What I Wanted But Didn't Get

By Celia Yeary

ME IN THOSE DREADED GIRL'S JEANS AT AGE TEN--

AT LEAST I GOT SADDLE OXFORDS

     The first thing I remember wanting but didn't get was a bicycle. My little sister and I hoped and prayed we’d get bicycles for Christmas in 1950. I was ten and she was eight, and we lived in a very tiny three-room stucco house in Levelland, Texas. It was our first year in that small West Texas town, and little did we know, we'd settle there after following oil fields for six years--moving at least once a year. We sneaked out of bed on Christmas morning and tip-toed to the Christmas tree. No bicycles. We peeked through the curtains at the front yard. No bicycles. Instead, Santa brought us identical dolls, identical packages of panties, identical lockets, and identical white New Testaments.
     In seventh grade, I got glasses, probably six years too late, because I could not see anything at a distance. I wanted to be like the other girls without glasses, but no, I was shy, wore glasses and cardigan sweaters, and skirts. So, I muddled through junior high, being the smart girl, the sweet one, the nice girl--not exactly what I wanted.
     During my ninth grade year, I had all four wisdom teeth pulled because they were pushing my teeth forward. This made a few a little crooked, but no one ever in my life mentioned my crooked teeth, so I figured they weren't that bad. However, I asked for braces. I begged for braces, crying my eyes out. No, we could not afford them. In fact, I think only one girl in the entire school had braces, but she was the rich girl. That made me mad because I never knew she had crooked teeth, and believed she only got them to show off.
      The Cold War was raging, and I became very fearful of an atomic bomb dropping on our town. It could happen, I told my daddy. Please, I begged him, build us a bomb shelter in the back yard. I'd read about them, so I knew how they were built, and the supplies we were to put down there. No, he said, we can't afford a bomb shelter, but he wouldn't build one even if we could. I loved my daddy with all my heart, but at that time, I hated him. He seemed unreasonable and stubborn about the request, so I decided he didn't love me.
     Later in high school, I asked Mother for boys' jeans. It was the beginning era of rock'n'roll, Elvis, and Bill Haley and the Comets. Some girls began to wear boys' jeans rolled up in wide cuffs, saddle oxfords, and their daddy's white shirts hanging out. I wanted that, too, but no, Mother said. You will not wear boy's jeans. You can wear girls' jeans that zip on the side....but no, that was not the point. I wore dresses to school every single day, until the day I graduated.
~~*~~
     But what happened concerning those things I wanted?
    In the end, I didn't care if I had a bike or not. After that year, a bicycle did not interest me because few others rode bikes, and those few were boys.
     Yes, in seventh grade I had glasses and was shy and wore cardigans. but in eighth grade? With the same glasses, and a pink sweater outfit, I was chosen Most Popular. Wow.
     As a wise and smarter adult, I realized one day I'd gotten every important thing I wanted with glasses and not so perfect teeth-a handsome, smart husband, a daughter and son, both brilliant, of course, three unique grandsons who are very big now but who still hug me and say, "I love you, Grandmother," and nice homes everywhere we moved.
      I'm pretty sure I forgot about that bomb shelter by the next week..or maybe the next day. Mother always told me that I woke up in a new world every morning. I was never sure what she meant by that, except now in my senior years, I think it means I don't hold grudges from the day before, I forget about arguments very quickly, and I'm most often happy.
     On the other hand, it might mean that I could never remember what happened the day before.
     The boys' jeans? Probably that was a good call on my mother's part. Some girls looked very cute and sexy in their outfits, but I have a feeling I wouldn't have looked so good. I didn't exactly have a straight up and down body like a boy's.
~~*~~
     I wonder what kind of a person I'd be now if I had been given everything I wanted. Some parents do indulge their children to such an extent that there's little left for the child to want. "Wanting" and "yearning" are character builders. This is my interpretation and conclusion. 
     What is left in this world if we have nothing to work for? To yearn for? To hope for?
     Writing romance novels has given me a chance to use my well-earned knowledge of the human heart. Our heroine must yearn for her hero, and our hero must work to earn her love. And together, they hope for a happily-ever-after life, even though the road might be a little bumpy along the way.
     In my newest release—All My Hopes and Dreams—with PRP, Cynthia Harrington is the beautiful daughter of the banker, the richest man in Nacogdoches, Texas. She has seen Ricardo Romero in town and wondered about him, but she had her sights set on the town’s “favorite son,” Jeffrey ‘Buck’ Cameron, one of the prestigious Camerons of Texas.
      But what she wanted…she did not get. Buck chose someone else. So, Cynthia tries a very amateurish run-away plan. In doing so, she encounters..who else? Ricardo Romero.
     He follows her and they meet on the dusty road she takes out of town.
      Excerpt:
     “May I ask how is it that you speak in a precise aristocratic tone one time, and at the other, you drawl as if you’re a Texan?”
     Ricardo chuckled as he shifted to lay on his side and prop himself up on his elbow. He looked up into her pretty face. “The way I was reared, I suppose. Formal speech for polite occasions; regular drawl for casual ones. Something like that.”
     “Excuse me, but you’re Mexican. No Mexican I know speaks nor dresses as you do.”
     Patiently he answered. “I am not Mexican. I’m a United States citizen, born in Texas where I’ve lived my entire life. I’ve never lived in Mexico and only traveled there once.”
     She cocked her head in bemusement. “I don’t understand.”
     Now, he sat up to talk earnestly to her. It was important to make her understand. “I am Spanish, descended from the early Spaniards, two hundred years back. My father traces his ancestry all the way back to Spanish royalty. My mother is half-Spanish. Her father was a Comanche warrior.”
     “What!” She placed her hand to her breast. “Your mother is half-Indian?”
     “Yes, and proud of it. She loved her father very much and grew up on a huge ranch and hacienda in far South Texas. He gave up his native ways and lived as the Spanish did, running cattle and sheep, and farming.”
     “My,” she breathed.
     “Yes, you see, a Mexican is a citizen of Mexico, just as an American is a citizen of the United States of America. Either might be of various ancestries, though, such as Spanish or Indian from Mexico or the U. S.”
     “So, you’re an American?”
     “Yes, of course. Most of the Spanish migrated to California a hundred years ago. They didn’t do well under their own rule in Texas, but they’ve been highly successful on the West Coast.”
     “But your family stayed.”
     He nodded. “My father’s family had some land, so they toughed it out, as they say.”
     Ricardo saw her open her mouth to speak, so he spoke first. “So, Miss Harrington, I answered your questions; now you must answer mine.”
     “What about?” she asked.
      “Just why are you running away? You have a perfectly good home, a father who obviously loves you, and you want for nothing.”

     FIND "ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS" ON AMAZON--

A FULL-LENGTH NOVEL

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Thank you!!!!

Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas

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New Release -- Her Independent Spirit (Eastern Sierra Brides 1884 Book 3) by Zina Abbott -- Giveaway!

Beth Dodd has made a promise to help “Lulu”, a young prostitute at the Blue Feather, keep her baby if she decides to leave the whorehouse and become a respectable woman. But Beth hadn’t counted on the obstacles she and the new mother will face from society in the mining town of Lundy. From the obstinate landlady, Mrs. Ford, to her intractable German boss, Gus Herschel, Beth must fight for the woman she’s promised to help. But Beth Dodd never gives in, and she keeps her word with a stubbornness that Lundy folks are not accustomed to seeing from a woman. 

Once Lulu, now known as the more respectable Louisa Parmley, starts working for Gus in his kitchen, she proves that Beth was right to take a chance on her. She has every intention of making a good life for her new daughter. But can she also hope to find happiness with Gus? And will Gus be able to accept her and baby Sophie Ann as his? Love was never in the cards for Gus, but Louisa dreams of happiness with the stoic man, and Beth is determined to bring them together through HER INDEPENDENT SPIRIT.

EXCERPT

     Lulu pulled her two week-old daughter away from her breast and straightened her nightgown. Her eyes never strayed from the face of the little cherub in her arms until she gently placed the baby on her shoulder to pat her back. Yet, instead of the joy that should have filled her heart as she gazed at the child’s sweet face framed by a fine down of golden brown hair, all she felt was a sense of loss.

     After losing everyone important to her, she was threatened once again with the loss of the most important person in her life—her baby, Sophie Ann.

     As she gazed down at the child now sleeping peacefully in her arms, her mouth occasionally moving in suckling motions as if she continued to nurse, Lulu realized she needed to decide what to do about Sophie Ann. Did the baby’s future belong with her? Or, was it best for her daughter if she heeded Miss Flora’s directive to find a home for the baby so she could resume working by the end of the month?

      In spite of the money she would earn, Lulu cringed at the thought of once again subjecting herself to being pawed—and more—by men.

Be sure and leave a comment for a chance of winning a free ecopy of HER INDEPENDENT SPIRIT.

BUY LINKS    Barnes and Noble(coming)     Smashwords     Kobo     iBooks

HORRORS OF THE ARBORARY KIND BY SHAYNA MATTHEWS

HORRORS OF THE ARBORARY KIND BY SHAYNA MATTHEWS

Somewhere, stored far back into the depths of my memory, there stands an ancient tree. It is a frightening tree – and it is hostile. Gnarled, twisted branches brandish sharpened twigs which pierce the sky. The sky was weirdly gray when I first saw it…not so much cloudy gray as it was a misty gray, the kind of gray where horrors lurk. You know the kind of horrors I mean. The movie where you know those kids aren’t supposed to go “there” – “Don’t go in there!” You shout. “Are you stupid?” The horrors which could also be little more than a feeling, a twitch or a deepening of your pulse. Why? Because hostility reigns. The air is heavy with it. Dripping with it. For me, perhaps the first twitch I consciously recall having was standing face to face with The Tree. Not “a” tree…THE TREE. I have not spoken of it very often since that day…but apparently it has not left my subconsciousness. The tree in real life, I hope, is no longer standing; though I do not know. The darn thing is probably still there, refusing to keel over, still a menace to those who pass by.

"Tree" by Shayna Matthews

I was very small when I first met THE TREE. Small, meek and perturbed. You know how you meet someone and at first glance you don’t like them, even if you have no sane explanation why? I did not like that tree. Not one bit. It twisted straight out of the ground, dark and evil against a stark sky. It was hollow, I know, because there was a large gaping hole in the middle of the trunk. Unfortunately, it seemed to draw people toward it, as though it had powers a tree just should not logically possess. Of course, place an old hollow tree with a hole in it, and chances are the curiosity of human nature wins out over caution. Not every time, perhaps, but at least it does half the time. I would not have gone near that tree if someone offered me eleventy-ba-zillion dollars. But, there was a little boy who did. Was the tree angered over the gaping wound in its trunk? Or was it just a force of nature? Either way, that boy stuck his whole head into the hole, and got it stuck. I guess it never occurred to him that the tree might attack, or rather, the creatures who lived inside it. He did sure enough when the beehive exploded with furious tenants and swarmed him. I don’t remember what happened next, I think my parents must have squirreled me away somewhere out of sight. But I knew the ambulance came, and they whisked that poor boy away…after they got the tree (and a thousand bees) pulled off his face. Yes, the boy pulled through the horrible ordeal, and I’m willing to bet he has never allowed curiosity to get the best of him again.

Young as I was, I guess I never forgot that moment. Obviously, for I am writing about it now. Somewhere, there is a photograph of that very tree. Maybe my mother has it stashed away in the collection of old photos, maybe. I don’t really need to see the photograph though. I can still see  the wooded hostility standing alone in that field, waiting.

I wrote a scene in my novel recently, a scene where a boy draws a picture of a gnarled tree. It was a hostile tree that scarred the sky and struck fear in the heart of the boy. It was a scene of great sorrow, loneliness and fear. It wrote itself…so well in fact that I have no conscious memory of actually writing it. When I read back over what I wrote, my skin prickled and I was shivering. My teeth came near to chattering, truth be told. I had not thought of that damned tree in years. YEARS. And yet, it’s still there…waiting.

Available for Preorder: HER INDEPENDENT SPIRIT

I am extremely pleased to announce that Her Independent Spirit, the third book in my Eastern Sierra Brides 1884 series, is now available for preorder. It is scheduled to be released on March 24^th.

Here is the book description:

Beth Dodd has made a promise to help “Lulu”, a young prostitute at the Blue Feather, keep her baby if she decides to leave the whorehouse and become a respectable woman. But Beth hadn’t counted on the obstacles she and the new mother will face from society in the mining town of Lundy. From the obstinate landlady, Mrs. Ford, to her intractable German boss, Gus Herschel, Beth must fight for the woman she’s promised to help. But Beth Dodd never gives in, and she keeps her word with a stubbornness that Lundy folks are not accustomed to seeing from a woman.

Once Lulu, now known as the more respectable Louisa Parmley, starts working for Gus in his kitchen, she proves that Beth was right to take a chance on her. She has every intention of making a good life for her new daughter. But can she also hope to find happiness with Gus? And will Gus be able to accept her and baby Sophie Ann as his? Love was never in the cards for Gus, but Louisa dreams of happiness with the stoic man, and Beth is determined to bring them together through HER INDEPENDENT SPIRIT.

Excerpt:

     Lulu pulled her two week-old daughter away from her breast and straightened her nightgown. her eyes never strayed from the face of the little cherub in her arms until she gently placed the baby on her shoulder to pat her back. Yet, instead of the joy that should have filled her heart as she gazed at the child’s sweet face framed by a fine down of golden brown hair, all she felt was a sense of loss.

     After losing everyone important to her, she was threatened once again with the loss of the most important person in her life, her baby, Sophie Ann.

     As she gazed down at the child now sleeping peacefully in her arms, her mouth occasionally moving in sucking motions as if she continued to nurse, Lulu realized she needed to decide what to do about Sophie Ann. Did the baby’s future belong with her? Or, was it best for her daughter if she heeded Miss Flora’s directive to find a home for the baby so she could resume working by the end of the month?

     In spite of the money she would earn, Lulu cringed at the thought of once again subjecting herself to being pawed by men—and more.

     Flora had offered to let Albert drive her into Bridgeport during the next week so she could leave the baby on the doorstep of one of the local churches. Flora insisted that someone would find the baby, fall in love with her, and the child would be well taken care of as she grew in her adopted family.

     But, Lulu worried, what if no one came for a long time and Sophie Ann grew hungry? What if a pack of feral dogs roaming the streets in search of food found her first? What if she was not found right away and had to spend the night outside and the temperature dropped and she became seriously ill?

     Lulu clutched her baby to her chest with enough force that Sophie Ann squeaked out a protest in her sleep. In response, Lulu loosened her grip, but would not let the child out of her arms. No, never. She could not turn her out and let her take her chances. That is what had happened to her, but at least she had been almost fifteen, not a helpless babe slightly over two weeks old.

     Lulu’s body involuntary jerked in response to the loud rap on her bedroom door. After checking to be sure the front of her nightgown was securely buttoned, Lulu pulled the edge of her wrapper over the side of her chest that was not covered by her sleeping daughter. Prostitute or not, she maintained her modesty when she was not working.

     It was morning, almost time for the girls to wake and stumble down to eat breakfast. Surely it wasn’t an old customer trying to get in to see her.

     “Who’s there?”

     “It’s Albert, Miss Lulu.”

     “Come in.”

     Albert, the muscle Miss Flora hired to enforce order in the brothel entered the room holding what appeared to be a small folded bundle of flannel. “Miss Lulu, this is for your baby.”

     “Who would bring the baby a gift? Not that many people know me let alone know I have a baby.”

     Bewildered, Lulu reached for one edge of the fabric and shook it free of its folds. One side was solid white flannel. The other side had a checkerboard patchwork design of striped blue blocks and red flannel blocks alternating with white flannel blocks. It was a quilt with a thin fabric center instead of heavier cotton filling. It was not the most artfully designed quilt Lulu had ever seen, but the corners of the squares matched up and the stitches that held all the layers together were neat and even.

     “It was the midwife. She said no matter what, baby Sophie Ann needs a blanket.”

     “The midwife! She brought the baby a blanket?”

     Lulu recalled the woman, Jim Dodd’s widow, not much older than she was, who had come to help with the birth of Sophie Ann. That day she had offered to help Lulu get work as a cook so she could keep Sophie Ann but only if Lulu gave up being a prostitute and be the one to walk away from the Blue Feather. Had she said that just to be nice, or had she meant what she said?

     “Oh, Albert! Where is she? I need to talk to her.”

I will be giving away one digital copy Her Independent Spirit to one person who leaves a comment and contact information on this blog post before midnight PDT, March 21st.

Available preorder purchase links for Her Independent Heart:

Amazon  |  Smashwords 

Her Independent Spirit will also be available on Barnes & Noble, iTunes  &  Kobo at the end of the week.

Please CLICK HERE tweet this blog post:

Available for preorder: HER INDEPENDENT SPIRIT @ZinaAbbott bit.ly/1Sd8MFc #PrairieRosePub #ESB1884

New from Prairie Rose Publications: The Comanchero’s Bride by Kaye Spencer

      My new release, The Comanchero’s Bride, is a western tale of love, jealousy, and revenge. The story was originally published nine years ago as a 40k novella, but even then as I finished writing the story, I knew there was a larger story to be told.  So, over the ensuing years, I wrote and rewrote the story, and expanded it to its current full-length novel edition that releases today with Prairie Rose Publications.

The story-behind-this-story has two components:

• It is a retelling of the Marty Robbins song, Meet Me Tonight in Laredo.
  AND
• The underlying themes of strength and sacrifice are based on the Germanic rune, Uruz.

So what are runes, and what are the lyrics to the song? Well, I happen to have a quick-read article about runes and Marty Robbins and their relationship to The Comanchero’s Bride. It's just a click away:

The Comanchero’s Bride – from idea to book

 What is the story about?

Beautiful heiress Elizabeth Bradford White is exiled to Texas with family friends until she “comes to her senses” and agrees to marry the prominent politico her parents have chosen for her. Grayson Beal is certainly not the man of her dreams—she finds him so revolting she welcomes her exile and makes a new life for herself in south Texas.

When she is approached at a fiesta by dark-eyed, handsome Mingo Valderas, she knows her heart will never be her own again. But Mingo has a checkered past—a reputation as a Comanchero, and a man who is as fast with his knives as he is with his gun. An ex-outlaw with many secrets, Elizabeth gives her trust to him, and their whirlwind courtship begins.

But Grayson Beal will stop at nothing to claim Elizabeth and her inheritance, along with the political influence her parents have. In a deadly cross-country race for her freedom, only one man stands between her and the monster who follows her. Fueled by their love and dreams of a future together, Elizabeth and Mingo stay one step ahead of Beal…but will that be enough?

Excerpt

In one long, powerful stride, Grayson towered over Elizabeth, shaking a thick finger in her face. “I have to be accepted into Denver political circles in order to gain some critical support in Ohio, and I expect you to do your part with entertaining the right people during our stay. You know these activities are vital for my political future. I won’t have it any other way.”

She batted his hand down. “Your political career is only important to you and my parents.” She clenched her fists at her sides, aggravated that she’d allowed herself to be drawn into conversation instead of walking away. It was fully dark and well past time to meet Mingo. “I have a prior commitment.”

Waving her off, Grayson said, “What you have is a duty to your family and to me as my wife, you missed—”

“I am not, nor will I ever be, your wife.”

He pushed right over her interruption. “You missed a gubernatorial inaugural dinner party in Columbus last winter and several other important events since then. I’m tired of making excuses for your absence. I won’t do it any longer.” He leaned forward. “So, congratulations. You’ve made your point. Now, it’s time to come with me and get on with the business of being my wife.”

Fuming, Elizabeth held her ground. “I’m not going to marry you, and I’m certainly not your political or social plaything. Don’t forget that it was you who convinced my father to banish me here. You sent me away from everything I knew—from all the things I thought I needed to be happy. Then I found out that not only do I not need them, I no longer want them. Listen to what I’m saying, Grayson. You’ve made the trip here for nothing. I’m staying in Laredo.”

“This is ludicrous!” His booming voice bounced off the walls. “Our wedding date is set and invitations have been sent.”

He loomed over her like large tree branches bending toward the ground in the raging onslaught of a violent wind. He was a formidable man when he wasn’t angry, and she’d often seen him use his physical size to intimidate people. Although she’d never once backed down from him, she now fought the urge to turn from his wrath.

Elizabeth drew herself up with every ounce of her courage. “Then un-announce it. I’m not marrying you. Not now. Not ever. I won’t—”

Grayson grabbed her, slammed his mouth on hers, crushing her lips as he lifted her almost off her feet. Struggling against the iron grip of his bear-like hands, she wrenched an arm free and slapped him with her gloved hand hard enough to knock his spectacles askew. Yanking out of his grasp, she reeled backward. Adjusting his glasses with deliberate care, he appeared outwardly under control, but Elizabeth knew he was seething, and would find some way to punish her for striking him.

“Had I bedded you a year ago, we would not be having this conversation. We’d be married, and there would be a child on the way.”

Until now, she’d never been frightened of him, only annoyed with his loutish manners toward her and everyone else he considered beneath him, but the lusty gleam in his eyes was new. A repulsive, crawling quiver skimmed along her skin.

She sensed movement behind her an instant before she heard the slight jangle of Mingo’s spurs. Whirling, she saw him in the middle of the room, feet spread, coat opened wide, and his eyes glowing with a dark, lethal fire. Grayson took advantage of her distraction and grabbed her arm. Jerking her back, he held her trapped against his body, and the more she struggled, the tighter he held her.

“Hombre, remove your hands from Isabel, or I will kill you where you stand.”

Recognition registered on Grayson’s face that Mingo didn’t wear his gun belt for show. Beal released her. Mingo motioned for her to move behind him. Grayson took his time looking Mingo over as he rubbed the deep red hand print on his cheek and smoothed his hair down.

“What is this Isabel nonsense? And who the hell are you?”

“Domingo Valderas.” His voice was level and sure. “If any man marries Isabel, it will be me.”

Grayson stared then burst into condescending laughter. “You? Good lord, man, you’re nothing but a Mexican—”

“Be careful with your words, pendejo.”

Buy Links    Barnes and Noble    Smashwords    Kobo    iBooks

Comment to win

I'll give away a digital copy of The Comanchero’s Bride to one commenter. Please leave your contact information with your comment, so I'll have a way to contact you in case I draw your name. I’ll keep this comment-to-win opportunity open until 6:00 p.m. MDT March 19^th, 2016.

 

 Until next time,

Kaye Spencer