I work on multiple stories at the same time. I write on one until I hit a snag then I hop over to a different story and so forth. Right now, I'm working on two projects that I will submit to Prairie Rose Publications by the end of the summer.
One is a revisiting of a previously published western romance novel that deserves a good revamping prior to republishing. The other is this one that I’m sharing a sneak peek with you. It is a novella-length western romance I’m roughly halfway finished writing. The tentative title is The Locket.
One is a revisiting of a previously published western romance novel that deserves a good revamping prior to republishing. The other is this one that I’m sharing a sneak peek with you. It is a novella-length western romance I’m roughly halfway finished writing. The tentative title is The Locket.
The idea for the story evolved from this postcard I purchased
in Kingman, Arizona a few years ago while on a round-trip train ride from Lamar,
Colorado to Kingman.
I’ve changed the train robbery to a stagecoach holdup. Kissing the wimmin folk is the spark that lights the story’s fire.
Here’s the kissing scene that fans that plot flame between
the hero, John Thomas (aka J.T. Barlow), and the heroine, Ada Snowden. Ada, in failing health and recently widowed, is returning home after being away for twenty years. J.T is a member of an
outlaw gang that holds-up the stage she's on. The gang’s leader has demanded Ida relinquish her gold locket. Ida
has flatly refused as the locket was a gift from her deceased husband. The
leader is about to work her over with quirt when J.T. intervenes.
Excerpt (work in progress and subject to change)
“My parents
taught me to respect women, not mistreat them. Besides, a pretty woman should
be appreciated, not roughed up.” He looked her over, the lines around his eyes
crinkling with amusement. “And you are sure enough a handsome woman—a woman who
takes pride in keeping herself up for a man. Mmm mmm mmm.”
The illicit
suggestion in his tone sent her hand flying, but he caught her arm before her palm
made contact with his face. Never physically mistreated in her life, the iron
grip of his fingers clamped around her wrist brought out the fight in her,
especially since the sparkle in his eyes said he was still grinning.
“Widow lady,
huh?”
“Yes.”She
hissed the word through her clenched teeth.
“Where are you
headed?”
“Burney Springs,
if it’s any of your business.” Ada pulled vainly against his grip.
There was a
chuckle in his voice, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “What’s your
name?”
“Are you
keeping a record of the women you rob?”
“Maybe I am.”
He snorted a grunting chuckle. “For posterity.”
Ada saw the flicker
of a frown push away the smile around his eyes, and she wondered if she’d
touched the fringes of some deeper truth.
“Well,” he
prodded. “You have a name?”
“Ada Snowden. Mrs. Snowden to you. I’d ask your name,
but I doubt a bandit would give an honest response.”
The taunting
gleam in his eyes returned. “Don’t be so hasty to judge. What you see on the
outside might be deceiving.” He released her arm as he leaned into her, his
broad chest pressing against her bosom. “It’s a matter of pride now. It can’t get
out that we show favorites when we rob folks. Our reputations as road agents
would be ruined. When we turn to robbing trains and banks…or stealing
watermelons from a preacher’s garden, people have to respect us, fear us.” He
chuckled softly, amused with himself. He put his gloved hand over hers where it
rested protectively over her locket. “Let me have it.”
“No.” Ada
grabbed the bottom of his bandana and yanked. Startled, he stepped back. She
braced herself, fully expecting he’d strike her. Instead, a slow, widening grin
spread over his face. A face with angular, chiseled features, strong jaw, and cleft
chin. A face that was nice to look at and made her just a little weak in her
already shaky knees.
“I admire a gutsy
woman.” Grasping her shoulders with his big hands, he pushed her backwards
until she came up hard against the side of the stagecoach with an oompf. “Now that you know my face,
here’s something so you won’t forget me.”
He leaned into
her. The heat from his body brought the already scorching temperature up
several degrees. The moment his lips touched hers, all thoughts of resistance
dissolved, and so help her, she closed her eyes and kissed him back. Why she
didn’t resist this stranger’s kiss, she didn’t know. Feelings rose from a place
deep down inside she’d buried ages before she’d laid her husband to rest two
years ago. Neither could she say why when he put his hand over hers again that
she loosened her grip on the locket and allowed him to slip his fingers inside
hers. With a tug, the clasp broke, and he withdrew the locket as his lips left
hers.
“Seems to me
you liked that kiss.” The deep husky rasp in his voice suggested he’d gotten
more than he’d anticipated. “Maybe it’s the best you’ve ever had.” Tucking the
locket into his watch pocket, he pulled up his bandana, returned to his horse,
and swung into the saddle. The bandits raced off behind the leader, but the man
lingered.
Touching the
front of his hat, he said, “Nice to meet you, Ada Snowden. Around these parts,
I’m known as John Thomas. Remember my name. I’m gonna be famous.”
Until next time,
Kaye Spencer
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