I've got a new favorite for my BEST OF THE WEST collection. Prodigal Gun by Kathleen Rice Adams. This is more than a great love story, it's also a thrilling Western, beautifully written. This Texan knows her history, and she also knows how to spin an exciting, enthralling tale that will reel you in and hold you captive until the last page.
Here's a blurb:
Widowed rancher Jessie Caine
buried her heart with the childhood sweetheart Yankees killed on a distant
battlefield. Sixteen years later, as a Texas range war looms and hired guns
arrive to pursue a wealthy carpetbagger’s agenda, Jessie discovers the only man
she ever loved isn’t dead.
At least not yet.
Embittered by a brother’s
betrayal, notorious gunman Calhoun is a dangerous man, come home to do an
unsavory job. A bushwhacker’s bullet nearly takes his life on Jessie’s land, trapping
him in a standoff between the past he tried to bury and the infamy he never
will. One taste of the only woman he ever loved puts more than his life and her
ranch in the crossfire.
With a price on his head, a debt
to a wealthy employer around his neck, and a defiant woman tugging at his
heart, Calhoun’s guns may not be enough to keep him from the grave.
Caught
between his enemies and hers, Jessie faces an agonizing choice: Which of her
dreams will die?
Excerpt:
She had barely cleared
the jamb when an arm cinched her waist and yanked her backward into a wall of
solid muscle. Her hat tumbled to the floor, and Jessie’s throat seized around
an audible gasp. A choked grunt escaped whoever held her as a leather-gloved
palm clamped over her mouth.
A bristly jaw scraped her
temple. “Not a sound.” The stranger’s raspy whisper bore traces of whiskey and
tobacco; they overrode the sweat and trail dust clinging to the rest of him.
Another scent lay beneath—sharper, metallic. Blood?
The rasp came again.
“Lose the gun. Now.”
Heart pounding a hole
through her ribs, Jessie nodded. With slow, careful movements, she unbuckled
her belt and lowered the Remington to the floor.
The man relaxed his grip
enough for her to squirm. When her elbow dug into his side, a breath hissed
between his teeth and he turned her loose. Fool. She was no helpless
waif or half-grown boy.
Jessie whirled to face a
broad expanse of chest; tipped back her head, then farther, seeking features
within the shadows of a hat pulled low to hide the stranger’s eyes.
He kicked the door shut
and backed against the wall. With a halfhearted flick of his fingers, he
knocked up the black hat’s wide brim…
…and Jessie stared into
the face of a ghost.
Her heart skidded to a
stop.
“Hello, Jess.”
That wasn’t the voice of
a ghost. Deeper than she remembered, the whiskey-smooth tone rolled over her
like fog.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Disbelief vaulted from her lungs in a single, incredulous breath. “Mason?”
He didn’t answer—just
watched her without a shred of emotion. How could he be so composed, so
distant? Sixteen years, and he could manage only two words?
She shut her mouth and
returned his unflinching gaze. Deep grooves marked the outer corners of haunted
eyes and echoed matching trenches between the dark slashes of his brows. A
grayish cast infused the depths of weathered skin beneath days-old stubble and
the wave of warm-molasses hair pasted to his forehead by a thin veneer of
sweat.
Her gaze inched down the
tall, lean frame, scraping the sharp line of his jaw, shoulders wider than she
remembered, and a deep chest that didn’t belong to the boy she had known. Her
meandering stopped where one arm crossed his body and his hand disappeared
inside the open front of a dusty range coat.
Jessie’s gaze swept back
to his face.
Some brief sensation
flirted with his angular features but never claimed them. Pain. He drew a
ragged breath before he spoke again. “Where’s Will?”
The voice sounded thinner
this time, less sure, but her husband’s name darted through Jessie on a hot
stab. Three years hadn’t dimmed her memories of an extraordinary man…or the
guilt.
And neither had sixteen. Mason.
The longcase clock at the
foot of the stairs ticked once for every three of Jessie’s heartbeats, but
neither rhythm marked the passage of minutes as Mason matched her stare. Funny
how time came to a standstill when truth intersected a lie. A monumental
lie.
“Jess?”
The mantel clock chimed.
Jessie jumped on the first note. By the eighth, she remembered how to speak.
“You’re…dead.”
Here's where you pick up a copy:
Meet Kathleen
Descended from a long line of Texas ranchers, preachers, and teachers on one side and Kentucky horse thieves and moonshiners on the other, Kathleen Rice Adams had no choice but to become an outlaw. Maybe that's why in her stories, even the good guys wear black hats.
For the past thirty years, she's stayed two steps ahead of a lynch mob as an award-winning journalist. She also has ghost-written or edited several nonfiction books. A Texan to the bone, she spends her days chasing news stories and her nights and
weekends shooting it out with Wild West desperados. Leave the upstanding,
law-abiding heroes to other folks. In Kathleen’s stories, even the good guys
wear black hats.
Find her on the web at:
Group blogs:
E.E.: Why western
historical romance? What drew you to this genre?
Kathleen: The Old West is unique to America, but that historical era
has captured the imagination of people worldwide. In part, I think that’s
because classic western tropes portray strong men and strong women forging
something out of nothing in an inhospitable land. The environment is fertile
ground for romance authors. Even before “romance” became a genre, western authors
incorporated the notion that love drove people to commit extraordinary acts.
Read anything by Zane Grey for evidence. There’s satisfaction in the knowledge
that no matter how wild and wooly things get for the characters, love will
triumph in the end.
Plus, I just adore hunky men with big…guns.
E.E.: How often to you get lost in a story?
Kathleen: As often as possible. My schedule’s a bit hectic with one
full-time job, one part-time job, six group blog posts monthly, writing, and
the occasional meal, bathroom break, and nap. When it’s time to relax, though,
I read. My first choice is always western historical romance or traditional
western, but I enjoy everything from cozy mysteries to epic sci-fi. About the
only thing I don’t read is graphic horror.
E.E.: What’s the first book you remember reading?
Kathleen: Maybe The Cat in the Hat? I hated that stupid cat. Even as a
kid, I thought he needed a good spanking. The first western I remember reading
is Zane Grey’s Robbers’ Roost. I still love that story. In fact Latimer,
Calhoun’s partner in Prodigal Gun, is a hat-tip to a character in Robbers’
Roost: Sparrowhawk Latimer. Is that the best outlaw name ever, or what?
E.E.: Who’s your favorite cartoon character?
Kathleen: Yosemite Sam. He’s adorably inept and prone to the most
ineffectual temper tantrums. Plus, his mustache is kinda cute.
E.E.: Fairy Tale or Action Adventure?
Kathleen: Definitely action-adventure. I’m an armchair adrenaline
junky. I have to admit, though, there are some really good fairytales out
there. If you haven’t read William Goldman’s The Princess Bride, do so
immediately—or watch the movie. Goldman also wrote the screenplay, and the
result is one of those rare cinematic jewels that doesn’t disappoint people who
encountered the story in print first.
E.E.: Is there a “Blooper” in your story (it may have been changed
before printing)?
Kathleen: There was almost a huge one, but we got it fixed before
publication, thank goodness. A hawk appears in the story’s very first sentence.
The bird is symbolic. He appears a couple more times, and he was supposed to
show up again at the end. I left him out at the end! My forehead still hurts.
So here Cheryl Pierson (the editor) and I are at the 11th hour sneaking the
hawk into where he was supposed to be without making a mess of everything else
in the process. You have never seen such a flurry of convoluted emails in your
life. Finally, we both threw up our hands in surrender: “That’s it. I’m done.
It’s going to press the way it is no matter how embarrassing.” As God is my
witness, I will never, ever, put a hawk in a story again.
E.E.: What is your hero’s “kryptonite” – in other words, what will
bring him instantly to his knees?
Kathleen: Harm to his family. Mason, the hero in Prodigal Gun, has
spent more than half his life denying he has a family. Once he gets within
spitting distance of the home he swore he’d never return to, a couple of pieces
of family-related news blindside Mr. Tough Guy and he cracks right down the
middle. Fortunately Jessie, the heroine, is quick on the scene with a bottle of
glue.
E.E.: What one thing about your hero drives his heroine crazy? And
what one thing about your heroine drives her hero nuts?
Kathleen: Jessie is a risk-taker, and she’s pigheaded about the risks
she takes. Mason spends the entire book worried she’s going to get herself killed.
Somewhere around the middle of the story, I started wondering when he’d flip
his Colts backward and put himself out of his misery. He’s also the king of
mixed signals, leaving Jessie ready to throttle him. He refuses to be pinned
down—about anything—but he gives her distinct impressions about where he wants
their relationship to go…and then he runs in the opposite direction. All of
that keeps her off-balance and frustrates her to no end. Maybe she should shoot
him and put them both out of their misery.
E.E.: What will always make you smile, even on a bad day?
Kathleen: My four tiny overlords: Dog, Underdog, Mr. Ed, and Li’l Ol’
Biddy. Collectively they’re the Hole in the Web Gang, but individually they’re
better known by their outlaw names: I Don’t Care, I Don’t Wanna, I Don’t Know,
and I’m Not Putting Up with this Foolishness Any Longer. (She’s called Li’l Ol’
Biddy for a reason.)
Today, Kathleen is giving away 10 copies of her debut novel, Prodigal Gun, to ten lucky commenters. Enter the drawing and leave your answer to the question:
Pick one kind of hero (no cheating and saying “both”): Outlaw
or a lawman. Why?
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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