Good Morning Readers,I’m paranormal romance author, Tabitha Shay. Welcome to my blog site. I know there are some of you out there who probably wonder just how much research goes into writing a novel. Well the answer is, at least for me, sometimes a lot, sometimes not so much. When I wrote Witch’s Brew, I thought I’d never finish researching Salem and witches, *giggles* but when I wrote Send Him an Angel, it was a totally different thing. I was lucky that I’d been to Deadwood, S.D., so was quite familiar with the history and the tales behind the history. Like, I bet most of you believe there was something special between Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok. According to the tour guides and historians from Deadwood, nope, there wasn’t. In fact, Will Bill barely tolerated Calamity Jane. But as a final joke on poor old Bill, the citizens of Deadwood, at the time of Calamity’s death, decided to bury her beside Bill. So their final resting place is side by side. One of the things I found interesting when we visited Mount Moriah Cemetery, was the fact that there was money lying all over his grave and no one touched it or tried to take it. I guess there are some who wished to give him the money to play a final round of poker. Hey, we’re guilty too. We left a little cash on his grave for him also.
As hubby and I were walking down the narrow streets of Deadwood, a funny thing happened. I looked up and coming toward us was this slender, dapper dressed man with a big mustache and a gun strapped to his hip, long hair, and certainly Wild Bill would have been impressed with this impersonator. It was like a blast from the past. He stopped to chat with for a minute and I asked him if he was the man who got shot in the back of the head. His reply, “Every damn day, three times a day.”
Strolling through the town and entering saloon after saloon (mostly gift shops these days) it got me to thinking. The niggling of a story started growing in the back of my head. I thought of all the *soiled doves* who once walked the streets of Deadwood or worked in the numerous saloons and I thought instead, why not angels? Why not have angels on the streets of Deadwood, instead of the women who worked and died in such a cruel way? And so my book, Send Him an Angel was born.
I hope you enjoy the blurb and excerpt from my latest release. Be sure and scope out the other SCP author’s blog sites this weekend for some great prizes. Please leave a comment for a chance to win a pdf copy of Send him an Angel, and oh yes, I highly recommend Deadwood and the surrounding area for a wonderful vacation spot. You won’t regret it.
Elizabeth and Gabriel —more than one war is brewing in the Black Hills…
EXCERPT/SEND HIM AN ANGEL/SHAY
He spread the makeshift covers over both of them and drifted into sleep. Elizabeth closed her eyes and joined him in blissful sleep.
She didn’t know how long she slept, but the oddest sensation of being watched tugged her out of the light sleep she’d drifted into. Opening her eyes, she squeaked at the sight of horse’s hoofs surrounding their small bed. About ten sets of horses circled them. “What?” She rose halfway up careful to hold the clothes against her bosom.
Gabe slid his arm around her waist. “What is it?” he mumbled.
Elizabeth dug her nails in his hand, her breath caught in her throat. “Wake up,” she whispered urgently.
“What?” Gabe sat up, his face registering surprise. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought. Who are they?”
“Cheyenne. Let’s hope to hell they’re peaceful.”
Elizabeth eyed the younger man in the group. He sat astride his painted pony, straight and proud, his long, black hair hanging around his shoulders. He was handsome, but a bit scary and intimidating. He stared back at her, his expression solemn as a fence post, but she had the awful feeling he was laughing at them. There was something in his dark eyes, a touch of smugness she couldn’t quite define. Then she knew. He’d seen them making love. For whatever reasons, he and his whole little band of natives had observed them being intimate. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “They know what we did.”
Gabe nodded. “I believe you’re right. Damn.”
“Oh, God,” she repeated, and lowered her head, embarrassed.
“Look at this way, sweetheart. None of them likely speak English, so aren’t apt to tell anyone we know what they witnessed.” Gabe grabbed his pants and slipped them on under the cover. “Downright degrading catching a man with his pants down,” he uttered. Cautiously, he rose to his feet, bare-chested and bare-footed. “I’m Gabriel King. This is my wife, Elizabeth.”
The Indian nodded, his lips quirking. “I’m Grey Wolf. I speak English very well, as do all the members of my small band, but we don’t gossip like old women.”
Elizabeth squeaked and hid her face under the covers. “Can’t speak English, huh?”
She heard masculine laughter and peeped over the covers. What the heck did those savages find so funny?
The one called Grey Wolf nodded at her. “I understand a riverboat exploded. Are you two survivors?”
Elizabeth swallowed back a sharp breath at his perfect English.
Gabe nodded. “We could use a ride to Yankton. That is, if you’d be willing to give us one.”
Grey Wolf nodded. He said something in his native tongue and one of the men slid off his horse. “You can take Little Eagle’s mare. Do not worry about returning it. Keep it. It’s a gift.”
“But…we can’t just take a man’s horse,” Elizabeth protested.
“Maybe one day, I will need a favor from you,” Grey Wolf said.
/Be sure and scope out the other SCP author's blog sites for prizes and great stories.//http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/ There are lots of prizes.