WRANGLER IN PETTICOATS - Mary Connealy - Free Book

I'm so glad to have Mary back on my blog. We spent time together at the conference, and I got to meet her husband. What a pleasure! So, Mary, do you have a favorite genre to write? If so, what is it?

I write romantic comedy with cowboys and I love doing it.


If you didn’t live in the part of the country where you do, where would you live?

I've always wanted to live in Minnesota in the summer and Texas in the winter. Get out of the extreme heat and cold. I guess I'm a spring and fall kinda girl.

Me, too. What foreign country would you like to visit and why?

I have a lot of America I'd like to see before I do any foreign travel. What appeals to me are ancient things. I'd like to see the Coliseum in Rome, the pyramids, moldering castles in England and Ireland and Scotland. So not a country so much as a look at a long gone world.

Describe what you think would be the most romantic vacation you could take.

I've always wanted to drive out into the Rocky Mountains. Pick a stunningly scenic spot and just stop. A cabin with deck chairs looking out on beautiful mountains and trees. Maybe see an elk with full antlers. I might be bored after two hours but I'd like the chance to see. My husband and I took a bus tour into the Rockies once, just for the day and I'd have liked more time there, with him.

Where would you like to set a story that you haven’t done yet?

I'd like to set a story around the heavy…to me impenetrable…woods in northern Minnesota. I once went to the headwaters of the Mississippi, to Lake Itasca and it captured my imagination, swept me back in time, to look at those dense woods. I had a similar experience in Carlsbad Cavern many years ago. Long before I was writing books. I could just fully imagine the danger, the darkness, what it would have been like to go into those caverns with no light but a lantern, bottomless pits, twisting and turning tunnels. But I'm already writing that books, due out next July titled Out of Control.

What is the main theme of this novel?

Wrangler in Petticoats. Sally McCellen finds herself injured and in the care of the biggest wimp she's ever met. Logan McKenzie paints pictures of the wild west—and claims he makes a living doing it. When the two of them see an elk she reaches for her rifle, he reaches for a sketch pad. The word DRAW means completely different things to them.

Tell us about the story.

When Sally falls off a cliff practically into his arms, he decides he's keeping her. So far her broken leg is keeping her close, but she's a quick healer and she needs to get some tougher help, because outlaws are hunting hard for the one witness to their crime.

I'm loving this. Please give us the first page of the book.

Sally McClellen fought to control her temper and her horse.

But her horse wasn’t the problem. It was her temper upsetting the horse. He wouldn’t have been acting fidgety if not for her testy grip on the reins. So any trouble Sally had was all her own doing.

“None of this gets me one step closer to Mandy. She needs me.” Sally was so anxious to get on down the trail she thought she might explode.

They rode round the curve of a steep mountain trail and in the distance caught their first glimpse of a river lined with high banks of stunning red rock.

“Sure it’s a pretty sight, but—”

“It’s more than pretty. It’s beautiful.” Paul McGarritt, Sally's traveling companion looked at her and smiled. “Admit it. It was worth riding out here.”

Mrs. McGarritt knew full well how impatient Sally was, but Mrs. McGarritt, sweet and friendly as she was, didn’t let anyone push her around. The colonel’s wife sat her horse side-saddle in a proper riding dress. She had made her opinion known early and often about Sally’s manly riding clothes and her habit of riding astride.

“It is beautiful.” Sally stifled an irritated sigh. They were here now, staring at the rocks. As if none of this group had ever seen a rock before. They all lived in west Texas or New Mexico. Their whole world was pretty much made of rocks.

“Spectacular,” Colonel McGarritt said. “Absolutely stunning.”

Sally tore her eyes from the view to intercept Mrs. McGarritt’s smug look. Paula was too polite to say, “I told you so.” But Sally caught the superior look and didn’t even mind.

Much.

The crimson bluffs were magnificent. But was it worth the time they’d wasted abandoning the most direct path? When Mandy might be in trouble? She was at least suffering from terrible homesickness. Her last letter had been a poorly concealed cry of loneliness. But with a third baby on the way and no womenfolk within fifty miles, she really needed the help as soon as possible.

Mrs. McGarritt said, “Let’s ride down closer. I want a better look.”

Sally didn’t like it, but she said nothing, resigned to the delay. Now she rode along to take a closer look than their bird’s eye view from a mountain crest. They funneled down the narrow trail.

The trail made its serpentine way down the mountain. Sally admitted it felt good to be on horseback again after the long train ride. They wove around a curve.

As the trail twisted, Sally saw the end of this dangerous stretch only a few yards ahead and breathed a sigh of relief to pass this particularly treacherous section. Now with only a few more tortuous yards to cover, Sally relaxed. “Mrs. McGarritt,” she called out, wanting to tease the dear lady again about dragging Sally along on her joyride.

Paula, below Sally on the trail, gained nearly level ground. The cliff no longer yawned at her side. She turned in her saddle, smiling. “You can thank me later, girl. When you’re dressed like a proper young lady again.”

Thank her? Not likely and well Mrs. McGarritt knew it. The two of them exchanged a warm smile. Mrs. McGarritt really was a sweetheart, for a tough old bird.

There was a sharp crack of gunfire.

Paula McGarritt slammed backward off her horse.

Sally’s world slowed down and focused sharply as it always did in times of danger. Her hand went to her rifle before she’d spun to face the shooting.

Another bullet sounded, from above. Someone shooting from cover.

Smelling the burning gunpowder, hearing the direction of the bullets, Sally’s gun was firing without her making a decision to aim or pull the trigger.

Wow! Bring the book on, right now. How can readers find you on the Internet?

Seekerville
Petticoats and Pistols
My Blog
My Website

Thank you, Mary, for coming by today.

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