Alvania Scarborough~ Romance for the Adventurous at Heart

The Trials and Tribulations of Buttons

2015-03-07T10:57:00.000-08:00

Some of you might not know I'm a southern girl transplanted to the West, but I was always a country girl. Still am. Which leads us to Buttons.

Buttons is my black silkie rooster. Recently Buttons has been supplanted in his little harem by Junior, the much larger and MUCH younger rooster. You see, Buttons is 8 years old and Junior is only a little over 1. Yep, the inevitable happened and the young cock moved in on the old man's ladies.

Buttons is not taking it well.

Today he started a new phase in his campaign of harassment: he's plucking Junior's tail feathers out, one by one.

Now Junior is mighty proud of them tail feathers. And, truth be told, they are right pretty. Black with the deepest emerald sheen. And long, oh so long. So I guess he can rightly be proud of them.

Back to the campaign of harassment. Buttons no longer waits in hiding to bowl Junior tail over tea kettle, using guerrilla hit and run tactics. Oh, no. Now he stalks alongside of one of my dogs, darts under said pup's belly, grabs hold of a tail feather and then bolts back to his place of safety, feather in his beak.

Junior is left, mad as a wet hen, as it were, wondering what just happened. Although, I suspect he has a couple of notions.

Junior still has the ladies, but Buttons is on top of the dog house, a growing collection of trophy feathers at his feet, crowing to the world about yet another successful raid.

Junior might well be naked as a jaybird before all is said and done. Naked is not a good look when it isn't even springtime in the Rockies yet.

Like they say, growing older just means you get sneakier.

The Wild West … Florida?

2014-07-05T15:21:00.001-07:00

That’s right, Florida is America’s oldest cattle-raising state courtesy of Ponce de León. In 1521, Ponce de León returned to Florida with horses and several Andalusian cattle. Life wasn’t easy for those early cattle—or the early ranchers, for that matter—what with cattle fever ticks, gators, swamps and snakes. Throw in a few hurricanes for good measure and, well, you get the idea. No, life wasn’t easy at all.

But those early cattle adapted. (I have a feeling the early ranchers did a sight of cussing along with the adapting.) Ranches sprang up, dozens of them by 1700. By the 1800’s, when settlers moved south in search of new pasture, so did the cattle. Then along came the railroads. With transportation, the beef industry grew.

What does all this have to do with the Wild West, you ask? I’m getting there. Along with the herds of cattle, some numbering upwards of 50,000, towns sprang up. Now, where there are towns you have people, and people have needs so you have shops. People also have horses, and horses need blacksmiths. Still with me? You have cattle, people and horses. What’s missing in this picture? Oh, yes, cowboys.

Okay, you say, I get it—cowboys equal Wild West. Umm, no, I don’t get it. Well, hang on, you will. Along with all the people, cattle and cowboys came something any fan of the Wild West is acquainted with—rustling.

And lots of it. Florida was open range. Miles and miles of it. Cowboys rounded up stock from open plains, from hammocks, from swamp, river and streams, and then drove them to market. Of course, not everyone was content sticking to cattle they had any right to. Sound familiar yet?

That’s right, just as in the Wild West, Florida had its share of rustlers and range wars, like the one between the Barbers and the Mizells, where the shooting of Orange County Sheriff David W. Mizell in 1870 sparked at least 8 more murders. That was only one of many such instances. In fact, it was a series of sensational murders from Florida’s last range war that some say led the Florida Legislature to authorize private fences and, in 1949, helped put an end to open range in Florida altogether.

Today we think of Florida as sun, fun and beaches, but it had a start as wild and woolly as any you’d find in the Old West.

Fighting Over A Stolen Herd, by Frederick Remington. Included in an article entitled, "Cracker Cowboys of Florida" published in Harper's new monthly magazine v.91, issue 543, August 1895

Orlando Sentinel: Barbers, Mizells Had History On Opposite Sides Of The Law
Orlando Sentinel: Thief Altering Others' Cattle Brands Sparks Beef In Old Orange County
The Clewiston News: No arrests made in triple murder near Lakeport
Glades County Democrat: Murders end Florida's range wars

Past, present and future, treasure fires the imagination...

2014-06-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

LOST "CABIN" GOLD MINE AGAIN LOCATED screamed the headlines of the New York Times on August 18, 1902. Then, as now, such stories of lost treasure fired the imagination. It is human nature to find such things fascinating. Stories of lost gold, of treasure in the Old West, abounds.

Harker's Hell has its own version of lost legendary treasure, just like Wyoming has its Lost Cabin Gold Mine, and Colorado has Dead Man's Cave, and New Mexico has the Lost Padre Mine. But the secrets of the Harker's Hell lost treasure has a little twist....

DISOBEDIENCE is Book One in the Harker's Hell series, and is now available.

To check out the New York Times article, click on the link below:

New York Times, August 18, 1902

And don't forget to check out my post on the USA Today Happy Ever After blog:

USA Today HEA blog

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Westerns

2014-06-24T12:57:00.001-07:00

Louis L’Amour. I cut my teeth on his westerns. As a kid I could spend hours lost in his Old West. His heroes were not always good men, not always on the side of the law, but there was an unshakable core of values they held to, even if they differed from society’s at large. They were strong. They had to be to survive not only the villain or the rigors of Western life, but to survive the land. The land is a character in his books, one with a large presence. For me, no other writer brings the land to vivid, living life in quite the same way.

To this day, I can pick up one of his books and be transported to a past that has heroes who have that everyman quality, strong heroines who don’t give up, and that land. Westerns remain one of my favorite genres.

Mr. L’Amour's books definitely influenced my writing. I think you can see it in DISOBEDIENCE, book one in my new series, Harker’s Hell. Below is a short excerpt, I hope you enjoy it.

From the lost journal of Harker Shand Delais

We weren’t prepared for the reality we found, the vast, billowing seas of grass, heat that bleached white the bones of the unwary, and mountains. Mountains that stood on end, their jagged peaks splitting wide a blue dome such as we’d never before beheld.

We named it the Badlands. A hell-spawned, wild, brash, land, filled with vicious thorns tipped with barbs and poison; where seemingly solid ground hid death pits covered by thin layers of volcanic glass. It was stark, seared, fit only for coyote and cactus.

It was here we made our home.

And one more…

Eyes burning, she stared out over the harsh landscape as mile after mile of straggly grass, cactus and rock rolled by with unrelenting slowness. The arid expanse, sculpted by the blast of harsh suns, was so very different from her home.

The Smoky Mountains, part of Teton Territory, were achingly lovely. Clouds ghosted around their jagged peaks like wisps of early morning wood smoke, hollows hid grass and trees as green as poison, and myriad shallow streams chuckled their way over rocks slippery with moss, to gather and swirl in small ponds and lakes. No, no one could deny the beauty of the Smokies.

She hated them.

As stark, as forbidding as this land was, it drew her in some indefinable way. There was an honesty in the twisted, tortured formations, in the sprawling patches of low-growing cacti and in the wicked thorns glinting on the scattered brush. Unlike her home that cloaked danger in the illusion of safety with green, cool shadows. Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the danger in this land.

Waves of heat shimmered off the red sands, glistened on shards of black volcanic glass. In the distance, columns of Joshua trees towered over the vast wasteland; macabre sentinels that watched the passing of time, unfazed by the life and death struggles taking place around them.

Only the sound of the traces and the creak of wood and leather broke the stillness. Heat poured off the sand like an oven, making it hard to catch a decent breath. Dis licked her lips, tasting salt.

Excerpt from Disobedience, Harker's Hell, Book One

2014-06-17T14:52:00.000-07:00

From the lost journal of Harker Shand Delais

I cannot escape the blame. Those that have died. Those who will die. Their deaths belong to me. I led them to this terraformed piece of rock. To carve out a life and recreate that ancient period known as the Old West.

It was an obsession. One I shared with anyone who would listen.

Shared? No, that is not the right word. Infected.

In honor of our new beginning, they called this place Harker’s World.

They should have named it Harker’s Hell

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NOW AVAILABLE!

2014-06-16T10:10:00.000-07:00

It's here! The first book in the Harker's Hell series, DISOBEDIENCE, is available now. Hope you enjoy this small taste of my world:

Blurb:

Harker’s Hell. Early settlers thought they’d found a western re-creationist’s heaven there. Instead this new world became a hellish version of the Old West. Now the seeds of long-ago conflict are stirring to life…

BETRAYED—FORCED INTO OBEDIENCE

Dissonance Walker is in a world of trouble. Sold to a secret organization by her parents, her ability to disobey is ripped away by a brutal experiment. When she escapes, Dissonance believes the worst is over. She’s dead wrong. She’s captured and sold as a pleasure slave.

The key to reversing the experiment lies hidden in the stretch of arid waste called the Badlands. Problem is, the too-sexy bounty hunter who bought her stands in her way.

HE LOOKED LIKE HE PICKED HIS TEETH WITH THE BONES OF HIS ENEMIES

Bram Spencer is sure the heat has baked his brains. With his friend murdered and his ranch under attack, he needs to attend to a little unfinished business.… It sure didn’t include buying some fool woman because she pokes at scabs he thought long healed. Then he discovers the only way to set her free is to marry her.

Secrets have a long life. Sometimes decades. Now the past is about to slam into the present. Only trust can save Dissonance and Bram from a shocking evil … but trust is a hard commodity to come by on the frontier.

Excerpt:

From the lost journal of Harker Shand Delais

Judge.

Jury.

Executioner.

I created bounty hunters—and gave them absolute power.

Chapter 1

Demonstrate your skill, slave. I order you, take him in your mouth.”

Bram Spencer ignored the vulgar command coming from the front of the packed saloon, ignored the fact a pleasure auction was taking place, something that under normal circumstances would have had him turning right back around. He let the batwing doors swing closed behind him.

Six mares. Six very fine mares that had been core to the Flying A’s breeding program, slaughtered, and left like so much offal for the vultures to pick clean. Ned Hansom was going to pay. This time, Bram refused to let lack of evidence get in the way of justice.

The distinctive crack of whip against flesh sounded. A woman’s cry pierced the hot, heavy air.

Something inside Bram stilled, became a cold, deep well of darkness. His reaction instinctive, he turned left, toward the island of light at the front, instead of toward Hansom’s closed office door at the back.

In the low, flickering glow from the kerosene lamps that lined the walls, Bram saw men, ten deep, crowded around the stage, shirts plastered to their backs in the stifling heat. The smell of rancid tobacco, sweat, and lust hovered in the air in an almost visible miasma.

But what captured his attention was the young woman standing at the edge of the wooden dais. Light limned her figure, made a halo out of her blonde hair. Bram couldn’t take his gaze off her. It wasn’t that he could see her nipples beneath the muslin camisole. Or the dark shadow that hinted at the vee of her thighs. No, it was the small fists balled next to her sides as she stared out over the audience as if daring them to buy her.

The hard tension holding his muscles battle-ready released. Damn, would he never learn? He studied the woman with a cynical eye, wondering what she’d done to end up a pleasure slave. Probably skipped out on some debt and got caught. On Harker’s Hell, not honoring an obligation was the surest way into the clutches of a trainer. No debtor prisons here. Didn’t matter in any case, wasn’t his business.

Across the sea of men, her gaze locked onto his. He lifted one brow in mocking inquiry.

Help me.

It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand. Bram shook his head.

Fury flashed in her eyes.

Contrary cuss that he was, Bram shook his head again. If Goldie there was looking for a hero, she’d latched onto the wrong man. He’d tried it once and it hadn’t agreed with him. His hand went to a spot just center right of his chest, and rubbed.

Please.

Sorry, honey. That dog don’t hunt. He gave one short, final shake of his head even as he moved over to the bar. Something squished under his boot. Bram’s lip curled. Figured, the way his luck ran lately. No tellin’ what he’d catch if he actually plunked his ass down in a chair. One beer and he was outta there.

Back against the age-polished wood, he signaled for the drink and let his gaze drift around the saloon before returning it to the raised platform. When the bartender slid the glass beside him, Bram tipped his hat away from his forehead and took a sip. “What’s going on?” He kept his eyes on the run-down stage that back in its heyday had sported velvet drapes.

“Silas Trainer of Deadwood Territory is auctioning off a couple of slaves.” The bartender jerked a disinterested thumb in the direction of the platform. “That one’s the last. Supposed to be special.” He shrugged. “Claims she’s trained to obey any order.”

Trainers held a unique position on Harker’s Hell. Once a person joined the profession, they gave up their surnames in favor of Trainer. They weren’t a particularly respectable lot, but what they offered was in demand.

Elbows on the scarred wood, Bram studied the slave as she took one small step, then another, toward the fat man sitting in the middle of the stage, his legs splayed apart. Somehow, he couldn’t see obedience and those flashing eyes going together.

Another small step gave him a glimpse of a shapely ankle. Bram’s groin stirred, catching him by surprise. He growled, a low, nearly silent sound. Stupid thing had less common sense than the fool dog that had started following him around a couple weeks ago, a battered tin plate in its massive maw.

Bram considered his reaction to a woman who looked as if he’d have to fish around in the bedsheets to find her before he could make love to her. He didn’t like small women and doubted this one would reach much above the center of his chest. Besides, she was too damn skinny. Nothing there for a man to hang onto.

His gaze locked on the stage and the woman there, he shifted to a more comfortable position. Despite her shortcomings, the wild halo of sunshine blonde hair and the creamy skin revealed by the camisole was fetching. He let out a slow breath before taking a long swallow of the bitter liquid. Showed what going too long without could do to a man. He’d fix that first chance he got, and it damn sure wouldn’t be in here.

Her hands were still clenched into small fists, and Bram gained the distinct impression she wanted to hit someone. When she turned her head and unerringly met his gaze, hers hot with challenge, a small grin tugged at his mouth. No doubt who she had in mind.

“Hey, Silas. I think you’re lying outta your ass. This here gal ain’t trained.” The drunken bellow sounded over the hoots and catcalls.

An expansive smile did little to mute the hard glitter in the slave trainer’s muddy brown eyes. The man spread his arms. “Just a little shy. This one, gentlemen, is different. She is, as you so astutely noted, still in need of some refining, yet she will obey any direct order. Hold, gal.” As if on an invisible leash, the woman jolted to a halt. “Watch.”

Fear flashed across her face.

Bram straightened. Without looking, he set the beer on the bar.

Auctions were considered one of the tamer forms of entertainment in the Territories, and one he made a point of avoiding, but there was something about this auction that rasped across Bram’s nerves like a dull knife. Wasn’t the fear on the woman’s face. No, out here on the fringes of what passed for civilization, fear was a fact of life. Same as breathing. Wasn’t that, but something else. Something he didn’t like seeing on any woman’s face.

Pain.

Coating the fear was an agony so strong he could taste it.

“Gal, kneel.”

Once again, her gaze sought his.

Goddammit, why did she keep looking at him like she expected him to help? Couldn’t she tell he was the last man she should turn to? Feeling cornered and mean, he gave a sharp, negative shake of his head to her unspoken question.

Bram closed his eyes on the sudden tightness in his chest. But he couldn’t close out the stark whiteness of her face, or what he could swear was bone-deep disappointment in her eyes. When he opened his, she knelt on the stage, her bottom facing the audience.

“Untie your petticoats.”

Long, elegant fingers, a visible tremble in them, worked on the side fastenings. A shudder went through the too-slender form.

Sickness swept through Bram’s stomach. Didn’t have to read the book to know what was coming next. Calling himself every kind of fool for caring, Bram moved. He used his height and bulk to clear a path. Three more steps. Just three more steps and he’d be close enough to leap onto the stage. Already he could feel the slimy trainer’s throat beneath his fingers.

“Push ʼem down.”

Silence rushed over the crowd as the frothy material slid down inch by inch to reveal a perfect heart-shaped behind clad only in bloomers so paper-tissue thin they might as well not be there.

Bram froze mid step. A low curse escaped him. Visible through the material, a single bright red lash mark marred the perfection of the pale buttocks.

Catcalls and obscene suggestions shook the rafters. The sound uprooted Bram’s boots. He reached the edge of the stage just as the trainer ordered, “Position four.”

Long, rounded, not-at-all-skinny thighs parted. Slow, as if she fought the command all the way. Down, down, she went until her forehead touched the scuffed wood of the floor.

“I guarantee she’s a genuine virgin, gentlemen. Imagine. You can bind her with your word alone. No matter how rough you take her or how much you hurt her, she will not fight.” An oily smile smeared across Silas Trainer’s face. “Unless, of course, you like ʼem to fight.” He winked. “In that case, just give the order.” He stroked a finger down the crease separating the surprisingly plump globes.

Another shudder went through her.

Instant fury roared through Bram.

Each finger. He was going to break each fucking finger.

“She never sucked Cal,” the same drunk called out. “You’re lyin’ to us to get the bids higher.”

“Never, gentlemen, and I shall prove it. Cal, being the last high bidder and desirous of a demonstration, shall have it. Up Dissonance. Go to Cal. These gentlemen want to see what they’ll get for their money.”

The slave staggered to her feet. She turned her head, scanned over the panting, leering mob to the back of the bar.

Bram knew with sure instinct she looked for him.

Her shoulders slumped. Without protest, she stepped out of the mass of petticoats and stumbled toward the sitting man.

Guilt sucker-punched Bram in the gut.

“Stop.” The word was out of his mouth before his brain even got into gear.

The woman swayed to a standstill. Unmistakable relief eased the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes. The belief in that gaze, when it met his, staggered Bram.

Damn it all to hell.

Putting one large hand on the stage, Bram leapt up in a smooth, graceful motion. The trainer took a quick step back, a wary flicker in his mud-colored eyes.

“How much?” Awareness and an inexplicable heat prickled down Bram’s spine, and he knew without looking that she watched him. He’d never had such an intense reaction to a woman in his life. Bram wasn’t sure he liked it. Not sure one little bit. Life was much less complicated when a man could walk away without looking back.

“W-what do you mean?”

Bram leaned a little closer. “I said how much. How much do you want for her?”

The smaller man gripped the lapels of his poorly cut jacket, and puffed out his chest like a banty rooster. Two fingers of his left hand lifted. Bram didn’t miss the small movement. Nor the fact that at the signal several rough, powerful men moved in from the sidelines.

Bram ignored them for the moment and focused on the man in front of him. Goddamn, it chapped his ass that he’d sunk to the level of buying a woman.

Some things, once done, couldn’t be undone. He knew. Knew the cost and knew the consequences of taking just one step past what your conscience would allow.

He also knew, right at this moment, the slave had forgotten he’d stayed to watch them auction her off like so much cattle on the hoof. What would she think if she found out he’d done worse things in his life? Much worse. Would the miner, or even Trainer, not look so bad then?

Evidently, just the knowledge the bouncers were closing in stiffened the smaller man’s backbone. “Get back in the audience and bid like everyone else. These men are waiting for a demonstration.” He swept his arm out. “Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

“Damn straight. Get your ass down, cowboy,” came the shout.

“I said, how much?” His low words carried despite the noise. It was the idiot’s own fault if he didn’t recognize the threat underlying the soft question. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cal start to rise.

Bram drew and fired his gun in one seamless move. The bullet hit right between the man’s legs. Splinters from the wooden chair imbedded themselves in the miner’s thighs. Face pasty and slack with shock, he sat.

Silas Trainer wiped a hand over his forehead. He no longer looked so confident. “He bid fifty dollars.”

Damn liar. More like twenty. Bram didn’t call the trainer on the exaggeration as his ears picked up renewed rumbling from the crowd. His back teeth ground together. If he wanted to get out of there without a full-fledged brawl, he needed to seal the deal.

“Put your petticoats on, lady,” he said without turning his head. Not that it’d made a lick of difference. The image of her in the threadbare garments was already seared into his memory. He scowled. As it was for every cowboy, miner, and man jack in the place.

Always ready to take offense, and not yet ready to have their fun ended, several dirty, unkempt cowboys climbed onto the stage as the woman obeyed his terse command. Before Bram could react, a shotgun sounded behind the crowd.

Everyone froze as if one of the rare ice storms had sleeted down from the sky.

“Back in your seats, gentlemen.” Irony laced the stranger’s last word.

Bram didn’t recognize the voice. Didn’t really care who it was as long as he was on his side. “Get me a table,” he called out.

A lean, blond man stepped out of the shadows. In one hand he held a small, round table. A shotgun rested in the crook of the other arm. He pushed through the motley collection of cowboys, miners, gamblers and townsfolk, and tossed the table onto the dais before jumping up after it. Though he didn’t smile, his hazel eyes were amused. “Somebody piss in your beer?”

“Lookin’ to find out?” Bram growled.

“Nope.”

“Then shut up and witness this bill of sale.”

“I will have you arrested.” Silas’s hand, the left one, crept inside his jacket.

“Unless you’re looking to wind up planted six foot deep, I suggest you take your hand off that derringer.” Never failed. No good deed went unpunished. Getting involved was a fucking pain in the ass.

“She belongs to me. The law says so.”

“The law won’t do squat,” Bram broke in, his finger itching on the trigger. As God was his witness, he just knew he was going to regret not plugging the little weasel. Bram pulled three platinum coins from his left shirt pocket and slapped them down on the table.

You could have heard an ant crawl, it was that silent. And Bram knew exactly why; the unique pieces, each worth more than a year’s wages for the average cowboy, branded him a federal bounty hunter.

When Harker’s Hell was settled, old Harker discovered that people will be people. And that meant there wasn’t a law made that wouldn’t get broken. He’d discovered something else, too. This new world was a damn big place. Too damn big to issue a warrant and then haul their asses back to Lil’ Washington, the new territorial capital, to stand trial.

But Bram had to give those earlier bounty hunters credit, they’d tried. Thirty-five lost their lives before those early settlers gave into the inevitable.

Once an arrest warrant was issued, the bounty hunter could hold trial wherever he found the wanted man. No jurors need apply. If found guilty, the person was taken to the nearest town to carry out the punishment, usually a hanging, or executed on the spot.

Most were executed on the spot.

In some cases, the trial had already taken place and all that was left was the killing.

There was a reason people like him were paid so well.

Bram swept a glance over the crowd. Not one man met his eyes. Cowards. Wanted his services to keep them safe but would spit behind his back.

His shoulder blades itched. She was staring. His back tightened. Now she knew. He waited for her gasp of shock but refused to turn. The thought of witnessing the usual disgust and fear that filled most women’s eyes once they learned his profession unsettled him.

Silence. Nothing but silence.

Something in Bram relaxed, not much, but enough for him to breathe.

Silas Trainer licked his lips and reached for the heavy discs.

Bram thumbed the hammer.

At the loud click, Silas’s hand froze, mid-air.

“Not so fast.” Still using his left hand, Bram dug into the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder and pulled out a tally book. He tore out a sheet of paper and shoved it, and a whittled-down nub of a pencil, across the table. “First, the bill of sale.” He showed his teeth. “Just so it’s all legal like. Wouldn’t want the new marshal to get the wrong idea,” he drawled.

“You don’t need a bill of sale.” The other man couldn’t take his eyes off the huge sum sitting in the middle of the table. He snapped his fingers. “Come here, gal.”

She shuffled over to them.

Bram found himself watching her. A frown tugged at his brows. She moved as if each step hurt. He noted the moment she noticed his attention. Her chin lifted, the gesture as haughty as the Territorial governor’s wife. He grinned and crooked his finger, motioning her closer.

There. There was the fire he’d first seen in her eyes. This one didn’t like orders. Not one little bit.

All amusement fled as she drew closer and a faint evergreen fragrance sent blood rushing to his groin. He silently cursed his unruly prick, the woman who’d gotten him into this mess, and the too-knowing gleam in the blond cowboy’s eyes.

Silas yanked down a strap of the slave’s camisole, baring most of a tender upper slope of breast. He held out one hand and a short, cadaverously lean man rushed from behind the curtain. Giving Bram a fearful glance, he shoved a small object into Silas’s hand and rushed back off the stage.

Silas held up a small branding iron. It was like nothing Bram had ever before seen. The trainer manipulated one end, changing the shape of the brand. “Just tell me how to make it.” Trainer snapped his fingers again, and the skeleton man rushed out with a small brazier filled with glowing coals. The branding iron glowed red-hot in the blink of an eye. Hot enough to scorch a deep groove in a hunk of wood.

Hot enough to scar tender skin for life.

Her small gasp ricocheted through Bram with the impact of a splintered bullet. She seemed to shrink in on herself. He couldn’t blame her. The brand wasn’t intended for him and his skin shrank instinctively. “Unless you want that branding iron shoved up your ass, you will write me out a bill of sale and sign it.”

“Friend, you don’t understand. I’ll just brand her and amend her record at the Registry to reflect her change in ownership.”

“I want a bill of sale with your signature, my signature,” he aimed a thumb to his left, “and his signature as witness. Do you understand, friend?” Ice coated each word.

“Uh, yes. Not a problem.” Silas bent over the paper, scribbling rapidly.

Not trusting the trainer as far as he could piss, Bram studied the scrawl carefully. Once he’d read every word, he signed it. He slid the paper over to the cowboy. The blond read the bill of sale before he, too, signed it. Bram folded the document with his left hand before tucking it inside his shirt. The gun in his right never once wavered.

“Time to move,” the blond cowboy said out of the corner of his mouth. He gave a sideways nod at three of the bouncers positioning themselves in front of the batwing doors nearest the stage. A shaft of sunlight glinted off the set of brass knuckles on one man’s hand. From the increased muttering, it was easy to see that the mood of the drunken spectators and bidders was again leaning toward a fight.

“Shit.”

“Descriptive, but not very helpful. Any suggestions?” The blond shifted, keeping an eye on the last two bouncers.

Next time he got the bright idea to interfere, he’d get someone to shoot his ass. It’d be less trouble. Across from him, Silas Trainer scooped the coins into a cupped palm.

Bram grinned. Faster than a striking snake, he snatched one from Silas’s sweaty hand.

“Hey, boys. Drinks are on me.” He flipped the heavy platinum over their heads, the coin flashing as it caught the meager light. The bartender lifted one meaty arm and snatched it out of the air.

“Bounty hunter trash,” Silas hissed, clutching the two remaining coins against his chest.

Bram ignored him.

Men surged towards the bar, shouting and calling out their preferences, trapping the saloon’s bouncers and making them useless. Off to one side, lit by the open door of the office, Ned Hansom stood cursing, rage and frustration on his face. He motioned sharply to a couple men loitering near the door. They started pushing their way through the crowd, aiming directly for Bram.

Bram tipped the brim of his hat at Hansom, an insolent smile curving his lips. On the scale of things, it wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

“That doesn’t look like a man who’ll soon forget you outwitted him,” the cowboy warned, his palm cradling the barrel of the shotgun so he could swing it up at a moment’s notice.

“Counting on it,” Bram said.

“Sounds personal.”

“It is.”

“Well, as fascinating as this conversation is, he’ll have the last laugh if we don’t get moving.”

Bram wrapped one hand just above the woman’s elbow, conscious of the smooth skin and delicate muscle beneath his callused palm. Her cheeks pinkened. Had she felt the same tingle of energy that cascaded through him the moment his skin touched hers?

The cowboy cleared his throat, making Bram aware he’d been standing there like an addlepated fool. He hardened his expression, determined not to let her get under his skin again. Once they were out of the saloon and away from Trainer, he’d get shut of her so fast it’d set her bloomers afire. He opened his mouth to tell— what the hell was her name again? Something stupid sounding. Ah, screw it. “Let’s go.”

She stood there.

Irritation flashed through Bram. “Move it, lady, unless you plan on getting us all killed.”

Awareness flared in her eyes, eyes he now saw were the color of aged whiskey.

Bram yanked, pulling her in the direction of the curtain and the rear exit. He knew he was leaving marks but, dammit, he’d really rather not kill someone today. Or have his hide ventilated again.

His anger had nothing at all to do with the fact his palm still tingled.

Once out on the sidewalk, Bram slowed the pace. He kept his hand on—damn, what was her name?—the slave’s arm.

Harsh afternoon sunlight beat down on the weathered wood. Here and there, warped boards had popped their nails, forming traps for the unwary. He guided her around an older couple coming toward them, not surprised when the other woman drew her skirt to the side as they neared.

Was it his reputation or his appearance? Bram ran his hand over the three-day stubble on his face. The rough whiskers rasped against his palm. He swore under his breath. He hadn’t intended to come to town today so hadn’t bothered to shave.

He gave a slight nod and watched the woman’s gaze skitter away. The man pulled her closer to his side as they passed.

His reputation, then.

“You do have a knack for making friends wherever you go, don’t you?” The blond cowboy leaned across the woman sandwiched between them and offered his hand. “Stone.”

That slow drawl, filled with amusement, was beginning to get on Bram’s nerves. He wondered if it was impolite to shoot the man who helped you. With a true sigh of regret, he decided it probably was.

“It’s a gift.” He eyed the hand a moment longer, then shook it. “Spencer.” The too-wide grin he received in return made him instantly regret the gesture.

The feel of a warm female body crowding up next to his side, as they entered the respectable part of town, took his mind from the irritating cowboy and put it firmly back on the problem of what to do with her. Before he could decide, Bram became aware of the attention they were garnering; the sideways glances, the uneasy drawing away, suddenly reminded him the woman was clad only in her unmentionables, and those scandalous, at best.

He lengthened his stride, intent on hustling her to the livery so he could stash her out of sight while he found her some clothes. She couldn’t stay out on the street dressed as she was. First drunk cowboy who came along would try to claim her and then he’d have to shoot him. The marshal would never forgive him for causing a ruckus on the main street.

Struggling to keep up with him, she shot him a glare when she almost tripped. “Slow down.” Then she clamped her lips together, fine lines forming beside her mouth.

With a sigh, Bram slowed his pace to one she could manage comfortably. It suddenly struck Bram as odd that she hadn’t spoken until now. He shrugged. At least she wasn’t chewing his ass out.

“Hansom won’t be the only one after you, you know.” Stone put a finger to the dusty brim of his hat as an older woman and her young daughter passed. The girl giggled, only to be hastily hushed. He flashed her a smile. The woman rushed her daughter inside the closest establishment. The shop bell jangled furiously behind them.

“Silas? The man has no cause to complain.”

“You stole one of the coins back from him. You don’t think he’s a mite perturbed by that?”

“Hell, no.” Bram lowered his voice as a passerby’s shocked gasp floated back on the hot, still air. He peered around the slave squeezed between them, canting his head so he could see under the brim of the cowboy’s hat. “Why should he? I made him rich. He made more off this one sale than he could in two years. Hell, three years.”

“You made him look the fool. Man doesn’t abide that. Not if he wants to keep his reputation.”

Heat brushed Bram’s arm as the woman tried to burrow into his shadow. The wild profusion of sunshine curls, partially caught back in a loose knot, hid most of her face, but the little he could see was beet red. Couldn’t be helped. His duster was in the wagon and he didn’t think shucking out of his worn, faded woolen shirt would ease her embarrassment. If anything, it’d call more notice to her. Big as he was, walking about shirtless would be like trying to hide a draft horse among mice. He put his arm around her and hauled her up against his side, offering her what concealment he could.

Despite her being a bit of nothing, she fit against him as if she belonged there. And despite knowing he shouldn’t, Bram pulled her closer. That faint scent of evergreen grew stronger, almost pushing out the other, unpleasant odors of daily life.

Chimara, in the heart of Dodge Territory, was a typical frontier town. Well, not exactly typical. It was rougher, dirtier, and uglier than most any other town. It was hell on women and children.

It suited him to a tee.

With an effort, Bram ignored the woman plastered up against his side and picked up his thread of conversation with Stone. “Be more of a fool if he comes after me and he knows it.”

“You forced him to sign a bill of sale.”

“So?”

“Just speculating, you understand. But what if there were rumors of slaves sold, new owners murdered, and records never amended.”

They stepped off the sidewalk briefly. As they passed an alley, the overpowering smell of manure, heat, and garbage spilled out.

“Quit dancing around. What are you trying to tell me?”

“That you humiliated him. That the transaction isn’t worth the piece of paper it’s written on if you’re dead. That there is only one way to protect your new property.”

“She’s not property,” Bram growled.

“In the eyes of the law, she is.” The blond whistled, a tuneless, one-note melody that Bram instantly wanted to shove back down his throat.

His muscles tightened and his gut burned. “How?”

“Marriage.”

Bram slammed to a halt causing a small squawk of feminine protest. He shoved the cowboy up against the false front of the mercantile. The old, rough-cut boards scraped his palms and sent splinters into his flesh as he cornered him there. Bram barely felt them. “What did you say?”

“Marriage. You know, vows spoken before a minister, judge or Justice of the Peace. I do’s and promises of love, honor, and obey. You are familiar with the concept, right?” Stone taunted softly, not seeming to notice the imminent danger he was in.

“I am not getting married,” Bram stated. No. He was not the marrying kind. If he wanted to dip his wick, he’d go find a whore. “I’ll give her her freedom.”

“And Silas will have her back before nightfall.”

“I’ll kill the bastard first.” Maybe he should just shoot the son of a bitch anyway. Save some other poor soul from Silas’s tender mercies.

“You can’t set her free.”

“Why the hell not?” While he was at it, he’d shoot Stone, too. Just because. The thought cheered Bram immensely.

“I thought you knew the law. You’re a bounty hunter, right?”

The damn cowboy didn’t have to make it sound like he was an imbecile, Bram thought, getting even more riled. And was that laughter he saw in his eyes? He stared at the man, waiting. Stone stared back.

Hell, he was going to have to ask.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” the cowboy asked, the picture of innocence.

Right between the eyes. No, that was too quick. The balls. He’d shoot the smug son of a bitch in the balls. See how funny he found that.

The cowboy cocked one eyebrow.

“Tell me why I can’t give her freedom,” Bram gritted between set teeth. “I bought her. She’s mine. I can set her free if I want.”

“Nope. ʼFraid not. Are you sure you’re a bounty hunter?”

Dumb cowboy just didn’t know when to stop prodding. He’d been tolerant up ʼtil now. He hadn’t put a bullet in the cowboy, knocked his teeth down his throat, or even scratched him with a knife. This is what a man got for being so easy going. “Was a bounty hunter. And made damn sure I never hunted bounty on slaves.” One more chance, and then his conscience was clear.

“A slave cannot buy freedom, be set free, or in any other fashion become a free person. Except…,” he drawled.

Marriage.

The word hovered between them.

Bram’s curse blistered the hot, dry air as he accepted the inevitable.

“It’s the only way to protect her.” The hazel eyes became serious. “Unless she is bound to you in marriage, she’s free game to every slaver out there if you’re out of the picture. Silas Trainer registers every slave he gets. The man doesn’t even have to kill you to regain his property. All he needs to do is steal her. I guarantee you he’ll have another bill of sale, this one selling her back to him.”

Bram straightened and yanked his hat off his head. He speared his fingers through overly long hair. He truly hated being backed into a corner. “Okay. Say you’re right. What’s to stop Silas or some other trainer from shooting me and claiming her?” Tightness cinched down on Bram’s chest. He didn’t harbor any illusions. He’d make a lousy husband. Hell, anyone with a lick of sense could take one look at him and see that.

Since shortly after its founding, there’d been only one immutable law on Harker’s; once you were married, you stayed married. He couldn’t just marry the slave and let her go her own way, either. He’d be sentencing her to a half-life as neither wife nor single woman. Here, family was everything.

Eyes curious, Stone explained. “Because once married, a person is exempt from slavery for the rest of his or her natural life. Every marriage record is sent to the Registry in Lil’ Washington, along with a tintype and fingerprints, and matched against the slave lists. If a match is found, their slave record is wiped clean. Same as all new slave contracts are compared to the marriage registry; if someone is found to be married or has been married, the contract is rendered null and void. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Damn, he now wish he’d bothered to learn how the Registry worked, but he’d decided at fifteen to never get married. And he sure as hell had never thought to own a slave.

“Why do you think they wrote the law that way?” Stone continued. “With the stigma attached to being a slave, how many folks do you think would marry one? How many men or women of your acquaintance would take a spouse who’s spread their legs for half the town?”

The steel jaws of the trap snapped shut.

He wanted to slam his fist into the side of the building. He turned to the silent woman. She faced away from him, arms around her middle, and the beauty of that pale, next to bare back tightened something low in his gut. So unlike his hide, which was darkened and toughened by wind, rain and the brutal lash of the suns.

She turned slowly to face him. Bram’s mouth went dry at the large nipples visible through the thin cotton. They were deep pink. Blood rushed to his cock. The damn thing had never fully deflated. At this rate, he’d be walking doubled over.

“Well?” Shit. He hadn’t meant to growl the question.

Before she could answer, boot heels rang out on the wooden sidewalk. The faint, musical jingle of spurs accompanied each measured step.

Sonovabitch. Just what he needed to make his day complete. Bram didn’t have to turn to know who stood behind him. Micah Coulter, friend, fellow bounty hunter, and brand-new federally appointed marshal of Chimara.

Fate was a bitch and she had it in for him. That was the only explanation. He braced himself and faced his friend.

“Bram.” The marshal tipped his head first at Bram, and then Stone. “I see you caught up with him.”

Bram frowned, but Micah was speaking again, diverting his attention.

“Mind telling me what is going on? I have half a dozen good folks complaining about the shenanigans going on right in the middle of town in broad daylight. Way I hear it, you two are having congress with this lady”—he nodded at the woman beside Bram—“right out on the sidewalk.”

Bram put his arm around the still silent woman next to him as Micah gave her a slow, head-to-toe perusal, lingering a moment too long on the mouth-watering nipples revealed by the thin muslin. Micah might be his best friend, but both eyes were about to be blackened if he didn’t quit staring.

“From the state of her clothes, or lack thereof, looks like they might be right.” A gust of wind blew Micah’s long, blue-black hair as he waited to hear Bram’s explanation.

Bram ground his back teeth. Micah would laugh himself sick if he knew the truth.

Stone, the bastard, opened his mouth before Bram could think of a lie Micah would buy.

“Couldn’t be farther from the truth, Marshal.” He stuck both thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, and rocked back on his heels. “We were discussing marriage.”

A frown creased Micah’s brow. “Marriage?” He looked from Bram to the woman now pressed up to Bram’s side, amazement in the depths of his dark, almost black eyes.

Micah knew Bram’s taste in women. Usually, it was busty brunettes with enough meat on their bones a man wouldn’t get poked. Not puny little blondes with more hair than curves.

“Marriage,” Bram confirmed.

Micah’s frown deepened. He wouldn’t let it go. The man was like a dog with a bone. Only thing to do was pony up and confess. Bram tightened his arm, pulling her even closer. He didn’t like the way the woman was so quiet. In his experience, that meant either she was up to something or about to cry. He cringed inwardly. Rather have her try to slit his throat than weep all over him. Just in case, he rubbed his fingers over her hip, trying to reassure her. “I bought her over at Hansom’s. From a trainer named Silas.”

Micah’s gaze sharpened. “You were at a slave auction?”

He made it sound as if Bram had claimed Hell had opened and spewed forth the Sunday choir. “Stopped in for a drink.”

“In Hansom’s?” One dark brow arched.

“Yes,” he replied shortly, not willing to get into it in the middle of town. Micah knew he suspected Ned Hansom was behind the attacks on Bram’s ranch.

“But, marriage?”

Bram shot a glare at the still grinning cowboy. “According to your friend here, the law says I can’t let her go free.”

Micah nodded as if that made sense. “So you’re going to keep her.”

“I’m going to keep her.” Bram remembered the woman in question hadn’t answered. “If she wants to be kept.”

Amazon Print: http://tinyurl.com/ojx82j2

Kindle US: http://tinyurl.com/nvask8q
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/kgtxwuj
Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/k2kv9rt
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/ocy4rjj

Hey! A Great Sale

2014-06-13T15:03:00.002-07:00

On Sale .99 at Amazon and Barnes & Noble

June 13-15, 2014

A MEASURED RISK

By Natasha Blackthorne

Book one in the Regency Risks Series

He is her most dangerous temptation, the only man she has ever trusted and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?

Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband’s life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longs to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel, as she senses intuitively that he might be able to teach her how to overcome the terrors that hold her in bondage.

And now she’s willing to risk almost anything—her reputation, even her virtue—to find out.

But what Lord Ruel proposes startles her.

When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approaches him, Lord Ruel instantly senses she will be the sweetest, most submissive experience of his life—but first he must gain her complete trust. Lord Ruel makes Lady Cranfield a non-negotiable offer: His help in return for her submission and obedience.

But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She’s learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.

How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through Lady Cranfield’s self-defences and show her how to love when he himself has spent his life avoiding that tender trap?

Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW ~ Regency Historical ~ Shy Heroine ~ Novel Length 86,000 Words . Contains graphic erotic descriptions and frank sexual language. As a work of historical romance fiction, A Measured Risk is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of modern BDSM lifestyles.

About Natasha Blackthorne:

Escape into the past with intensely erotic, emotionally driven love stories. Natasha Blackthorne writes character-focused historical erotica romance featuring strong internal conflicts. Her stories are most frequently about the intimate journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.

Her heroines are not perfect ladies. They are wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden. Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return.

Giveaway:

Enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card. The giveaway is open to all current USA residents who are aged 18 or older. Please fill out the Rafflecopter below. By entering to win, you are stating that it is legal for you to enter such contests where you currently reside. Giveaway ends: 12 AM Eastern Time on June 30, 2014.

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New Release! Woo hoo!

2014-06-11T14:31:00.001-07:00

It's been a long haul but I am over the moon that DISOBEDIENCE will finally see the light of day. Whew. Release day is June 16th.

Harker’s Hell. Early settlers thought they’d found a western re-creationist’s heaven. Instead this new world became a hellish version of the Old West.

And now the seeds of long-ago conflict are stirring to life…

BETRAYED—FORCED INTO OBEDIENCE

Dissonance Walker is in a world of trouble. Sold by her parents for the price of a cookstove, she is used as a lab rat by a secret organization. Even though her ability to disobey was ripped away by a brutal experiment, she isn’t ready to give up. When she escapes her captors, Dissonance believes the worst is over. She’s dead wrong. She’s captured again…and this time, sold as a pleasure slave.

The key to reversing the experiment lies hidden in the stretch of arid waste called the Badlands. Only the too-sexy bounty hunter who bought her stands in her way.

HE LOOKED LIKE HE PICKED HIS TEETH WITH THE BONES OF HIS ENEMIES

Bram Spencer is sure the heat has baked his brains. With his friend murdered and his ranch under attack, he has a little unfinished business he needs to attend. Buying some fool woman because she pokes at scabs he thought long healed hadn’t been part of the plan. Then he discovers the only way to set her free is to marry her.

Secrets have a long life. Sometimes decades. Now the past is about to slam into the present. Only trust in each other can save them from a shocking evil…but trust is a hard commodity to come by on the frontier.

Only 11 More Days Until The In Shadows Contest Closes

2013-07-21T12:33:00.000-07:00

Only eleven days left to polish up and submit the first five pages of your manuscript. Judges are published authors and first prize is a complete manuscript critique!

Check out the rules here: http://inshadowswritingcontest.blogspot.com/

Spotlight on Brynna Curry!

2012-06-25T09:32:00.000-07:00

I am delight to spotlight Brynna Curry. For those of you not familiar with Brynna and her Elemental Magic series let me give you a little taste of her latest book, Fire's Ice.

Blurb: Ultimate power, or endless love?

Born the son of a Scottish laird a thousand years ago, but now trapped by his cousin's spell, Devin McLoch has seen countless battles and death. The erstwhile thief has turned away from darker pursuits to lead a life of peace, protecting those he loves and considers part of his clan. However, there is one woman he can never forget, who must be given a chance to change, to accept her heart and his.

Arianne Farrell is just as dangerous and intoxicating as her power. Imprisoned in an ancient stone dance more than a thousand years ago, her only chance at freedom from the spell is through love--a love she denied. When Devin asks for her aid to save another from imminent death, she realizes there is more at stake than just her freedom or her heart.

WARNING: Two stubborn sexy wizards using magic with no bounds, scorching love scenes, and happy ever after. Ever play with fire?

Excerpt – (Steamy)

Dark, rich chocolate colored bedding echoed the tile framing the fireplace. Dainty furniture, curved legs and soft cushions, yet the poster bed was large and sturdy. She’d seen it before while she visited his dreams. Definitely Devin’s room. And remembering didn’t help the ache snaking through her body.

Walking into the en suite, the first thing to catch her eyes was the floor-to-ceiling mirror covering one wall. Arianne studied her reflection. Her long, dark curls were mussed and tangled around a pale face. Her lips were pink and just a bit swollen from Devin’s kiss. The only thing she wore was a long white shirt. Sniffing the collar, she smelled the crisp, clean fragrance clinging to the material. His shirt, not conjured. Devin didn’t wear cologne, but the scent of his soap always stayed with her. He must have changed her clothes. What else had she missed?

Because I love you. Men were ever a puzzle. Still, hadn’t she known? The dreams they shared had changed over time, slow and sweet instead of hot and fierce. A softness came over his face each night she visited his sleep, the same one she had seen this morning. Just that look was enough to have her quaking inside.

She found a bottle of bubble bath on the side of the tub. Thanks to Devin's dreams and Allie's influence, she had knowledge of modern conveniences such as indoor plumbing. Turning the faucet on hot, Arianne poured two capfuls under the stream and let the water run until the big round tub filled. Reluctantly, she unfastened the shirt buttons and let the material fall away to the floor. Slipping into the frothy bubbles, she sighed and let the reality of her situation sink in.

I am finally out of that wretched circle. True enough, but she was still in a prison of sorts. One with running water, walls, food that didn’t taste like air, and a sexy male witch bent on driving her to frustration. Not so bad, all things considered.

Being trapped in the stone dance didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed changes in the world around her for a thousand years. She tipped her feet out of the water, waved toward them, and turned her toenails a bright fiery red. Allie brought her little things from the modern world. Mostly books filled with sweet love stories; more than a few of them brought a blush to her cheeks. What would Ryan think of his daughter’s taste in novels? Better not to head down that road. Allie had dreams of being a writer like her aunt and uncle. If what she liked to read was any indication, she’d write hot. Very hot. Speaking of hot, a soft tapping sounded at the door. Her maddening laird had returned.

“Okay in there?” His voice sounded hesitant. “Breakfast is ready.”Time to ruffle the phoenix’s feathers a bit. “There is no need to be shy, Devin. You can come in.”

*****

The sound of splashing water rippled past his ears. Temptress.

Knowing Ari was just on the other side of the door, naked and wet, willing to succumb to every fantasy he could imagine, was a torment in itself. All he had to do was accept her sultry invitation and toss aside his plan. But she deserved a sweet slide into love, not the wild, mad rush of pleasure he craved. One palm rested on the door of its own volition, ready to comply. Not yet. Now, if only his traitorous body would listen to his heart. “That depends, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” she called out from the other side. “On what?”

Devin chuckled at the line, but he just couldn’t resist teasing her. “What are you wearing?”

She laughed. “Bubbles. Lots of bubbles. Share them with me.”

He saw it so clearly. Ari’s creamy skin peeking through the frothy bubbles. Open, welcoming. Need clawed under the skin, screamed at him. Why the hell not? Feeling a quiver of desire vibrate through his body, he called her bluff. “And what would you have me do with those bubbles? Hmm, Ari?”

“Oh, I am sure you could think of something. Something deliciously wicked. I have shared your dreams. I know your fantasies, Devin.”

Oh, you have no idea. His mind made up, Devin opened the door.

She lay in his huge garden tub, feet propped up on the rim, eyes closed, waterfall of black hair piled on top of her head. A soft smile graced her face. So she was enjoying their teasing banter. “Have you changed your mind and decided to join me?”

“Maybe.” No reason he couldn’t push them both to the edge. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, Devin tossed it into the corner. He laid his cellphone on the sink--out of danger--kneeled by the edge of the tub and dipped one hand into cooling water, using his magic to heat it.

“Mmm. Nice.”

He let his voice drop to a whisper as he leaned close to her ear. “I want to slick my hands over every inch of your skin until you shiver from the heat.” His fingers found the back of her knee in the water and trailed higher along the inside of her thigh. “And then…”

A soft “Devin” slipped from her lips as Arianne’s eyes flew open. “And then…”

http://www.lyricalpress.com/samples/brynnacurry_firesice.html

Author Bio: Paranormal romance and romantic suspense author Brynna Curry is a lifelong believer in the importance of reading. She enjoys the writing process, helping others hone their craft by lending her time to review books, critique manuscripts and serving as a contest judge. She loves hearing from her readers.

When she isn’t writing, she’s often found haunting the library for new books to read, at the park with her children, or just spending an quiet evening at home with her husband Jackie watching old westerns on TV. She makes her home in North Alabama where the history is rich with music and culture, forests and lakes are abundant and beautiful, and every day is another adventure.

Visit her at www.brynnacurry.com.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brynna-Curry/123687767669232

Twitter: @BrynnaCurry http://twitter.com/#!/brynnacurry

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Brynna-Curry/e/B0043WRLUS

B&N.com: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/brynna-curry

Sony: http://ebookstore.sony.com/author/brynna-curry_135783

Stop by and chat with Brynna on June 26th!

Surrender's Mischief is here!

2011-09-02T07:53:00.000-07:00

What if a battle of the sexes became a turning of the tables?

When Darias takes Riana as slave he demands her obedience. She demands his surrender.

Surrender's Mischief releases today with Ellora's Cave.

1 Day and Counting

2011-09-01T06:44:00.000-07:00

Just one more day before release!

Riana turned the key in the massive, old-fashioned lock in the office door. She rested her forehead against the cool wood, hoping it would soothe the throbbing in her temples. She placed both palms flat against the door and let it support her weight. What was he thinking?

2 Days and Counting

2011-08-31T08:18:00.000-07:00

The sheer raw power in the low words raised the hair on the back of her neck. But it was the pain buried beneath the harsh whisper that caused her heart to ache.

3 Days and counting

2011-08-30T10:03:00.000-07:00

Riana straightened her slumping shoulders when she caught the familiar sight of Darias standing by the glass doors then realized he hadn’t heard her enter. She took the opportunity to study him. One hand rested beside his head as he stared out the open door into the garden. There was a pensive look to the strong, masculine features. As she watched, he closed his eyes for a moment. She thought she saw a flash of pain on his face but couldn’t be sure in the subdued lighting.

4 Days and Counting

2011-08-29T08:30:00.000-07:00

“I will make punishment private if you cease this foolishness and apologize in front of my warriors.”

She answered him with a backhand across the mouth that split his lip.

Darias wiped the smear of blood away then stared at the drop of bright red glistening on his fingers. He lifted his gaze, utterly impassive. “I’ll take that as a no.” He lashed out with his forearm.

Copyright (c) 2011 by Alvania Scarborough

5 Days and Counting

2011-08-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

She stood there, panic in her ice-green eyes. Her hands clenched and unclenched by her sides as if she wasn’t quite sure whether to flee or lash out in a futile attempt to stop him.

Good. Finally she understood the enormity of her error. Mayhap, his life could get back to normal.

Copyright (c) 2011 by Alvania Scarborough

6 Days and Counting

2011-08-27T08:39:00.000-07:00

He grabbed her wrist and moved her hand away from his chest. His men were right. She had too much power over him. If he let her, she would make him, in fact, soft. These were perilous times, even a perceived weakness could be dangerous.

To him…and to Nexar.

“Go to our garden and await me there.”

Pure fury flashed in her eyes before she shuttered her gaze. “I thought you were many things, my lord, but I never took you for a coward.” Her spine straight, her head held high, she turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her with a force that made the solid planks shudder on their hinges.

Copyright (c) 2011 by Alvania Scarborough

7 Days and Counting

2011-08-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

Surrender's Mischief releases September 2nd, and I thought I'd post a snippet a day.

Darias to Riana:

“You didn’t learn the one thing you should have.”

She tilted her head back so she could meet his eyes as he crossed to stand directly in front of her. “And what’s that? My place as slave?”

“To shut your mouth.”

Available Now - Sea's Sorceress by Brynna Curry

2011-08-22T08:51:00.000-07:00

My friend and critique partner has a wonderful paranormal romance series out called Elemental Magic. The latest release is Sea's Sorceress. Run by and check it out at www.lyricalpress.com/brynna_curry

Sea's Sorceress

Brynna Curry

Lyrical Press

Available Now

Sometimes love comes along at the most inconvenient times...

Skye Corrigan treasures family above all else. Standing by his best

friend Rhia while she suffers the heartache of losing her father to

cancer has strengthened their childhood bond. Lately Rhia affects him in ways she never has before.

Rhiannon O'Malley shares Skye's past and hopes for a future with him, but love must come with a willing heart. Her father's terminal illness has left her in charge of the family pub. Skye has always been there for her, but when their relationship changes, will she find the courage to claim the future? Or will a thousand-year-old curse keep its grip on two hostage hearts?

Warning: Steamy love scenes, adult language

Surrender's Mischief

2011-08-19T16:26:00.000-07:00

Coming September 2, 2011 from Ellora's Cave

Darias, Supreme Chief of Nexar, is tired. When the offworlder crashes on his planet, he takes her as slave, hoping to gain some respite in her sleek, sexy body. Instead he finds himself confronted by a woman whose tongue is as sharp as his blade. Worse, her outrageous beliefs on the roles of females are spreading, causing unrest among both sexes and damaging his tenuous control over an already unsettled populace. It’s time to tame his fiery captive. Darias demands her complete obedience.

But Riana demands his surrender. An independent trader with her pick of handsome, accomplished lovers, Riana has the sector by the tail until her cargo ship is caught in a fierce ion storm and crashes on a planet filled with barbarians. Taken slave, she gets a crash course in living life without her most precious possession—her freedom. Used to getting herself out of tight situations, Riana won’t go down without a battle. The too-sexy warrior is about to have the tables turned him.

The battle of the sexes just took a twist.

Publisher’s Note: This title was previously published elsewhere but has been extensively revised for Ellora’s Cave.

Short Excerpt:

“Surrender.”

A deep voice murmured the command in Riana’s ear as hard hands wrapped leather manacles around her wrists. Groggy, disoriented from the crash of her sleek, small ship, the word was slow to penetrate. When it did, pure instinct took over. She slammed her knee upward, catching the man beside her on the side of the head.

He grunted, his fingers slipping from the buckle on the manacle.

Riana scrambled to her feet, ignoring the burning pain in her knee. Swinging her hand in a downward, backhanded fist, she caught the man just below the temple, rocking him back on his heels. Not giving him a chance to recover, she pivoted on one leg, the heel of her other foot aimed with deadly precision for the leather-clad warrior’s throat.

She might have succeeded if the ship hadn’t shifted without warning.

Riana lost her balance and landed heavily on the floor. The breath knocked out of her, she couldn’t summon the necessary strength to fight when he covered her body with his.

The metallic studs on his gauntlet bit painfully into her breastbone, and his hand circled her throat, the threat obvious—cooperate or be choked. Long silky hair, as dark as his expression, brushed her cheek, the side of her neck. His scent, hot, exotic and all male, enveloped her.

Riana shivered.

His forearm slid up slightly. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met his. She had just enough time to realize his eyes were the color of antique gold before she felt a round, metallic object just below her ear, a jolt of pain and then nothing.

Achievements for July

2011-08-07T09:06:00.000-07:00

Signed with fabulous agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates. Check.
Contracted Surrender's Mischief with Ellora's Cave. Check.
Sent edits for SM back to my eagle-eyed, and funny, editor. Check.
Went on a two day horseback trek in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. Check.
Did not catch bear, nor did bear catch me. (We went our mutually agreed upon separate ways.) Check.
Visited post office a gazillion times. Check.
Cut back jungle of rose canes. Check.
Fought battle against grasshoppers chewing on rose canes and lost. Check
Colony of dust bunnies evicted from under sofa and beds. Check.
Took time to appreciate sunrise/sunset and the deer and antelope fawns. Check.

Sun prominence

2011-07-18T10:57:00.000-07:00

http://sdo.gsfc.nasa.gov/gallery/potw.php?v=item&id=59

Intro

2011-07-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

Finally. After months of saying I was going to do it, I’ve set up a blog. I’m more lurker by nature, so it was all too easy to procrastinate. Since I’m one of those quiet people who are compulsively secretive, you won’t find any deep, dark secrets here. On the other hand, I’m also compulsively interested in a wide variety of topics. Let something catch my eye and I’m on it like a duck on a june bug. So I’ll be posting lots of interesting stuff on romance books, space, history, archeology and whatever else captures my fancy.

For instance, Florida has the longest history of ranching of any state in the United States. And those who worked cattle were traditionally called cowmen or cow hunters. If you are familiar with Florida’s dense ground growth and timbered rangeland, it’s easy to understand why. Unlike in the American West, these “cowboys” or cowmen, herded with dogs and 10-12 foot long braided whips, hence “Cracker”, and often rode smallish, rugged horses known as cracker ponies.

Many of the difficulties of Florida’s cowman faced would have been familiar to the American West cowboy. Just like the more famous cowboy, they had to fight off panthers, wolves, bear and cattle rustlers. Did I mention the range wars, posses and gunfights?

What unusual fact about where you live, or have lived, do you know?