With the release of Tall, Dark and Cowboy on November 1st, Sourcebooks is sending me around the (virtual) world on a whirlwind blog tour of all the best romance sites on the web! Most sites are offering a giveaway as well. If you’re interested in winning free books (and who isn’t?), just stop by and follow the instructions to win.

Here’s the schedule with links to my posts (links for future posts will be updated as we go):

Joanne Kennedy – Tall, Dark and Cowboy

I felt really comfortable in my new outfit from Dress Barn. The retail staff in Cheyenne is great.
 

KGWN TV Morning Show, Joanne Kennedy discussing Tall, Dark & Cowboy (after the commercial jump).

I’m also giving away two copies on the Casablanca Authors blog. To win, just go to the blog (here) and answer this question:

What’s the most unusual place you’ve ever kissed/made out/made love? If it’s a car, I want make and model. Otherwise, just dish on a few select details!

Note: You must answer the question in the comments on the Casablanca blog to win – not on this blog post. Thanks!

Freelance reporter and fiction writer Susan Gray Gose, who lives in Lander, Wyoming penned the article. She’s been managing editor of the Lander Journal, a correspondent for People magazine, an assistant editor for The Chronicle of Philanthropy, and a reporter for The News & Observer (N.C.). Her features for WyoFile are available here.

Thank you, Susan, for delicately capturing the essence of my writing and giving my readers a glimps into my life.

Chapter 1

The higher you fly, the harder you fall—and the harder reality smacks you in the butt when you land.

Lacey Bradford learned that lesson for the first time in high school, when the cheer team fumbled the catch after flinging her in the air. Hair flying, pom-poms a-flutter, she’d struck the grassy sidelines with a bone-rattling thump.

This time her fall was figurative, but it hurt just as much. Standing on the cracked macadam of a gas station in Nebraska, fishing in her purse for the last remnants of her gas money, it was hard to believe she’d gone from trophy wife to transient in one short month.

“Hey. That your dog?”

She turned to see a teenager lounging beside the mini-mart’s smudged glass door with a cigarette dangling from one hand. His hair was overlong and greasy, his jeans streaked with what appeared to be automotive grease and Cheez Doodle dust.

“Better take it if it is.” He flicked his butt into a puddle on the asphalt that was so glossy with oil Lacey half-expected it to burst into flames. “Boss said I should get rid of it.”

He nodded toward a dog standing next to the dumpster. It looked like a rat, or maybe a badger. Did they have those in Wyoming? They had all kinds of weird animals. Lacey had seen a pronghorn antelope a few miles back that looked like a cross between a deer and a prehistoric donkey.

“What do you mean, get rid of it?”

The boy shrugged and looked away as the dog collapsed and rested its whiskered chin in the dirt, sighing as if resigned to its fate. Its body was small, not much bigger than a cat’s, and its head was far too big for its body. A massively plumed tail flailed above its scrawny hind end.

Hell, if she looked like that, she’d crawl behind the dumpster and die.

Wait a minute. She did look kind of like that. Her formerly silky hair was frizzed by the heat and humidity, and her once-creamy complexion was spattered with freckles. But she was proud of the way she looked. She was a real person now—not somebody’s china doll. She’d earned her freckles and she’d wear them with pride.

“Can’t you just call the shelter?” she asked.

The kid looked at her blankly.

“You know. Animal Control?”

“Yeah, right.” He jutted his thumb toward the west. “Closest town’s Grady, and they ain’t even got people control.” He kicked the butt out of the puddle and ground it under his heel, eyeing the dog speculatively. “I’ll just, you know, get rid of it.”

He bent his knees and pointed at her. For a second she thought he was going to do some weird John Travolta disco move, but then he swiveled toward the dog, sighted down his finger, and twitched his thumb.

“Bang,” he said.

Dang. She was headed to Grady, but it was almost an hour away. If the animal rode in the car for that long it would probably infest the upholstery with mites or fleas or something.

The kid blew on the tip of his finger and shoved his hand in his pocket. She stared at him a moment, then patted her thigh and started toward her car.

“Come on, pup-dog. We’re going to Grady.”

***

A half hour later, she heard a disgruntled rumble from the backseat and checked the rearview mirror. The dog appeared to be sleeping. Or maybe he was dead—but judging from the sounds emanating from his belly, his innards were still very much alive. He sounded even worse than the car, which had frequent fits of automotive rheumatism that made it putt-putt along with all the speed and power of a Toro lawn mower. Taking the old Mustang she’d driven in high school on her road trip had seemed like a good idea—after all, it was her car, her own, not her ex-husband’s—but maybe doing a little maintenance on it over the years would have been a better one. A trip down Memory Lane should have been a smooth ride, but I-80 was an automotive ordeal pitted with potholes and scattered with stones.

The dog’s stomach rumbled again. Better pull over, she thought. Don’t want to take any chances.

Yeah, right. She steered the car to the shoulder and slid to a stop, kicking up gravel with a barely controlled skid. She was taking one heck of a chance with this whole trip. Her resolution to swear off the ill-gotten gains her husband had reaped from his real estate scams had seemed noble at first. She’d told herself she was turning over a new leaf, turning her back on the past.

But the past kept popping up like a persistent whack-a-mole she couldn’t hammer down. When she’d hit the job-hunting trail back in Conway, she discovered she’d become an overnight pariah. Nobody would hire the ex-wife of the man who’d cheated half the town. Then Wade Simpson had turned up, looking for her husband, making vague threats that made her uncomfortably aware that she was alone and unprotected.

Her gut had told her to leave, and for once in her life she’d listened.

As her hometown had fallen behind her, a spirit of adventure had taken over and she’d felt footloose—free, like a kid running away from home. Running felt as good as it did back when she was a little girl on the playground playing “kick the can” or “tag.”

Unfortunately, she was “it” this time. But she wasn’t the can, and she wasn’t going to let anyone kick her around.

She was just going to keep on running.

She watched the dog lift his leg on a tuft of grass that had somehow managed to push its way through the gravel by the side of the road. He angled his hind leg impossibly high, almost tipping over in his determination to mark his newfound territory.

“Don’t get too excited,” she said. “It’s not yours just because you peed on it.”

His brown eyes regarded her with an accusatory, bitter gaze, as if it was her fault someone had dumped him at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. His sparse, spiky hair and bushy eyebrows gave him the air of an angry and slightly mad senior citizen. She was glad she’d taken him with her. He made her laugh, and laughing made her feel like something inside her had given way and released the real Lacey from the stiff little Stepford wife she’d become.

“Come on, Sinclair.” Sinclair was the name of the gas station where she’d found him. The symbol for the place was a dinosaur—a friendly green brontosaurus. If it had been a Tyrannosaurus Rex, it would have been infinitely more attractive than the dog, and it would have exuded more warm fuzzies, too.

Naming the dog was a mistake. Naming him made him hers. But why shouldn’t she have a dog? She didn’t have anything else. She gripped the steering wheel and jutted her chin, glancing up in the rearview mirror to see if she’d nailed her I’ll-never-be-hungry-again Scarlett O’Hara impression. With her dark hair and pale skin, her green eyes and sharp, determined little chin, she’d always identified with the feisty heroine of Gone With the Wind, and she’d lived her life by the philosophy of WWSD: What Would Scarlett Do?

Scarlett wouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t torture herself thinking up worst-case scenarios. She’d say “fiddle-dee-dee`” and think about it tomorrow.

But the freckles weren’t helping the impersonation any. Neither was the trembling of her chin.

Scarlett had never been this scared.

to be continued…

Yesterday I got to spend some time with the real deal at Cheyenne Frontier days. This was my first time behind the chutes, and I was worried I’d be in the way. But I had a secret weapon: Ian St. Clair of the Wyoming Tribune Eagle. Ian writes a series called “The Whole Kit & Caboodle” for the Cheyenne paper, while I write about “The Whole Kiss & Canoodle” for my romance novels, so we make a good team.

Hanging out with Ian at the rodeo was like having a human all-access pass. He covered the sport for years and he knows everybody. Plus he can actually talk to rodeo cowboys – a skill I’ve yet to master. I’m usually pretty chatty, but I was utterly star-struck on meeting guys like four-time bareback world champion Bobby Mote and current CFD bull riding champ Wesley Silcox. Fortunately, Ian jumped in with some smooth conversation to cover up the fact that I was staring slack-jawed at the cowboys like a moonstruck cow.

I handled meeting Wesley Silcox with all the composure of a teeny-bopper meeting Justin Beiber. When he offered to pose for the picture above, I got my camera strap entangled in the laces of my cowboy hat and spent what felt like half an hour disentangeling myself while the polite, patient cowboy looked on. That’s Wesley on the left, Ian on the right. I’m the one in the sissy hat.

And here’s me with Bobby Mote. I was getting better at meeting celebrity cowboys at this point, and Bobby is a super-nice guy, very modest and self-effacing. “You can’t afford to be arrogant because [rodeo] is a humbling sport,” he says. “It’s chicken one day and feathers the next.”

Seeing rodeo cowboys at work is very different from seeing them all polished up at autograph signings or watching them unwind at the Outlaw Saloon. Their clothes are rumpled, their jeans are stuck half-in and half-out of their boots, and their minds are fixed in riding mode. I asked Silcox and Mote what they’re thinking about when they rocket out of the chute and they both had the same answer: “Nothing, hopefully.” It makes sense. Thinking about the fact that you’re riding a bronc or bull would probably make you want to get off before the buzzer.

The other thing that impresses me is how cowboys stick together. When a cowboy scores high, he almost always gives credit to other cowboys–usually his traveling companions. Bobby Mote, for example, is a member of one of the best-known traveling posses in rodeo, a foursome known as “The Pride.” Here’s a video that shows how four cowboys cover three rodeos in one day. It starts out at one of my favorite places–the town of Red Lodge, Montana. I’m not sure the guys have any idea where they are, but they sure know how to make a quick trip to the airport. And they sure know how to ride.

I stayed home from the rodeo today and worked on my book, so I missed Wesley’s 89-point ride on Puff Daddy and Bobby’s 76-point bronc ride. But I’m heading back to the arena tomorrow to get more pictures, more interviews, and most of all, more cowboy!

Size-wise, it’s incredible. The action for each day of the Cheyenne rodeo equals about four days of an average rodeo – and there are nine days! That’s like 36 days of rodeo, all crammed into just over a week. At every performance, you’ll find well over a hundred bulls, broncs, and barrel horses carrying contestents forward in their quest to earn a place in the Wrangler National Finals.

Our arena’s big too — one of the longest in pro rodeo. That poses a unique challenge to team ropers, bulldoggers and tie-down ropers as the cattle high-tail it out of the gate to gain a thirty-foot head start on the horsemen.

Frontier Days comes just after the July 4th weekend, which is called Cowboy Christmas because of all the rodeo money handed out during Independence Day rodeos. The money a cowboy wins that weekend is the water in the wave that carries him to the NFR, and Cheyenne is the crest of the wave. Score high in Frontier Days and chances are you’ll ride all the way to the NFR.

Just this year, eight-time all-around champion Trevor Brazile, working with two road teams who trailered his roping horses to various venues, won over $39,000 at eight rodeos during this year’s Cowboy Christmas. He’ll be coming to Frontier Days to make the most of that record-breaking start.

But it’s not just about the money. Last year, I watched Billy Etbauer win the Cheyenne saddle bronc buckle after over twenty years of trying. It was the one prize that had eluded him in a lifetime of rodeo success. “It’s unreal,” he said on winning CFD. “I’ve been blessed and done so well in the past that I could never complain. But it’s unreal to have finally won it.”

For a lot of long-time Cheyenne residents, Frontier Days is an inconvenience, a week-long pain in the patootie when tourists bottle up traffic, adrenaline-fueled cowboys whoop it up in the bars, and streets are blocked for parades. But if you take the time to look at our annual celebration from an outsider’s perspective, it’s the best of the best – an event people travel thousands of miles to experience. And if you’re a contestant , it’s an essential stop along the rodeo road. Frontier Days changes lives, makes and breaks careers, and builds a livelihood for cowboys as well as providing a worthy mission for dedicated volunteers. It brings the community together and honors our history.

I live just a short walk from the rodeo grounds at Frontier Park, so I’m constantly reminded of the important part Cheyenne plays in keeping the values and virtues of the traditional West alive. The Wild West was just a small slce of our history, but maintaining Western traditions helps define us as a nation. I feel privileged to have a front row seat at the show, and I’m proud to play a part in celebrating and sustaining the cowboy mystique.

I’ll be attending the rodeos as much as I can over the next week and bringing stories and pictures of all the cowboy action – so stay tuned!

And these goat jaws are a real bargain!The Subaru took some hail damage last week, but this section of the parking lot reminded me that I’m a lot better off than I would have been a hundred years ago. At least my buggy has the horsepower built in!Stay tuned for tomorrow night’s post–if I’m still standing after a day at the rodeo in the record-breaking heat, I should have some adventures and lots of cowboy pictures to share.

Maybe it’s because writing well requires sympathy, empathy and a sort of generosity of spirit. Or maybe it’s because success and fulfillment makes them happy and they want to pass it on. In any case, people like Nora Roberts, Linda Lael Miller, Jodi Thomas, and Allison Brennan are always willing to pass on the secrets to their success.

Allison Brennan was always one of my favorite examples of this kind of generosity. Back when I was starting out, I spent a lot of time on Romance Writers of America’s “craft loop,” where newbie novelists could hash out their writing issues with the help of more experienced writers. Allison was already a bestselling author at that time, but she was always there to answer questions for  people she didn’t even know.

And she’s still like that. I interviewed her for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers “Chiseled in Rock” blog today. I had lots of questions for her, and told he she could pick and choose which ones she wanted to answer – but she answered them all.

So if you want to know what crime shows a number-one crime writer likes to watch on TV, or how a woman with five kids manages to write one bestseller after another, stop by the Chiseled in Rock blog this morning and read the interview. She’ll be stopping by to answer questions posted by readers, and one lucky commenter will win a copy of the first Lucy Kincaid book, Kiss Me Kill Me.