Posts Tagged ‘American historical romance’

Between resentments among the stock tenders, difficulties with animals that pass through the station, and the threat of attacks by the Cheyenne Native Americans, is there a future for Roslyn and Elam at the station?

Thursday, June 18th, 2020
 

 

My name is Robyn Echols. Zina Abbott is the pen name I use for my American historical romance novels. I’m a member of Women Writing the West and Western Writers of America, and American Night Writers Association. I currently live with my husband in California’s central valley near the “Gateway to Yosemite.”
I love to read, quilt, work with digital images on my photo editing program, and work on my own family history.
I am a blogger. In addition to my own blog, I blog for several group blogs including the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog, which I started and administer.

 

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Roslyn Welsh is sent by stagecoach to Junction City to marry a man with whom her aunt and guardian, without Roslyn’s knowledge, had been corresponding. His requirements for a wife were that she must be at least twenty-one years of age with a family Bible for proof, and she must have no children. Only, Roslyn is not quite twenty-one, she has a baby, and her aunt has no intention of sending the family Bible with her. The marriage prospect turns into a disaster. Stuck in a strange town with no money, she is told there is no work for a decent woman with a baby. To allow herself time to figure what to do with her future, Roslyn accepts an offer to ride the stagecoach to the Ellsworth B.O.D. Stagecoach station to help the stationmaster’s wife.
        Elam Stewart survived the American Civil War, but his left leg from above the knee down did not. With no home to return to and realizing there are very few people willing to hire a man with only one good leg, he’s convinced he has no future. While working as a day laborer in the local Junction City livery, he becomes intrigued by a visitor named Ross who is anxious to spend time with the horses. Elam discovers Ross’s secret. Then he learns where Ross intends to seek work. Even though he does not have a future, he does have a Spencer repeating rifle. He can have a purpose.
        Roslyn and Elam ride the same stagecoach to the Ellsworth Station on the Kansas frontier. Between resentments among the stock tenders, difficulties with animals that pass through the station, and the threat of attacks by the Cheyenne Native Americans, is there a future for Roslyn and Elam at the station? Or will their future take them on another stagecoach ride away from Ellsworth?
        Please look for my other two books in the Widows, Brides & Secret Babies series, Mail Order Lorena and Mail Order Penelope, that will be published this summer. The three stories are related and part or all of them involve  the stagecoaches and stations on the Kansas frontier in the late 1860s.

 

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Snippet:
Ross laughed in response—a laugh Elam now recognized as being feminine.
“I see what you mean.” She reached for a bridle. “Will this do for Sadie?”
“Yes, ma…” Elam cleared his throat. Get ahold of yourself, Elam. You almost said “ma’am.” Don’t know her reason for passing herself off as male, but it ain’t up to you to go calling her on it. “Reckon that will be fine, Mr. Welsh. You wanting me to saddle this here horse for you?” Why did I offer? Because I know she’s a woman? She already done said she could saddle and tack her own horse.

 

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No, wait! You can’t leave this baby with me

Thursday, February 6th, 2020

 

My name is Robyn Echols. Zina Abbott is the pen name I use for my American historical romance novels. I’m a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of America, and American Night Writers Association. I currently live with my husband in California’s central valley near the “Gateway to Yosemite.” 


I love to read, quilt, work with digital images on my photo editing program, and work on my own family history. 


I am a blogger. In addition to my own blog, I blog for several group blogs including the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog, which I started and administer.

 

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Kendrick Denham left his family farm back east, fought in the war with Mexico, then answered gold’s call after it was discovered in California. In late 1852, when he reached Columbia, known as “The Gem of the Southern Mines,” he realized the easy-to-find placer gold was no longer that easy to find.  He decided he would do better providing fresh meat to the townspeople. With extremely few women in the region, and most of the respectable ones already married, Kendrick entertains no ambitions for a wife and family. Then the county sheriff rides over from Sonora. With a cryptic expression, he hands Kendrick a six-month-old baby girl. “The mother named you as the father.”


Now her late husband’s stepson, whom she finished raising, is of age to inherit the farm left to him by his birth father, Lydia Meyer and her two young sons have been forced out of her home of over ten years. She leaves Pennsylvania headed for the wild gold fields of Columbia, California. She dreads living off the charity of her older sister who is just as disagreeable and overbearing as their late mother had been. Warned that most of the miners in California, many of whom left families back east to seek their fortunes, tend to be unsettled, uncouth, and prone to drinking and gambling, she worries it may be impossible to find a good father for her children. Even if she weds again, will it be another loveless marriage like her first?


Then there is baby Madeline, who is cast adrift in the world, all alone, with no one to love her. What will become of her?


KENDRICK is a stand-alone sweet American historical romance that is part of the multi-author series, Bachelors & Babies. Under the sub-title, “Too Old for Babies,” it is also part of the author’s own series, Too Old in Columbia.

 

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Snippet:

The sheriff offered Kendrick a wry smile. “The mother named you as the father.”
“Mother named –” Kendrick choked on the words. “I couldn’t have fathered a baby, especially not this one. You figure she’s what? A few months old? It’s been over three years, long before I came this far south to Columbia –” Kendrick clamped his lips shut. How he conducted his personal life was none of the sheriff’s business, not to mention he once again became aware of Jeb, a grin on his face, lurking in the far corner and taking in the entire scene. 
“Didn’t say, but I figure about six months. You’re listed as the father in the family’s Bible packed in the trunk, plus the mother listed you as this baby’s father in her last will and testament. No one is going to question the words of a dying woman, not even one like her.”
Kendrick felt anger welling up inside of him. A small part of his brain warned him yelling at the sheriff would not be wise. His present state of being was not conducive to him exhibiting wisdom. His frustration won out. His question came out in a bellow. “One like her? Who—“
The sheriff turned to his deputy. “Josh, hand that baby over and go get that crate of foodstuffs for her. Don’t forget the carpetbag full of napkins for her backside. Then we best to be on our way.”
After the deputy walked over to the counter, he sat her on top next to the basket and shoved her toward Kendrick’s arms. Kendrick instinctively grabbed her to keep her from falling as the deputy walked toward the door.
His eyes wide, Kendrick stared at the cherubic face with its dark eyes and lashes. At first, the baby stared at him in surprise. Next, she scrunched her face into a frown. His anger transformed into panic, he turned his gaze back toward the sheriff. “No, wait! You can’t leave this baby with me.” 
“We can and we will. I’ve got other duties to attend to. I wouldn’t have wasted my time and that of a deputy hauling this issue of yours up to you except I figured if I sent word for you to come get her, you’d ignore me. Now, accept the consequences of your actions and live up to your responsibilities. Just because most men don’t get caught doesn’t mean, once the truth is known, you can walk away from your own.” 
Wrapping his left arm around the child and propping her on his hip so she faced outward, Kendrick walked around from behind the counter until he stood within a few feet of the lawman. “Sheriff, I’m telling you—I’ve been set up. This can’t be my child. What was the name of her mother, anyway? Where did she live?”
In the staring contest that developed between him and the sheriff, Kendrick refused to be the first to look away. No one played him for a fool. He needed answers.
Finally, the sheriff huffed and glanced at the floor before, once more, his gaze met Kendrick’s. “She lived in Sonora. Died a couple of weeks ago. Took this long to sort things out. The mother’s name was Margaret Pearline Mayfield.”
Kendrick suspected his face looked as blank as his mind felt. The name meant nothing to him.
“She’s better known by some of the finer residents of Sonora as Miss Pearl.”

 

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My daughter recognizes that, with the shortage of marriageable women in the region, she might not have you long before some young man claims your attention

Monday, December 2nd, 2019

 

My name is Robyn Echols. Zina Abbott is the pen name I use for my American historical romance novels. I’m a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of America, and American Night Writers Association. I currently live with my husband in California’s central valley near the “Gateway to Yosemite.”

I love to read, quilt, work with digital images on my photo editing program, and work on my own family history.

I am a blogger. In addition to my own blog, I blog for several group blogs including the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog, which I started and administer.

 

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~ Amazon ~ Blog
Pinterest ~ Goodreads
 ~  Newsletter ~ Booklinker ~
Annie Flanagan happily moves to Jubilee Springs to work as a maid for Delly Nighy, the daughter of her former New York City employer. For one thing, very few know that her next younger sister, Kate, has signed up with the Colorado Bridal Agency and started writing to an Irish miner, Michael O’Hare, in the same town. Both Annie and her mother back in New York grow concerned when the second man the bridal agency puts Kate in contact with is a miner in Central City. He’s not Irish—and he’s not Catholic. What is worse, she seems to prefer him over Michael.

Kate Flanagan, working as a scullery maid to help support her family, desperately desires to escape the dead-end poverty allotted to Irish women living in the lower east side of Manhattan in New York. Anxious to find a husband out west, she signs up with the bridal agency suggested by her sister. After living with her alcoholic father, she is leery of choosing Irishman Michael O’Hare for a husband. As much as she wants to live near her sister, dare she take the chance Michael O’Hare will not turn out like her da?

Annie and Michael grow closer as they work together in order to persuade Kate to come to Jubilee Springs. She needs to come soon—before winter sets in and disrupts the railroad service that will bring her to the high mountain mining community. Kate agrees to travel to Jubilee Springs before Christmas, but several factors, including the train, threaten to derail this romance.

Michael knows what he promised. He knows what he wants. In the end, will he marry the bride who has captured his heart?
Snippet:
“My daughter recognizes that, with the shortage of marriageable women in the region, she might not have you long before some young man claims your attention and affection and offers you marriage. She needs you to teach her how to cook and clean.”
That comment stunned Annie. There were men in this wild place out West who would wish to know her better and quickly marry her? No, she’d be loyal to Delphinia and not allow a man to turn her head and persuade her to walk away from her job. “Pleased I am to be accepting the work, Mr. Blakewell….” Annie hesitated, and then offered him a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry, sir. Being home like I’ve been, I’ve slipped back into the speech of the Irish.” She sighed in relief as he waved his hand to brush away her concern.
“I doubt your Irish accent will matter in Colorado, Miss Flanagan. From what my daughter said, there are several Irish working as miners in the Prosperity Mine up there. In fact, she mentioned that, at the harvest dance she attended before her marriage, the mine owner announced that one of the company houses would be awarded to a young Irish fellow as soon as he found a wife through a marriage broker with whom the mine owners have contracted.”
Annie had smiled in response. She did not offer the information that her sister, Kate, had contacted this same marriage broker, Mrs. Lizett Millard, at the Colorado Bridal Agency. Kate had started a correspondence with the Irish miner, Michael O’Hare.

 

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