for a chair. There was only a long narrow bench beside the door. She remained standing.

At last he returned. “Won’t nobody share. The new arrivals ain’t payin’ their own way, so they don’t care.”

With her hopes in shreds, she closed her eyes against the discouragement crushing in. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Sometimes Miz Sims takes a border overnight. How long ya stayin’?”

She only wished she knew when she’d find Willow and be able to head home. When she’d made up her mind to do whatever she could to get to her in time, Gabby’d had no choice but to come on this trip alone. There was no other family besides her parents. Besides the fact that they’d given up on Willow, they had a business to run. “I’m not sure.”

“Other’n that, maybe the reverend. No, come t’ think of it, he’s a widow man and don’t take in no females on account of propriety. Sometimes Turner over t’ the livery lets a fella stay the night with his horse. ‘Specially in poor weather. Ya might ask ‘im.”

Tired, hungry, supremely frustrated, Gabby picked up her bag and tugged her collar around her neck. She forced herself to thank the man politely. In the morning half the travelers would move on and, if she hadn’t found Willow, she’d still be in need of a room by tomorrow night.

Long about three o’clock, Ruby Creek and the day closed in on Turner Price. He tended the horses as usual, did chores and ate simple meals, but come nightfall and the locked silence of the businesses along Main Street, he saddled his gelding and rode out, staying away from the hills and the creeks and finding clear moonlit trails.

Often, no matter the weather, he dismounted and walked, his Mexican spurs jangling and silencing night creatures as he passed.

This snowy November night made for a bitter cold ride and a colder walk, but he was accustomed to the elements and had dressed warm. With the stars spread overhead and the frigid air biting his lungs, it was easier to keep his thinking focused on the present.

Snow glistened in the moonlight and brightened the landscape. His horse didn’t care what Turner said or didn’t say, didn’t have an opinion or feel pity. Comanche just plodded along at his side with an occasional snort or soft whinny for companionship. Comanche didn’t demand Turner talk or feel or change, and Turner liked their relationship just fine.

Judging by the stars, it was time to head home. He mounted and urged the Appaloosa toward the livery. He reached the door, dismounted, and rolled the wood sideways to lead the gelding inside.

One of the other horses nickered from its stall and Comanche responded with a soft snort and a shake of his head.

Turner hung his coat and hat, unsaddled Comanche and picked up a blanket to dry him. “Hold on, I’ll get you dry and warm and you can settle in for the night.”

He was brushing the animal’s withers when a sound arrested his attention. His hand fell still. A cat? A pair of cats? Not impossible that felines had sought lodging in the warmth and safety of the building for the night. But why in tarnation were they making so much racket?

The sound registering more clearly, Turner rolled around additional possibilities. He was either losing his mind or….

Lying down the brush, he gave his horse a pat on the shoulder and grabbed a lantern that hung from a nail on a beam. His spurs jangled a beat as he strode down the long row of stalls.

The horses were agitated, stamping and moving restlessly. A bay he was boarding for a traveler pinned his ears back and rolled his eyes, a distinct reaction to a disturbing smell. More than Turner’s late return was exciting these horses. Something–or someone–had disturbed them.

The high-pitched sound had grown louder and was definitely coming from the back of the barn. These end stalls were always the last rented.

Turner’s gut clenched at the sound he now recognized as a baby’s cry. And not just one slender reedy trill–two.

The stall gate was unlatched, and he swung it outward to enter. Two impossibly tiny infants wrapped in bright-colored cloth lay on a mound of hay, their tiny fists flailing in the chill air.

For a full minute, he couldn’t make sense of what his eyes told him. He stopped breathing to simply stare and absorb.

Just looking at them hurt.

He’d been gone only a couple of hours at the longest. How could this be? Hesitant, but unerringly drawn, he stepped forward and knelt. Their eyes were squinched shut, their faces red with agitation. Turner touched one finger to the nearest infant’s matted damp scalp. Like newborn colts, these babies still bore evidence of their recent birth. They were mere minutes old, barely over an hour at the most.

An unsettling sense of trouble clawed at his nerves. Where was their mother? Unwilling to leave them alone, he glanced around as if their parent would appear or he’d find the answer in the wooden enclosure.

Both infants’ stiffly held arms trembled as they screamed. They kicked at the cloth covering their legs until the material pushed aside. Boys, both of them. Hungry, frightened, tiny boys.

Stricken by the unexpected sight and the tormenting effect on his mind and heart, Turner acted instinctively.

Shrugging out of his heavy flannel shirt, he knelt and–one at a time–gingerly placed the babies against the warm fabric and tucked the bulky garment around them. He folded back the excess, careful not to bury their faces.

He lifted the bundle gently and held it against his chest, his mind racing. Turning on his heel, he inspected the stall, the space leading to it, and each of the surrounding pens. Twelve contained restless horses. Eight were empty.

None hid a woman.

He checked the tack room and even walked back to his quarters. The room held everything he needed for his sparse existence: A bed, a small coal burner, a table and one chair.

Warmth and motion soothed the babies. Nestled against each other in the soft bundle of his shirt and against his heart, they grew silent.

He studied their miniature features, and a torturous ache weighted his chest. He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to add to his misery, but he couldn’t keep his gaze away. The child with the most hair had a hand splayed against his cheek, and his fingers were unbelievably tiny with perfect little nails. The other opened his heart-shaped mouth and turned his seeking face against the flannel. Turner couldn’t catch his breath for seconds. His head swam.

Tiny and helpless and alone. The fact that someone had abandoned them chafed Turner’s temper. The act was inconceivable.

And now what in blazes was he to do with them? They wouldn’t survive a day without milk and proper care. He stirred the ashes in the coal burner and added fuel to get the room warm.

The bell outside the entrance clanged once, then silenced abruptly as though someone had placed a hand on it. It was rare that anyone came for his mount or to leave a horse this late. He’d heard the stage earlier, though, and occasionally, if the small stable behind the freight station was full, the drivers boarded animals here overnight.

He placed the babies on his bed, making sure they were bundled snugly before he strode through the building. He hadn’t tethered Comanche. His horse had wandered to the other side of the open area and stood with his head lowered. “I’ll get you bedded down in a shake, boy.”

Two lanterns still burned on either side of the entrance. Turner opened the door and peered out.

A feminine form in a dark coat and fur-lined hat moved into the glow of the lantern. “Pardon me for disturbing you so late.”

So here she was. He looked her over, suspicion sending a warning signal to his senses. Her hat was pulled low so that it almost hid her eyes, and her nose was red. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Gabrielle Rawlins. I need a place to stay. The hotel’s full, you see. The man there told me–.”

“What were you tryin’ to pull?”

“Pardon me?”

“Takin’ off like that?”

She glanced over her shoulder and repeated, “Pardon me?”

“Looks like a mighty warm coat you’re wearin’ there.”

“It’s sufficient. What I need is–.”

At that moment, a thin wail rose from the back of the building and echoed through to the front. It was immediately joined by a second.

The young woman’s eyes widened and she stared at Turner.

“Had somewhere important to go?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.

“I told you, I–.”

“Tell me anything you like, but what kind of woman leaves two spankin’ new babies alone in a horse stall?”

The squall was unmistakable. Her shocked gaze traveled past his shoulder. Eyes a rich tawny color like dark honey widened.

“Yeah, I found ‘em. What did you think would happen?”

So quickly that he didn’t have time to stop her, she slipped past him and ran toward the source of the pathetic cries.

Taking note of her bag sitting in the snow, he moved it inside before he bolted the door and followed.

© Cheryl St.John. All rights reserved

TGTBTU has the pleasure of presenting (three or four) up coming Harlequin Historical anthologies for you to add to your ‘I WANT’ list:

Hallowe’en Husbands: “Marriage At Morrow Creek,” “Wedding At Warehaven,” “Master Of Penlowen” by Lisa Plumley, Denise Lynn, Christine Merrill (we will have their guest posts this weekend as well).

The Magic Of Christmas: “A Christmas Child,” “The Christmas Dove,” “A Baby Blue Christmas” by Carolyn Davidson (sniff don’t think she is coming), Victoria Bylin (guest 6/25/08), Cheryl St.John (guest 6/23/08)

Both of these novels come out in Oct 08 and we will be posting excerpts from Hallowe’en Husbands this weekend as well.

One Candlelit Christmas: “Christmas Wedding Wish,” “The Rake’s Secret Son,” “Blame It On The Mistletoe” (Harlequin Historical Series) by Julia Justiss, Annie Burrows, and Terri Brisbin

And we know that Jillian Hart will be in an HH antho in the spring of 2009 with Rocky Mountain Courtship (Joseph’s story). I don’t think we have the name yet or the other authors in the antho… or did we? Anyone? anyone?

My question to readers are do you like the Harlequin anthologies? Have you ever purchased one? Have you tired one from the Harlequin Historical Line?

If you are an author have you ever written an anthology? Tell us about it. Did you enjoy it? Did the story turn out like you wanted or were you disappointed in it? And of course if you are a Harlequin Historical author and have written one you MUST answer and tell us all about it .

And a question for anyone (wearing any hat: reader or author ) – it the response I liked it but wanted MORE or it ended too quickly… is that the sign of a good novella or poor execution of the story type. Should we be left always wanting more?

The Magic of Christmas (Anthology) by Carolyn Davidson, Victoria Bylin, and Cheryl St.John, coming October 2008.

WOW look Carolyn Davidson is going to be in a HH! Woot! For those of you non Harlequin Historical readers (what is wrong with you people?!) she has been writing mainly in the HQN line as of late. Tres cool. And Bylin has been in the Steeple Hill line so this is like old home week .

Cheryl St.John gave into my begging responded to my request and we get a peek…

THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS HH Anthology
Excerpt from A Baby Blue Christmas

October 2008
ISBN #978-0-373-29525-9

Chapter One

November, Ruby Creek, Colorado

There was always at least one rude traveler for the duration of a stage ride, and this time it was an overweight and cloyingly perfumed woman in a bright green traveling suit. She’d slept nearly the entire trip since Salt Lake City, snoring in snorts and whistles that punctuated every tedious, bone-jolting inch of the way.

Gabrielle couldn’t complain. She was exceedingly grateful it was Snore Lady beside her and not Whiskey Breath. From his seat directly across from her, the man with the bristly brown-stained beard gave her sidelong looks that made her skin crawl. The one time she’d erroneously met his gaze, he’d smiled. His teeth were brown and decayed. One of the rules of etiquette required that he offer to share the bottle, and he’d done so begrudgingly. Only one passenger had accepted his invitation. Gabby wouldn’t have touched her lips to that bottle if she’d been dying of thirst.

Gabby had taken only short trips with the Wells Fargo Overland in the past. Heat and dust were definitely worse during summer months, so late November was marginally better for a hasty and ill-planned trip. Being packed in like sardines was an advantage this time of year and in this unfamiliar part of the country.

The coach hit another rut and her teeth jarred yet again. Snore Lady gasped in her sleep and then lapsed back into vigorous and prolonged inhaling and exhaling.

The driver struck the side of the coach to gain their attention, and a gentleman in a gray wool suit opened the flap to listen to his message. A flurry of snow filtered in and dusted the buffalo robes.

Gabby stared at the flakes glistening on the dark fur. She was from the Steptoe Valley in eastern Nevada and had only seen snow in stereoscope slides. Having been forewarned about winter, she’d bought a warmer coat at a layover in Utah.

“Last bend before Ruby Creek,” the gentleman traveler conveyed.

Having been delayed most of the afternoon for wheel repair, they were finally reaching her destination in darkness. Gabby prayed the hotel would check her in at this late hour. To hurry her travel, she’d brought only one small satchel. All she needed was a place to lay her head for the night.

She’d been following her cousin for weeks, traveling by any means available and inquiring from town to town. She had learned that Willow had come to Ruby Creek only a day or two ago. This was the closest Gabby had come to finding her since starting out a month ago. She didn’t let herself think about what could happen if she was too late. Willow always landed on her feet, but the baby she was about to give birth to was defenseless.

With a final lurch, the stagecoach slowed, turned a new direction and came to a halt with a screech of springs. Snore Lady roused. “Where are we?”

“Ruby Creek,” Whiskey Breath replied.

The obese woman raised the flap and peered out into darkness. “It’s late! Nearly bedtime.”

Gabby exchanged a glance with the man in the gray suit.

The coach rocked as the driver and a passenger climbed down from the top seat. The door opened outward, a bitter cold draft and more fascinating white flakes swept inside.

“Ruby Creek!” the driver called. “Those goin’ on will have to find a room for the night on Well’s Fargo’s tab. We’re half a day behind, but we cain’t go no farther in the dark. Too dangerous for the horses.”

The reflection of the moon and stars on the snow lit the night with an odd silent brightness. Gabby stepped down into the freezing inch-thick blanket of white. Her thin-soled shoes made a squeaking sound with each step. Drat. She’d bought the coat, but hadn’t thought of warmer footwear.

Eager to be on the road, Gabby had been the first passenger aboard the coach that morning; her bag was buried between crates and trunks. Waiting impatiently as the driver and a man from the freight line unloaded, she turned to cast a look at the town.

Four gas lamps burning at uneven intervals lit Ruby Creek’s Main Street. She made out hanging signs for the hotel, a livery, mercantile and pawnshop. Other signs painted on windows were indistinguishable in the dark. Dissipating smoke curled from half a dozen chimneys.

Within minutes, the cold seeped through her shoes and chilled her toes. Beneath her coat and dress, frigid air encased her legs. Within seconds numbness set into her thighs.

By the time the men uncovered her satchel, she was the only one left standing at the station. She took her bag with a weary thank you and pointed herself toward the sign that read Friberger Hotel. The frosty layer that had settled on the boardwalk made her final steps treacherous. She slipped and slid and finally grabbed the doorknob as a lifeline. The door opened and she slid into a chilly lobby, relived to at last be indoors.

“Full up!” A wiry man with hair standing in pewter-colored tufts around his ears called to her as soon as she closed the door behind her.

Now what would she do? Her whole body ached, and she was so tired, she could have fallen asleep standing there.

Carrying a no vacancy sign, the proprietor limped toward the front door. The crown of his head was bald and pink. “Just let the very last room.”

He hung the sign in the front window.

Gabby set down her bag. “I need a place to stay.” Refusing to give in to desperation, she thought quickly. “I’ll share a room with someone and pay the entire cost.”

The man obviously wanted to get back to his bed, but he sighed and obliged her by plodding up the stairs. He was gone a long time, so Gabby looked around for a chair. There was only a long narrow bench beside the door. She remained standing.

At last he returned. “Won’t nobody share. The new arrivals ain’t payin’ their own way, so they don’t care.”

With her hopes in shreds, she closed her eyes against the discouragement crushing in. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Sometimes Miz Sims takes a border overnight. How long ya stayin’?”

She only wished she knew when she’d find Willow and be able to head home. When she’d made up her mind to do whatever she could to get to her in time, Gabby’d had no choice but to come on this trip alone. There was no other family besides her parents. Besides the fact that they’d given up on Willow, they had a business to run. “I’m not sure.”

“Other’n that, maybe the reverend. No, come t’ think of it, he’s a widow man and don’t take in no females on account of propriety. Sometimes Turner over t’ the livery lets a fella stay the night with his horse. ‘Specially in poor weather. Ya might ask ‘im.”

Tired, hungry, supremely frustrated, Gabby picked up her bag and tugged her collar around her neck. She forced herself to thank the man politely. In the morning half the travelers would move on and, if she hadn’t found Willow, she’d still be in need of a room by tomorrow night.

Long about three o’clock, Ruby Creek and the day closed in on Turner Price. He tended the horses as usual, did chores and ate simple meals, but come nightfall and the locked silence of the businesses along Main Street, he saddled his gelding and rode out, staying away from the hills and the creeks and finding clear moonlit trails.

Often, no matter the weather, he dismounted and walked, his Mexican spurs jangling and silencing night creatures as he passed.

This snowy November night made for a bitter cold ride and a colder walk, but he was accustomed to the elements and had dressed warm. With the stars spread overhead and the frigid air biting his lungs, it was easier to keep his thinking focused on the present.

Snow glistened in the moonlight and brightened the landscape. His horse didn’t care what Turner said or didn’t say, didn’t have an opinion or feel pity. Comanche just plodded along at his side with an occasional snort or soft whinny for companionship. Comanche didn’t demand Turner talk or feel or change, and Turner liked their relationship just fine.

Judging by the stars, it was time to head home. He mounted and urged the Appaloosa toward the livery. He reached the door, dismounted, and rolled the wood sideways to lead the gelding inside.

One of the other horses nickered from its stall and Comanche responded with a soft snort and a shake of his head.

Turner hung his coat and hat, unsaddled Comanche and picked up a blanket to dry him. “Hold on, I’ll get you dry and warm and you can settle in for the night.”

He was brushing the animal’s withers when a sound arrested his attention. His hand fell still. A cat? A pair of cats? Not impossible that felines had sought lodging in the warmth and safety of the building for the night. But why in tarnation were they making so much racket?

The sound registering more clearly, Turner rolled around additional possibilities. He was either losing his mind or….

Lying down the brush, he gave his horse a pat on the shoulder and grabbed a lantern that hung from a nail on a beam. His spurs jangled a beat as he strode down the long row of stalls.

The horses were agitated, stamping and moving restlessly. A bay he was boarding for a traveler pinned his ears back and rolled his eyes, a distinct reaction to a disturbing smell. More than Turner’s late return was exciting these horses. Something–or someone–had disturbed them.

The high-pitched sound had grown louder and was definitely coming from the back of the barn. These end stalls were always the last rented.

Turner’s gut clenched at the sound he now recognized as a baby’s cry. And not just one slender reedy trill–two.

The stall gate was unlatched, and he swung it outward to enter. Two impossibly tiny infants wrapped in bright-colored cloth lay on a mound of hay, their tiny fists flailing in the chill air.

For a full minute, he couldn’t make sense of what his eyes told him. He stopped breathing to simply stare and absorb.

Just looking at them hurt.

He’d been gone only a couple of hours at the longest. How could this be? Hesitant, but unerringly drawn, he stepped forward and knelt. Their eyes were squinched shut, their faces red with agitation. Turner touched one finger to the nearest infant’s matted damp scalp. Like newborn colts, these babies still bore evidence of their recent birth. They were mere minutes old, barely over an hour at the most.

An unsettling sense of trouble clawed at his nerves. Where was their mother? Unwilling to leave them alone, he glanced around as if their parent would appear or he’d find the answer in the wooden enclosure.

Both infants’ stiffly held arms trembled as they screamed. They kicked at the cloth covering their legs until the material pushed aside. Boys, both of them. Hungry, frightened, tiny boys.

Stricken by the unexpected sight and the tormenting effect on his mind and heart, Turner acted instinctively.

Shrugging out of his heavy flannel shirt, he knelt and–one at a time–gingerly placed the babies against the warm fabric and tucked the bulky garment around them. He folded back the excess, careful not to bury their faces.

He lifted the bundle gently and held it against his chest, his mind racing. Turning on his heel, he inspected the stall, the space leading to it, and each of the surrounding pens. Twelve contained restless horses. Eight were empty.

None hid a woman.

He checked the tack room and even walked back to his quarters. The room held everything he needed for his sparse existence: A bed, a small coal burner, a table and one chair.

Warmth and motion soothed the babies. Nestled against each other in the soft bundle of his shirt and against his heart, they grew silent.

He studied their miniature features, and a torturous ache weighted his chest. He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to add to his misery, but he couldn’t keep his gaze away. The child with the most hair had a hand splayed against his cheek, and his fingers were unbelievably tiny with perfect little nails. The other opened his heart-shaped mouth and turned his seeking face against the flannel. Turner couldn’t catch his breath for seconds. His head swam.

Tiny and helpless and alone. The fact that someone had abandoned them chafed Turner’s temper. The act was inconceivable.

And now what in blazes was he to do with them? They wouldn’t survive a day without milk and proper care. He stirred the ashes in the coal burner and added fuel to get the room warm.

The bell outside the entrance clanged once, then silenced abruptly as though someone had placed a hand on it. It was rare that anyone came for his mount or to leave a horse this late. He’d heard the stage earlier, though, and occasionally, if the small stable behind the freight station was full, the drivers boarded animals here overnight.

He placed the babies on his bed, making sure they were bundled snugly before he strode through the building. He hadn’t tethered Comanche. His horse had wandered to the other side of the open area and stood with his head lowered. “I’ll get you bedded down in a shake, boy.”

Two lanterns still burned on either side of the entrance. Turner opened the door and peered out.

A feminine form in a dark coat and fur-lined hat moved into the glow of the lantern. “Pardon me for disturbing you so late.”

So here she was. He looked her over, suspicion sending a warning signal to his senses. Her hat was pulled low so that it almost hid her eyes, and her nose was red. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Gabrielle Rawlins. I need a place to stay. The hotel’s full, you see. The man there told me–.”

“What were you tryin’ to pull?”

“Pardon me?”

“Takin’ off like that?”

She glanced over her shoulder and repeated, “Pardon me?”

“Looks like a mighty warm coat you’re wearin’ there.”

“It’s sufficient. What I need is–.”

At that moment, a thin wail rose from the back of the building and echoed through to the front. It was immediately joined by a second.

The young woman’s eyes widened and she stared at Turner.

“Had somewhere important to go?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.

“I told you, I–.”

“Tell me anything you like, but what kind of woman leaves two spankin’ new babies alone in a horse stall?”

The squall was unmistakable. Her shocked gaze traveled past his shoulder. Eyes a rich tawny color like dark honey widened.

“Yeah, I found ‘em. What did you think would happen?”

So quickly that he didn’t have time to stop her, she slipped past him and ran toward the source of the pathetic cries.

Taking note of her bag sitting in the snow, he moved it inside before he bolted the door and followed.

© Cheryl St.John. All rights reserved

Ok I am going to work toward getting all the nifty prizes logged today and we will start giving them out. Some of them will go to random comment in a post with these icons. WHAT icons?

SSE EXCERPT: Dear Santa by Karen Templeton

EXCERPT Part II: Thigh High: Thigh High by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: The Love Letter by Linda Broday

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: No Time for Love by Phyliss Miranda

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: A Shade of Sunrise by DeWanna Pace

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: Amarillo By Morning by Jodi Thomas

EXCERPT Part III: Thigh High: Twinkle Twinkle Little Thong by Bonnie Edwards

Excerpt from Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife by Michelle Styles
new historical release from Mills & Boone with a UK release in June 2008

Yours, Mine…or Ours is book two in Karen Templeton’s Guys & Daughters series (Dear Santa, Yours, Mine…or Ours? and Baby, I’m Yours)

Excerpt of Taken by the Viking by Michelle Styles, coming 1 May!!
Historical romance released by Harlequin 1 May 2008

Excerpt Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare aka the one to steam the screen

I am missing some and will add them tomorrow (I see Kresley Cole’s aren’t here). More excerpts to come from Lisa Kleypas, Jill Shalvis, Lynne Connolly, Stephanie Tyler, Caroline Linden, HelenKay Dimon, EC Sheedy, Liz Carlyle, Hope Tarr, Lora Leigh, Sabrina Jeffries, Jenna Petersen, Laura Drewry, Sydney Croft, Roxanne St. Claire, Jennifer Estep, Cheryl St.John and many more….

As well as some nifty prizes from t-shirts and books *g*. Some you will have to answer questions from the excerpts and other will be random drawings from the comments.

first recap can be found here

How Flashdance… LOL 

It’s Raining Excerpts!EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Secrets of Surrender by Madeline HunterEXCERPT Part I: Thigh High: Parlor Games by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Phantom Pleasures by Julie Leto

EXCERPT Part I: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part II: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part III: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part IV: Unlawful Contact

SSE EXCERPT: Dear Santa by Karen Templeton

EXCERPT Part II: Thigh High: Thigh High by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: The Love Letter by Linda Broday

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: No Time for Love by Phyliss Miranda

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: A Shade of Sunrise by DeWanna Pace

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: Amarillo By Morning by Jodi Thomas

EXCERPT Part III: Thigh High: Twinkle Twinkle Little Thong by Bonnie Edwards

Excerpt from Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife by Michelle Styles
new historical release from Mills & Boone with a UK release in June 2008

Yours, Mine…or Ours is book two in Karen Templeton’s Guys & Daughters series (Dear Santa, Yours, Mine…or Ours? and Baby, I’m Yours)

Excerpt of Taken by the Viking by Michelle Styles, coming 1 May!!
Historical romance released by Harlequin 1 May 2008

Excerpt Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare aka the one to steam the screen

I am missing some and will add them tomorrow (I see Kresley Cole’s aren’t here). More excerpts to come from Lisa Kleypas, Jill Shalvis, Lynne Connolly, Stephanie Tyler, Caroline Linden, HelenKay Dimon, EC Sheedy, Liz Carlyle, Hope Tarr, Lora Leigh, Sabrina Jeffries, Jenna Petersen, Laura Drewry, Sydney Croft, Roxanne St. Claire, Jennifer Estep, Cheryl St.John and many more….

As well as some nifty prizes from t-shirts and books *g*. Some you will have to answer questions from the excerpts and other will be random drawings from the comments.

This just in…

Cheryl St.John, RITA nominee, author, and all around nice gal, has a new Harlequin Historical novella releasing in October 2008′s anthology The Magic of Christmas.

This from Cheryl when she was interviewed about her 2008 RITA nomination…

“…My next release is ‘A Baby Blue Christmas’ novella in HH The Magic of Christmas anthology this October.”

More details and an excerpt coming soon.

Consider yourself flashed…

Sybil’s review of A Western Winter Wonderland by Cheryl St.John, Jenna Kernan, Pam Crooks
Western Historical Romance released 01 Oct 07 from Harlequin Historical

First posted 10/19/07

A Western Winter Wonderland is a delightful holiday anthology. Cheryl St.John, Jenna Kernan and Pam Crooks are three of Harlequin Historical’s top authors for the line today. Each of them often take common Harlequin plots and themes and create angst-filled western tales that are wholly their own and highly enjoyable.

CHRISTMAS DAY FAMILY by Cheryl St.John

Marvel Anne Henley’s days are spent running her boarding house and taking in sewing. She knows there could be something better out there but we learn in the first scene she isn’t willing to trade her current life for the title ‘WIFE’ just for the sake of the title, nor is she expecting anything more of her life then being a spinster. And she is fine with it, content even. Marvel wasn’t expecting anything or anyone like Seth Paxton and his children to walk into her life. Nor would she have ever dreamed a younger, handsome, exciting doctor would not only want her to have a happily-ever-after but found her vital to his finding one.

I adore Cheryl St.John’s storytelling. She has a gift for creating wonderful characters with true-to-life charm and can tug on your heartstrings without the need of a large sign that says ‘Pull Here’. Since the setting is a boarding house we meet a few different people but they don’t take away from Marvel and Seth’s screen time. It is always nice to see the man chasing after the woman, when it can be done without demeaning either character. Seth is a man and, although he is only 26, he had to put away childish toys and take on the responsibilities of family and being a doctor. Experiences gained from these jobs give him the tools to understand, appreciate, and cherish Marvel.

Marvel having sacrificed her youth to care for her ailing father, taken on the demands of turning their home into a boarding house and make ends meet, knows all about the ‘workings’ of life and family.  She doesn’t have the understanding of the love and support that comes with being a wife and mother. It is a joy to watch these two discover what can come next in life if you take the chance. This would be an A+ but Cheryl St.John or her editor must have decided to change the hero and his first wife’s name. Where as Seth (who in the summary was Nate-his son’s name) was correct in the book, his first wife was Sarah and later became Laura.

Grade: A-

Read the summary and excerpt

FALLEN ANGEL by Jenna Kernan

Abby March is in the process of trying to keep her small family of two together, fed, clothed, sheltered and still give her young son something of a Christmas. She is bound and determined Daniel will have the Christmas tree he has been begging for and is close to accomplishing it. But her problems only get worse when she is shot by Ford Statler.

Ford is after yet another bounty. He has been chasing death since his wife and child were needlessly taken from him.  He blames himself or not being there to protect the two most important people in his life and vows to never be in that position again.

Jenna Kernan does a great job of taking some very well used themes and creating interesting characters. I loved Abby. She has been knocked down repeatedly and keeps getting back up. Ford is easy to understand but you still want to slap him and tell him to wake up and see what is in front of his face.

It is somewhat unbelievable in places as I am not sure Abby’s reputation could have overcome her staying with him in the hotel, even sick. I don’t know if her job or her small room would have been there after a long absence. And at one point Ford asks Abby if there is anyone he could ‘call’ for her. Of course this is a time for Christmas miracles and it is still a lovely story.

Grade: C

Read the summary and excerpt

ONE MAGIC EVE by Pam Crooks

Sonja Kaplan has a very important and very secret job with the army, one that has sadly left her reputation in tatters. So when Chet Lattimer’s son Beau shows up asking the Bird Lady to doctor the pup he found, she is torn between wanting to help him and wanting to send him away.

Chet is intrigued by Sonja but tries not to pay attention to his thoughts or the gossip about her and those men from the army that keep showing up at her home. Learning from the nasty, mean-spirited gossip (who watches his son during the day) that his son is with Sonja causes more emotion in him then he knows what to do with. He has a job, a ranch, a family to deal with and doesn’t have time for the details of Christmas or love.

Pam Crooks story suffers from the page count being almost a good 20 pages less than the other two stories. We are left wanting to know more about these characters. Chet and Sonja are so richly drawn but there is so much left we want to know.  I was left with such a longing to know what is next.

There is still an ending and a believable HEA but I would have so loved to have those extra pages. I never know if that is a good or bad thing in a novella. Again, we have a great woman in her time, struggling to do the best she can and somehow handle the loneliness that comes with her position in the world and her secrets.

Grade: B

Read the summary and excerpt

Each of the novella’s in A Western Winter Wonderland have three things in common: heroines who are independent, who are trying, with varying degrees of success, to take care of themselves, and who have a secret or two. The stories are quietly passionate and the door does close for the most part, but it leaves no question of a HEA and does completely give a view of the romance. And it looks like there are some pretty great cookies to be had.
This is an enjoyable read and one I would highly recommend if you are looking for a sweet novella filled with the joys of Christmas. In fact each author has more than a few stories I would highly recommend as well, so this is a great chance to try them out and see if they meet your taste too. I can’t speak for the cookies *g*. Do tell me if you try them.

Overall Grade: B

[summary and excerpts are linked below each review above]

A Family For Christmas CherylStJ Book trailer for Western Winter Wonderland Anthology…

GRANDMA’S SPICE COOKIES

Delectable baking aromas are an unmistakable sign that Christmas is near. I love to bake year round. I’m always excited to try something new, but at Christmas I get nostalgic and fall back on the old reliable recipes that have become traditions.

A favorite in our family is Grandma Violet’s Cookies, named after my husband’s grandmother who always had a batch to pull from the freezer when we stopped by. On my yellowed index card, in Grandma Violet’s distinctive handwriting, she called them Aunt Myra’s Cookies. I think someday my grandchildren will call them Bama’s Cookies, since it’s a special treat each time I make them for the family. Whatever they’re called, they don’t last long! I always bake a double batch and have been known to take heart-shaped variations to booksignings on Valentine’s Day as a treat for my special readers.

The recipe is included in A Western Winter Wonderland where Marvel whips up a batch with her young guests.

Enjoy!
Cheryl St.John

Excerpts:
Christmas Day Family by Cheryl St.John
Fallen Angel by Jenna Kernan
One Magic Eve by Pam Crooks

A Western Winter Wonderland by Cheryl St. John, Jenna Kernan, Pam Crooks

Christmas Day Family by Cheryl St.John
Marvel Anne Henley’s life runs as regular as clockwork. Sometimes in the silence of her home she can hear the passing of days and months as years slip past. She doesn’t believe in magic or miracles or happy-ever-afters. She’s content running her boarding house and sewing dresses for the ladies of Patton Bend, Colorado. She agrees to board the new doctor for a few days, but when Nathaniel Hunter shows up with two small children and plans to stay for weeks, her household and her equilibrium are thrown into turmoil.

Nate is intriguing and vibrant and ready for a grand passion. She’s too old for him, but the attraction is tempting – disturbing. He makes her want more, makes her feel young. The little family brings new life and laughter to the old house, but Nate’s nearness taunts her secret out of its hiding place and forces her to face her past. It will take courage to bring her dreams back to life, but there’s no better time for healing than during the season of hope and rebirth. It’s not a miracle, but a simple change of heart that opens the door to their future.

You can find the summary for all three novella’s here. We have an excerpt from each of the stories and on October 1st will have a guest post from each of the authors. And I do believe a contest as well!

A Western Winter Wonderland will be available October 1st from Harlequin Historical.

Excerpt: Christmas Day Family

Seth wasn’t surprised at how clean and organized the attic was, considering Marvel’s pension for order. The space was understandably chilly considering the thickness of snow lying atop the roof.

He took several steps forward and picked up one of the lamps, then moved from canvas to canvas, kneeling to better see her artwork. A few still-lives portrayed realistic-looking fruit and delicate flowers and china. Here and there a landscape revealed her eye for lighting and color. But the paintings of houses and barns, porches and stores were the scenes that touched a corresponding chord within him.

Against the doorway of the general store leaned a broom. A pile of dust and dry crumbs lay near the straw bristles as though the owner had only just stepped away and would be right back.

A rocking chair sat on a wide painted porch, half a bowl of apples on its seat and a pile of peelings on the worn floor. A toy train and a few marbles showed that a little boy had been at play in the dirt at the foot of the stairs. A fat cat slept in the sun on the banister nearby. The missing woman who’d been peeling apples and her child were as real as if they’d been included. The observer expected them to return at any moment.

Seth was amazed by Marvel’s ability to paint life and energy into places where people lived. From a crouching position, he looked up at her. “These are amazing.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“No one has ever seen any of these?”

She shook her head. “My father saw some of the first attempts. I never intended to show people. Painting used to free something inside me. I-I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I just put them away and didn’t think about it any more.”

“What about after your father died? Why didn’t you start again?”

She shrugged and he read vulnerability in her eyes.

Why had she chosen to share her work now? With him–a near stranger? “Why did you show me?” he asked before he thought hard enough to stop himself.

Her brows lowered in a frown while she considered his question. “I’m not sure,” she answered finally. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”

She was quite unlike anyone he’d ever met before, open and honest, yet shyly hesitant in an all-together disturbing combination. And she’d shared something private with him. He helped her stack and cover the paintings. She swept her skirts aside and headed for the stairs. He followed her down and along the second floor hall, where he peeked in on the children before continuing down the stairs.

“Why don’t you paint any more, Marvel?” he asked.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs with her hand on the banister and looked up at him. “It was something I did when I was young. I’m an adult now, with responsibilities.”

“Artists of all ages paint. I don’t see what age has to do with it.”

She continued on through the foyer. “I just mean I’m not a carefree child any longer.”

“Neither was Van Gough or Divinci.”

“You cannot compare what I do to a master. That was merely a passion of my youth.”

He followed her toward the sitting room. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with passion at any age.”

By the time they reached their destination, her cheeks were bright with color. She busied herself placing their cups and saucers on the tray.

Seth reached out and gently took her wrist in his grasp, halting her movements. She froze, looked at his hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his.

“It’s a shame you’ve forsaken something that you do so well, especially if it gives you pleasure.”

“Life isn’t all about pleasure, Dr. Paxton.”

“Seth.”

“Seth,” she repeated, cheeks blazing.

“I believe life should be filled with as many pleasures as we can absorb,” he disagreed.

“You don’t know me and you don’t know about my life.”

“I know something about self-denial and sacrifice,” he told her.

She could only look at him. Wonder what he spoke of. Wonder why he cared what she did with her life. He didn’t know anything about her or the things that had shaped her into the woman that stood before him. His touch on her wrist radiated warmth along her arm and sparked an awakening fire that humiliated her.

This time the look in his eyes was not amusement or curiosity. He was looking at her with sensual awareness, with restless heat and keen longing that ripped the air from her lungs as though she’d been struck.

She lost track of any coherent words she might have thought to say. Her attention focused on his lips, parted now and shaped with a fascinating bow in the upper and tempting fullness in the lower. Her heart chugged like a freight train climbing the Rockies, and her breath caught.

In the seconds that followed, she wasn’t quite sure how she came to be standing in the circle of his arms or when he’d released her wrist and wrapped that arm around her shoulder to draw her close against him, but the next thing she knew they were locked in an embrace and she was kissing him back with all the longing and passion she’d buried for a lifetime.

The kiss wasn’t wise, but it was real. This feeling that exploded and took over her senses didn’t listen to caution, but blazed ahead and turned her bones to jelly.

He was beautiful, this man. Strong arms and hard chest, lips that delighted and aroused, and at that instant she would have given everything to cast the rest of the world aside and know only this man and this moment and never let go.

Everything that had been asleep in her woke up at his bidding and pushed aside the tears she’d cried and the promises she’d made herself. She’d made all the mistakes she was going to. Wisdom was her ruling trait now.

Seth kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though he didn’t need air as much as he needed to taste her. At the velvety touch of his tongue against hers, she sighed and collapsed against him, but he easily absorbed her weight and held her fast.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and she reached to grasp his jaw. His rough chin and cheek were an exotic texture she explored until her palm tingled.

From the outer room the grandfather clock chimed the hour in deep resonating tones, and the sound filtered into Marvel’s senses, awakening her to reality. Time wasn’t her friend.

Harlequin Historical is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited. As such all excerpts are copyrighted © by said publisher, and all rights are reserved by the publisher.

Look for an excerpt from Jenna Kernan’s Fallen Angel tomorrow morning…

A Western Winter Wonderland by Cheryl St. John, Jenna Kernan, Pam Crooks

Christmas Day Family by Cheryl St. John

Marvel Anne Henley’s life runs as regular as clockwork. Sometimes in the silence of her home she can hear the passing of days and months as years slip past. She doesn’t believe in magic or miracles or happy-ever-afters. She’s content running her boarding house and sewing dresses for the ladies of Patton Bend, Colorado. She agrees to board the new doctor for a few days, but when Nathaniel Hunter shows up with two small children and plans to stay for weeks, her household and her equilibrium are thrown into turmoil.

Nate is intriguing and vibrant and ready for a grand passion. She’s too old for him, but the attraction is tempting…disturbing. He makes her want more, makes her feel young. The little family brings new life and laughter to the old house, but Nate’s nearness taunts her secret out of its hiding place and forces her to face her past. It will take courage to bring her dreams back to life, but there’s no better time for healing than during the season of hope and rebirth. It’s not a miracle, but a simple change of heart that opens the door to their future.

FALLEN ANGEL by Jenna Kernan

When Ford Statler is ambushed, he never sees the woman caught in the crossfire until it’s too late. But his bullet brought her down, so it’s his responsibility to nurse her back to health and see that her boy has the best Christmas ever.

ONE MAGIC EVE by Pam Crooks

Lonely Sonja Kaplan doesn’t want to spend another Christmas alone. While she has her secret government work to fill her days, she longs for a husband to fill her nights.

Chet Lattimer doesn’t know the first thing about being a father when the six-year-old son he didn’t realize he had bursts into his life. Worse, it’s Christmas, and there’s no one to help him celebrate except the mysterious woman the gossips call the Bird Lady.

But a little boy hungry for love helps them all find truth and peace, and together they revel in the magic of Christmas.

I want! I have! And you can too because harlequin is super nifty and lets you order a month ahead. Even better right now you can get free shipping from September 1 until November 30. Of course if you send over $25 you can get free shipping anytime. I will be posting some suggestions over the next couple of days *g*.

But if you want to go ahead and order this now, click this link for free shipping. Woot!

Cheryl St. John‘s Contest

The prize is a copy of a book from her backlist (winner choice but she doesn’t have Joe’s Wife or Colorado Gold). And the winner is:

Sue A.

Elizabeth Lane‘s Contest:

The prize is a copy of a book from her backlist or The Stranger (winners choice). And the winner is:

Maureen

Pam Crooks Contest:

The prize is a copy of UNTAMED COWBOY & HER LONE PROTECTOR. And the winner is:

Well I am not really sure… I have an email addy but not a name. I know silly me. So for right now we will call him/her KN. If you joined Pam’s mailing list, check your email *g*. Or if Pam has a first name I can post I will edit this later.

Thanks to authors for a great time and I hope you found a Harlequin Historical to pick up. And if not… don’t worry there are more coming out. I promise to let you know about the nifty ones *g*. I still have some Q&A questions they humored me by answering last week, reviews and I will have 8 Harlequin Historical novels to give away. (As soon as they get here. No idea what they are other than I do think there will be at least one copy of The Preacher’s Daughter) If you missed them, you can find all the posts here. I will use that tag for the posts this week as well

I had wanted to write a story for Benjamin Chaney for a long time. We saw him as a boy in The Doctor’s Wife and again at seventeen in The Lawman’s Bride. Because of his past, I knew that a relationship with a woman would be difficult for him–especially the physical aspect. And I wanted to develop his growth and see him be the man I knew he could be. But all along I knew it would take a special woman to break through those barriers of the past and show him he was worthy of love.

Occasionally I would ruminate on Benjamin’s predicament, but the right time was coming. When I decided it was time to write his story, I developed it the way I always do. I start with a grid on which I chart the characters, one for each of them, and I listed the things I knew about him. He’s competent and stubborn and inside he’s filled with anger. His motivation is all about sex and self-control. In his eyes passion is a weakness. He has sworn to honor and respect women. He’s kindhearted, but jaded. He knows the dark and seedy side of life and feels tainted. He has to learn how to be a man, the good man he wants to be.

A woman would have to come along of course. A woman who would challenge his strictly held beliefs and rattle his all-important self-control. Being a good man has been easy until now. Until this woman. So who would she be? After much deliberation I came up with three possibilities. I drew three columns on a sheet of paper and headed each one. Prostitute’s Daughter. Preacher’s Widow. Preacher’s Daughter.

Under each heading I listed the reasons she would create emotional conflict for Ben. The prostitute’s daughter was obvious–his mother was a prostitute. This person’s seen as much dirt as he has. She’s the last woman he’d ever want. All good. The Preacher’s Widow didn’t have much going for her. She provided another man for Ben to compare himself, to, but that’s about it. The preacher’s daughter on the other hand had a list: She’s untouched, pure and innocent; He’d place her on a pedestal; She’s his heart’s desire; He’s see in her all he values; He’d believe she was perfect; He’d feel unworthy; She grew up in a life he only dreamed of. Oh, yes….

My working title was The Perfect Wife.

Her name came next. Prudence was obvious, but not pretty. I liked Carrie because it was sweet. But Lorabeth…now there’s a name that brings a picture to mind. You can almost see her by her name, can’t you? She’s hungry for love and affection — love he’s doesn’t know how to give. She’s passionate — eek! She’s impulsive and expressive, warm and emotionally intense. Thirsty for life. Her greatest fear is that she’ll only wanted and loved because she’s perfect.

And then I placed the two of them together and let them develop their story. It was a delightful experience. Once I created and defined Ben and Lorabeth, they did all the work.

**Trying out your advice we will do the Q&A here instead of another post, I forgot to mention that… oops. So if you have a question for Cheryl post away and she will be checking back here**

At over 180 HH novels in a range of setting and authors, I can honestly say some of my favorite novels call Harlequin Historical home as well as some of my favorite authors. Sadly some of faves seem to have moved on to other lines: Carolyn Davidson, Jillian Hart, Cheryl Reavis, Mary Burton and Merline Lovelace are all now writing for different lines in Harlequin. Even Elizabeth Lowell (as Lowell and as Ann Maxwell), Nicole Jordan and Heather Gramham have Harlequin Historicals on their backlist. And for a reason I still do not understand Deborah Simmons is not currently with the line and that makes me sad because I do believe she has more stories to tell. (Why do so many category authors have really bad websites?)

The truly amazing thing is even with so many authors gone, the current talent at Harlequin Historical keep showing us just how good historicals can be. As well as they continue to grown and bring in new talent. And as wonderful as some of my keepers are, I think we ain’t seen nothing yet.

We are lucky enough to have three grand Harlequin Historical authors with us this week: Cheryl St. John, Elizabeth Lane and Pam Crooks. Honestly I didn’t set out to have only western authors and had wanted to showcase more of the line but time being what is it… Fine if you must know the other two authors I had asked were westerns too. But hey since it turned out this way, you really should buy a western in the the next three days. Even if you have never tried one or wanted to because hey, it is a theme! go with it…

Have you ever tried a Harlequin Historical? Did you love it? Hate it? Remember the title? Read it once a year and sigh happily? What would you recommend? Tell us about your keepers. Or if you write for the line, tell us what is coming next! We are book!whores and we only need to know what is coming next that we should be wanting now.

And for the curious… here are the current writing guidelines from Harlequin

Historical Romances promise the reader richly textured, emotionally intense stories set in widely diverse historical time periods, from ancient civilizations up to and including the First and Second World Wars. Regency tales remain ever-popular and cover the range from drawing-room antics that scandalize the ton, to the salacious underworld inhabited by pickpockets and prostitutes, to the hazardous battlefields of the Peninsular War.

Other popular periods range from Viking invasions through to the turbulence of the Middle Ages, from Elizabethan England to 20th-century families at war. Western American and Australasian settings are also welcome, with highly dramatic and emotional stories unfolding in the wilderness at society’s edge.

The central relationship is the key driving force, set against an accurate backdrop. Readers should feel as if they are there. These novels are for born storytellers with a love of history, who have the ability to bring a period vividly to life, and to create characters that involve and absorb the reader from page one.

Due to the ever wonderful Smart Bitches I have a $10 gift cert to use at Amazon. So I must spend 25 so I get free shipping.

duh

So what do I want to get? Any suggestions? I want Lord of Sin, but I want it as soon as I can. So I shouldn’t order it.

I just bought:
Bet Me by Jennifer Cruise (my first of her)
Only with Your Love by Lisa Kleypas
Prairie Wife by Cheryl St John
Angel Rogue Mary Jo Putney
Turn Left At Sanity by Nancy Warren
Lady’s Choice by Winnie Griggs
Bad Boys Down Under by Nancy Warren

sssssoooooo what books do I get now