I've had thirty five sales of Alias Jeannie Delaney - Book 1 - Go West, Girl! and I'm very pleased but could do better! 😄 I've asked those who may have read it and enjoyed it to leave a review on Amazon. Just to entice possible readers, I'm posting a portion of chapter 1. I hope this sample may inspire you to read further!
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CENTENNIAL, WYOMING,
THE LOCATION OF COYOTE CREEK |
It took me a very long time and a load of research to finally decide on where Alias Jeannie Delaney would be based. I wanted the plains, but I also wanted mountains. Initially I considered the Owl Creek Mountains and the Wind River Shoshone Reservation. I wanted an area where indian tribes would possibly be located. because an indian tribe features strongly in the story later. I landed on the Shoshone tribe because Wyoming is part of their territory.
'As I write, I'm staying in Coyote Creek, a burgeoning frontier town huddled in the foothills of the Rockies. Snow covers much of the greenery and the base of the foothills reach coldly onto the plains. To the west, the southern Rockies extend into the mountain ranges. Montana lies to the north, to the east stretches this vast basin until it hits the eastern Rockies and Nebraska and to the south lies the Colorado Front Range and Colorado itself. So strictly speaking I'm dead centre of the western frontier, and I love it. I may be a city girl born and bred, but the wild frontier calls me.
I'm Kate Howard, feminist, bohemian and journalist. A bit of a rare breed I'm proud to say. I'm in my mid-twenties, by now expected to be married. My refusal to wear corset and bustle distressed my respectable, middle-class mother and sister, but the freedom this has brought is breathtaking, particularly when riding a horse. I had decided to embrace the opportunity of riding western in the foothills, because I had heard how thrilling and exhilarating it can be, and how true this proved to be. The day before, I had ridden Bella, a fine brown American Quarter horse with white splashes on her legs and face. The livery stables owner had assured me that she was reliable and trust worthy. So a feeling of delight and ease filtered through me as I broke from the trees and onto a grass covered granite ledge. Below, Coyote Creek looked like a model town built out of matchsticks and stones clustered down there and two deer nibbled on grass on the outskirts. I closed my eyes and breathed in the clean air.
Time to move on. I have a job to do. I nudged Bella back into the forest and a gunshot fractured the peace. I jerked and my shoulder seemed to explode. Birds clattered through branches and Bella reared. I don't remember hitting the ground. Bella bolted, swallowed up by the trees. I lay on my front, my cheek nestled in soft earth, prickled by pine needles. I was near to fainting, feeling dizzy, light headed and slightly sick. Crunching footsteps approached me, then stopped near my head. My heart pounded crazily. A deep voice growled.
'Mornin', lady.'
Another responded.
'Easy pickin's.'
I managed to raise my head a little. Two men leered down at me. Probably late twenties and stupid. Filthy. Dirt mixed with sweat. Rumpled cowboy clothes. Their arms hung at their sides, and each had a holstered pistol strapped to their thighs. Two horses stood nearby. My head flopped back down and the raging pain in my left shoulder registered. Their shadows shrouded me and my breathing was laboured. Oh, God... The beginnings of tears surfaced.
Another voice intercepted.
'Fer cryin' out loud...'
A figure emerged from the trees, cloaked by deep gloom. It slowly moved forward. The sunlight glazed cowboy boot toes, then, as the figure approached, slowly climbed slim, long legs clad in pale blue Levis. The light slid over slim hips embraced by a holster. Then climbed to reveal denim shirt sleeves rolled below the elbows. The light shifted north again. An open shirt neck formed a narrow ‘v' and a star glinted on the left breast. Tall. Athletic, clearly. A sheriff or deputy, obviously. My relief at being rescued overcame everything. Thank God. My curiosity had almost overwhelmed my pain as well. The sunlight melted the deep shadow veiling the face. My heart skipped a beat.
It's her.
Jeannie Morgan stood with legs akimbo and both those idiots gawped at her. She flicked her head.
'Goddamn sick, the pair o' ya, pickin' on an unarmed gal.’ Her husky, androgynous tones broke the hush.'Git outta here. Move!'
It was fascinating to watch Jeannie Morgan working her magic. She moved towards the idiots and gave the pair of them her heavy lidded, unblinking, soul destroying gaze. Her head was slightly lowered as she looked up and loaded that gaze upon them. They froze on the spot. Her right hand inched towards the grip of her holstered gun. They turned tail, scrambled towards their horses, mounted up and galloped back through the forest. Legs akimbo, she watched their escape and chuckled.
'Assholes.'
She turned and approached me. That's when the sunlight fully drenched her. My astonishment ripped through me. Her boyish beauty was legendary, and here it was. My mouth gawped open, I stared round eyed at her and my pain was forgotten. She crouched in front of me and her close proximity washed over me. My pain had been dragged into the background.
Jeannie Morgan held the look of a gorgeous youth with feminine overtones. It was well known that she was capable of leaving young women dangerously breathless, but my lengthy, mesmerised scrutiny revealed the truth of her gender. A red and white Indian bandana bound collar length, tousled fair hair. A fringe covered half her forehead. A totally unorthodox approach for a white woman.
Our gazes clashed. Hers, an iridescent, milky pale blue, won. I was anchored to the spot, frozen, and my heart thundered. She reached for my hand and, trembling with emotion, I took it. A gentle, warm, pleasant hand. She pulled me to my feet and I clutched my burning arm. It was only then that I registered my blood soaked jacket sleeve. She glanced at it, and tenderness surged those eyes which narrowed in concern.
‘Okay, darlin'? Jees – yer bleedin' badly, huh?' She studied my blood soaked sleeve and nodded towards a flat boulder. ‘Sit there an’ let’s take a look, darlin'. You're lucky Ah was on the trail back there an' heard that shot, huh?'
Honey. Her voice was like honey, with a western twang, the 'r's' pronounced. I nodded. Oh God. I fancy her like mad! I was also shocked at this longed-for encounter, because she was the reason for my visit to Coyote Creek, but I hadn't counted on this happening. I had assumed I would encounter her in town and hopefully talk to her in my role as a journalist. Firstly I'd always wanted to meet her because I've been a huge fan of hers since her fame began to burgeon. Secondly, my boss on my New York newspaper, The Evening Observer had always wanted an interview with her. He'd called me into his office and grinned at me.
'Go to Coyote Creek, Kate. Seek out Jeannie Morgan and interview her. You know you've always wanted to.'
My dream come true. How could I not?
Now I sat here on a boulder looking up at her. I dragged free of that discomforting, seductive gaze as she grinned her toothy crooked grin, Gentle dimples in her cheeks deepened. My heart hammered away. My face burned with... jealousy! What? I wanted to be her. An absurd desire had also taken root.
Her sensuality distracted me from the pain as she crouched again and helped me remove my jacket. Her warm breath bathed my face and she smelled not unpleasantly of cowboy, I imagine. Kind of smoky. She unbuttoned my sleeve and gently folded the blood soaked cotton back to expose my arm below my shoulder. The bullet had skimmed the skin, leaving an ugly ragged line. She cradled my arm in a strong, bronzed hand. Her veins were prominent, the skin a silken sheen.
That was so nice, the feeling of her hands upon me. Her presence and her voice bolted shivers through me.
‘We gotta bandage it, darlin', huh?’
She grinned at my mesmeric gaze. Her slim fingers – her nails pale against her golden skin – unknotted her bandana and used it to carefully bind my arm.
'You’re gonna have a scar, darlin'.’
I glanced at the white trail across the inside of her right wrist, and the fine golden down on her forearm, touched by sunlight. On her left wrist she wore a selection of thin leather bracelets and a signet ring on her index finger. She regarded me and I coloured. She smiled gently.
‘D’ya carry a gun, darlin?’
‘No. Perhaps I should.
Pale laughter lines crinkled around her eyes.
‘Try a small Derringer, mebbe. huh?’
‘I will. It was stupid to come out unarmed.’
She shrugged.
‘You’re okay. Jist remember fer next time, huh? Particular in these parts. You a stranger? Never seen ya before.’
'I’m on vacation. It’s beautiful here.
'Good t’have yer, darlin’, but ya gotta see the doc ‘bout that arm. Where ya from? Interestin' accent ya got there.'
'New York. Manhattan.'
'Uh-huh.' She nodded. 'Kinda busy, huh?'
I chuckled and nodded and she grinned back and crinkled her nose. She was one of those people who, when they talk to you, make you feel that you're the most important person in the world. While she crouched down there, my gaze meandered the curve of her long, womanly neck – a small Indian pendant on a leather thong hung against her smooth brown chest. She peered intently at me, her eyes slightly narrowed.
‘You’re trembling fit t’bust, darlin’. Sure you’re okay ?’ I nodded and we stood up. She was tall, approaching six foot. 'Alright t’get back? Ah’d give ya a ride only Ah ain’t headin’ that way.’
‘My horse bolted. It’s not far. I can walk.’
‘Sure. Okay. ''S'pect yer hoss went home. You take care now.’
She flashed her grin and winked – that charismatic magnetism could fill the whole forest. I managed a jocular salute and she chuckled and threw her head back, her jaw and neck revealed in all their sexuality. She touched fingertip to thumb between her lips and whistled. A soft rustling preceded the entry of a beautiful brown horse with a white muzzle into the clearing. She leaped into the saddle and returned my salute.
‘Ciao, darlin’!’
She circled her horse, nudged him into the forest and was gone. I gaped at the spot where she'd been and touched the scarf at my arm. I felt emotionally, and physically, shattered.'
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JEANNIE
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FOOTHILLS & FORESTS
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