In my June article at Prairie Rose Publications (HERE), I revisited an anthology Prairie Rose Publications put out in the summer of 2014 (Lassoing a Mail-Order Bride).
For my July article, I’ve revisited another PRP anthology that saw its one-year publishing anniversary on July 4, 2020.
This is the article.
Hot Western Nights…
a collection of six western historical novellas
that are hotter than a two dollar pistol
and 4th of July fireworks.
The stories and their authors are:
- Fake Marriage with a Dash of Desire by Karen Michelle Nutt
- The Lady Piano Player by J. Arlene Culiner
- Duty by Angela Raines
- Diamond Jack’s Angel by Elizabeth Clements
- A Summer to Remember by Julie Lence
- Give My Love to Rose by Kaye Spencer
A little more about my story—
Music often inspires my stories. In the case of Give My Love to Rose, Johnny Cash’s song of the same name gave me the basic idea for the plot. The Rose in his song became my main character. The man who came across the dying man is a deputy U.S. Marshal in my story.
Here’s the song.
And here’s an excerpt.
U.S. Deputy Marshal Clint Callahan stopped a few feet from the covered front porch. “Is this the Griffin place? Lon Griffin’s?”
“Yes. It is.” The younger of the two women came forward, her gaze dragging from the back of the mule to look at him. “I’m Rose Griffin. This is my mother-in-law, Bess.”
Clint’s mental image of Rose crashed. Rose was hardly more than a girl, and Lon was…Well, he was old enough to be her father, maybe even grandfather. This put a different slant on the situation, and he wasn’t altogether comfortable with it.
Rose’s chin lifted with the set of her shoulders. “Was he dead when you found him?”
This was the hardest part, explaining. A woman’s reaction revealed much about her character. He’d seen it all from throwing themselves on the body in fits of wailing grief to outright joy the no-good scoundrel was dead.
“No. I found him at dusk not far from the railroad tracks.” Clint dismounted. “He’d fallen out of the saddle and lacked the strength to get up. When I knelt beside him, I could tell he didn’t have much time left. I asked his name and where he was going. He said he had to get home to Rose. I told him I’d take him home, but he was in too much pain to move. I offered to fetch you. He said no. He didn’t want to—”
“—to die alone,” Rose murmured.
Clint nodded. “Yes, ma’am. There was a buffalo wallow off from the tracks where the night wind wouldn’t hit us straight on, so I got him laid out on his bedroll. I put up a makeshift lean-to over him and built a fire close by. I boiled a piece of jerky and helped him sip on the broth. He dozed off and on all night. Sometimes he muttered nonsense in his sleep, other times he was wide awake and making sense. He must have told me his life’s story.”
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Until next time,
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