Dear Readers, I’m
thrilled to feature another book by fellow Texas Texas
Welcome back, Linda. Why
do you write the kind of books you do?
Almost everything I write is like me: Christian and
generally uplifting and lighthearted. I love illustrating God's principles in
action, especially when they pertain to bringing those who have strayed back
into the fold.
Besides when you came
to know the Lord, what is the happiest day in your life?
The day I knew for certain God had picked Billy for me.
After a disaster of a marriage and ten years of “never again,” God gave me the
perfect mate.
He’s good like that. How
has being published changed your life?
It turned me into a professional. That may sound like a
simplistic response, but it covers every aspect of the change being published
brings into one's life. I no longer have ten years to finish my book, can no
longer “wait for inspiration.” I can't live in anonymity anymore; I have to
keep myself and my books visible. I have to actively seek earning
opportunities. Basically, I have to remember that I'm running a business. I
file taxes and have a Federal EIN. I'm not in Kansas anymore.
What are you reading
right now?
A Fool and His Monet, by Sandra Orchard.
What is your current
work in progress?
My editor at Firefly (an imprint of Lighthouse of the Carolinas ) has Ice Melts in Spring, a novella for
the collection Southern Seasons which releases in November 2018. While
she works on it, I'm striving to finish Ride to the Altar, the third in
the Circle Bar Ranch series that was supposed to come out this year. After just
announcing that I no longer have the leisure to finish a book in ten years, I
admit I'm beginning to wonder whether this one will take exactly that before I
can write “the end.”
What would be your
dream vacation?
I have two. Eating my way across Italy
in stretch pants and spending a substantial amount of time in every state in
the United States .
Neither is likely to happen, but a girl can dream.
How do you choose
your settings for each book?
I tend to restrict my settings to places I've been to, and
the bulk of those places are in Texas ,
though I've visited most of the southern states. Researching settings on the
internet doesn't let me know how the place tastes or smells. Doesn't allow me a
sense of its pulse. Can't let me hear the accents or bird calls. In other
words, I can't get an honest impression of the location. For this reason, I
tend to stay with places I'm familiar with. It's also the reason I'd like to
visit all 50 states.
If you could spend an
evening with one person who is currently alive, who would it be and why?
Funny to see this question. Just this morning, I was
thinking I'd love to spend time learning at the feet of Kay Arthur, of Precept
Ministry fame. I'm not sure an evening would be enough, but it would be a
start.
What are your
hobbies, besides writing and reading?
I spend a lot of time cross-stitching baby blankets for the
boom our family is having. Aside from that, I love to cook and enjoy food
preservation techniques, like canning, pickling, jelly-, jam-, and
butter-making, but I would rather be fishing than virtually anything else.
What is your most
difficult writing obstacle, and how do you overcome it?
Right now, with Ride to the Altar, I'm having a
structure problem. The novel includes not a plot and a subplot, but what
amounts to two plots. If I don't find the point where the two merge soon, I may
have to rip the thing apart and start over. Again. But I think I'm getting
closer. We'll see.
What advice would you
give to a beginning author?
Study the craft. There are so many other things I would say
to beginners—like build your platform, learn the business, etc.—but I
always go back to my original advice: Study.
Tell us about the
featured book.
Aunt Adele Cameron makes her debut in The Final Ride,
the second in the Circle Bar Ranch series. Her purpose for living is to
convince Patricia Talbert to return to Manhattan
and leave the ranch she inherited and the man who runs it behind in Texas . But all her
comical, blundering attempts aren't nearly as effective as Talon Carlson's
broken promise. How can Patricia accept yet another man who can't keep his
word?
Please give us a peek
inside the book.
Chapter One
Patricia Talbert
leaned against the back fender of the old farm truck and admired the flex of
Talon Carlson’s muscles as he secured a trailer to the hitch. One of the nearby
towns held a cattle auction every Thursday, from early in the morning until
everything sold, and the Circle Bar Ranch needed a few more head.
One of the hands
had already driven off in a rig, but Talon had lingered behind, no doubt for a
few more moments alone with her. Although she’d decided not to go this time,
she didn’t mind having a few more moments alone with him either.
She watched his
strong hands deftly connect the wires for the truck’s back lights to the
trailer. “It’s going to be different around here without Chance to help, isn’t
it?”
“No different than
it will be for you without Marie.”
“Mr. and Mrs.
Chance Davis.” The names sifted through her lips with a sigh. The past
Saturday, her best friend had married Talon’s best friend here at the Circle
Bar ranch, and now they were off on a two-week honeymoon.
Talon stepped over
the hitch and stood deliciously close. His lips crept up in that lopsided grin
she loved. “What about us? Ready to get married?”
“No. Not yet. I’ve
had all the wedding insanity I can take for a while.” She traced the strong
line of his smooth-shaven jaw with her finger. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“Whatever my lady
wants. I can wait.” He kissed her gently, making her heart flutter, then
adjusted his hat. “I’d better get moving, or the auction will be over before I
get there. You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“No, I think I’ll
stay here and enjoy the quiet for a change. Bring home some good cows.”
He gave her another
peck. “Always.”
He walked to his
truck, keeping her mesmerized with each step. That man could make a feed sack
look good.
Once he drove out
of sight, she rubbed her shoulders and curled her lips between her teeth. The
past several months had been filled with house renovations and Marie’s wedding
plans–not to mention a quick trip back to New York to help with her father’s US Senate
re-election campaign. But now that everything was over and all the wedding
guests were finally gone, she had no clue what to do with herself. Come to
think of it, she’d never been totally alone on her own ranch since she
inherited it from Uncle Jake the previous year. If she intended to give up her
life in Manhattan and live in Texas , she’d better figure out where she fit
in. Discover what her new “normal” looked like.
But what exactly would
her role be out here? Thirty-five seemed a bit old to be wondering what she’d
do when she grew up, but when Uncle Jake left her the ranch he and Aunt Loretta
had spent their lives building, Patricia discovered she had options–stay in New
York and work for her father, or come here and–what? Pretend she knew how to
run a ranch?
Since she had no
intention of going back East, she may as well carve out a place for herself
here, doing … something.
At the equipment
shed, the senior ranch hand, Frank Simmons, tinkered with the tractor engine,
but she knew nothing about mechanical repair. Inside, Chef and Consuela Garcia
took care of the meals and household chores that made Patricia shudder. The
vegetable garden on the side of the ranch house appeared neglected; no one had
worked it in a couple of weeks. She strode to its edge, crouched between a row
of peppers and another of tomatoes, and yanked what she hoped was a weed.
Gardening hadn’t been a part of her life back home. Maybe she’d be safe if she
pulled only what grew between the mounds.
The soil felt
moist, and the weeds came out with the simplest tug. She could get used to this
mindless work. She could see ahead what needed to be done and see the progress
behind, unlike other, seemingly endless things she’d done for her father. This
chore held a purpose. She’d keep the weeds from choking out the vegetables that
everyone would get to enjoy. Simple. Wonderful. She’d definitely add gardening
to the top of her most-favorite-rut-activities list. If this was what her new
normal felt like, she’d wrap it around herself like a security blanket.
“Patricia!”
She twisted around
and gaped at a chic, older woman standing at the yard’s edge. “Aunt Adele?”
Looking as if she’d
just stepped from a fashion magazine for women over sixty, Adele Cameron held
her arms wide. “Surprise!”
Patricia brushed
herself off and hurried toward her. Adele had always been her favorite of her
mother’s sisters. “I thought you flew back to New York after the wedding.”
An elegant flick of
her hand dismissed the notion. “I spent a few days in Dallas . Did a little shopping.” She posed
like a model and executed a runway turn, inviting Patricia to admire the
cowl-neck tunic and straight-leg slacks she wore over two-inch pumps. “It’s not
Manhattan , but
it’s not bad either.”
“I’m glad you found
something you liked.” Patricia hid her smile. She and Marie had overdressed for
the ranch when they first arrived, too. Not practical, but then they hadn’t
expected to stay, much less fall in love with the cowboys running the place.
“What else did you buy?”
“Oh, several
things.” She pressed her key fob toward a burgundy Cadillac parked in front of
the house. “Come see.”
The Caddy’s trunk
opened. Plump store bags, bearing only the finest in fashion logos, sat atop
the flowered canvas of matching luggage.
Patricia poked
through one of the sacks. “I’m anxious to see what you bought.”
“Why don’t we carry
it in so you can see better?” A sly grin lifted her lips. “And the luggage,
too.”
Patricia squealed.
“Does this mean you’re staying awhile?”
“Yes, dear. And I’m
so happy you’re excited about it.” She patted Patricia’s cheek. “Now, maybe you
can get your man to help us.”
“My man? Do you
mean Talon? He’s not here.”
“Not Talon. Your
man–your servant, or whatever you call him.” She stared pointedly at Frank, who
leaned against the tractor, watching them as he rubbed his hands on a rag.
“He’s not a serv–”
“We have company?”
Consuela Garcia called from the shadows of the massive front porch. In her
brightly embroidered Mexican dress, the housekeeper-slash-cook descended the
three steps and waddled toward them, eyeing the newcomer curiously. She
bypassed the front walk and crossed the lush grass in her sandaled feet.
Patricia rested one
hand on Consuela’s shoulder and waved the other toward their guest. “You
remember my aunt, Adele Cameron? She was here for the wedding.”
“Si, I remember.”
“She’ll be staying
with us for a while.”
“Okay, then. We
will put you in the guest room. It’s clean now. Fresh sheets. I’ll help you.”
Consuela advanced toward the trunk and gawked at the load inside. But she
swiftly recovered with a congenial smile. “What you want to take in?”
“I’ll need it all,”
Aunt Adele said. “And some of it will have to be ironed.”
“I can do it
tomorrow when I do everyone else’s.” Consuela grabbed the store bags, then led
their guest to the house, the older woman giving specific instructions as to
how she wanted her ironing done. Aunt Adele had always been particular about
her wardrobe.
With the sacks gone,
Patricia got a better look at the luggage. Aunt Adele must’ve brought a year’s
worth of clothes. Odd, since she was only supposed to be coming for the wedding
this past weekend.
Frank came beside
her and ran his fingers over his bushy gray mustache. “Don’t you Yankee women
know how to pack light?”
“I guess not.”
He looped the strap
of a bag over each shoulder, then hefted out a large case and jerked up the
handle. “Best get this inside.”
Patricia grabbed
the cosmetic case and slammed the trunk closed. “I can’t imagine why she
brought so much. Looks like she’s moving in.”
“Well, she’s your
aunt, ain’t she? Maybe she just wants some time with you.” He toted his burden
toward the house. “Better show your man where to put these.”
She grimaced. Frank
might have a hitch in his gait, but his hearing seemed impeccable. She scurried
to catch up. “I’m sorry about that. Aunt Adele’s used to having a full
household staff available. I guess all the high society trappings make her a
bit of a snob.”
“Don’t worry about
it too much. We’ve had snobs around here before.” He paused at the steps. “I
reckon y’all turned out all right.”
Grinning at his
light-hearted jab, she went around him to open the door. “Oh, Marie and I
weren’t that bad, were we?”
He raised a craggy
brow to the brim of his straw hat and drawled, “Where do you want these?”
She swatted his arm
playfully, then pointed to the second floor. “First door on the left.”
He took the
cosmetic case from her and headed to the stairs. Amazingly strong for such a
wiry man. She watched him carry his cumbersome load up the steps until he
safely landed on the second floor, then followed the sound of women’s voices
through the living room. The sweet smell of Marie’s wedding flowers had finally
begun to fade, replaced now with a vague hint of the spices Consuela used for
the enchiladas she’d planned for lunch. As Patricia passed through the dining
room and neared the kitchen, the scent of cumin grew stronger. So did the
voices.
She stopped at the
door. Aunt Adele stood formally erect, hands clamped together at her waist,
nose up like a stodgy aristocrat. Red faced and muttering in Spanish, Consuela
whisked a wooden spoon around her pot as if she chased a devil from its depths.
Patricia ventured
into the room. “What’s going on?”
After a heartbeat
pause, both women clamored for her attention, each talking louder and faster
until finally she covered her ears. “Stop!”
The two glowered at
each other like contestants in a wrestling ring.
Consuela pointed
the dripping spoon at Aunt Adele. “Get her out of my kitchen.”
Patricia bit back
questions she knew better than to ask when Consuela’s brows were drawn that
tightly.
She wrapped an arm
around her aunt’s stiff shoulders and guided her out. “Let’s get you up to your
room. You must be tired after traveling this morning. Did you drive all the way
from Dallas ?
That’s quite a–”
“Are you going to
let the hired help talk to me like that?” The harsh whisper could no doubt be
heard in the kitchen.
Patricia marshaled
her farther into the living room. “Consuela isn’t so much hired help as she is
family. She and her husband Chef have been with this ranch for years.” She
stopped walking and faced her aunt. “Frank isn’t hired help either. He’s wise
and kind and special to me, and I’d like for you to treat him with respect.”
Adele’s crimson
face contorted as she struggled to maintain her dignity, or tamp her temper
down, Patricia couldn’t tell which. She’d never seen this usually dignified
woman behave like a spoiled diva before.
From their left,
Frank entered the living room and passed through toward the kitchen. Judging by
the way he kept his head down, he’d probably heard their conversation. Between
his sharp ears and her aunt’s stage whispers, Patricia doubted he’d missed a
word.
“Yes, perhaps I
should retire to my room.” Aunt Adele’s tone could frost glass.
“Now, don’t be
angry. The ranch is just different from what you’re used to. We don’t have
hired hands, we have … family on salaries. Everyone is close.” She drifted her
hand down her aunt’s arm. “I want you to love it here like I do. It would mean
so much to me.”
She sniffed. “I see
I have a lot to learn about the way things are done here in Texas .”
“Yes, so did I.
Still do.”
Aunt Adele’s
expression softened as she took Patricia’s hands. “Why don’t you come home,
sweetheart? You’re not suited for this life.”
Patricia shook her
head. The fresh air, the quiet nights, the slower pace. Talon’s muscles
rippling and glistening in the sun as he lifted square bales for the horses. If
only Aunt Adele knew how very suited she was for this life. “I’m happy here.”
She escorted her
aunt to the guest room and helped store her things, then left her to nap away
the travel weariness. Maybe after some rest, she’d be her old, fun self again.
Meanwhile, she
needed to tend to the ruffled hen downstairs.
In the kitchen,
Consuela seemed calmer and was laughing at something Frank had said. He leaned
against the counter with a glass half full of water and watched Consuela
caramelize an onion in a sizzling cast iron skillet. Her husband, Chef Garcia,
had apparently entered through the back door. He rolled a chicken mixture in
corn tortillas for enchiladas and smiled at Patricia as she entered.
Patricia retrieved
a head of lettuce from the fridge. “I’m sorry about my aunt. I hope she didn’t
upset you too much.”
Consuela’s lips
puckered. She looked at Patricia from the corner of her eye. “Do you know what
she wanted?”
Patricia shook her
head.
She crossed her
arms over her chubby belly. “She wanted dinner served at seven.”
“That’s just what
she’s used to back in–”
“And she wanted
breakfast served at nine.”
“Well, yes, like I
was saying–”
“In bed.”
“Oh.” Patricia
lowered her eyes. “Well, you know, she’s from New York …”
“She is in Texas now.” Consuela
gave the onions a stir, then tapped the spoon on the side of the skillet loud
enough to make the metal ring. “I am not her cook.”
“No–”
“I do things the
way I do things, and she will eat or not.”
“Of course.”
“You told her?”
“I tried. I’m not
sure she understands how different things are here.”
“She will learn.
Next time she tells me what to do”–she nudged her husband– “Chef and me, we
will go on vacation. Someone else can cook till she leaves.”
Patricia winced.
Other than the Garcias, Marie was the only one who knew how to cook, and she
was on her honeymoon.
“Be patient with
her. I’ll make sure she understands.”
“See that you do.”
Patricia began
shredding the lettuce. “You two just got off to a bad start, Consuela. You’ll
like her.” She glanced at Frank. “You will too. Really. You’ll see.”
“Ain’t got a reason
not to like her. I guess she don’t remember, but I took her for a few twirls
around the dance floor after the weddin’.”
“You did? I thought
your knees wouldn’t allow dancing.”
“Oh, trust me, I
paid for it. They weren’t too happy.” He glanced up at the clock. “How much
time before lunch?”
“Straight up
twelve, Frank, you know that.” Consuela frowned at him. “Long as I been cookin’
in this kitchen, it’s been straight up twelve.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He
bussed her cheek and clapped Chef on the shoulder. “Gives me about twenty
minutes to put my tools up. Wrecked the best part of my mornin’ playing the
role of Pat’s man.”
Consuela hooted and
set a huge grin between her cheeks.
Patricia rolled her
eyes. “Next time, close your ears.”
Wasn’t it just a
couple of hours ago she’d dreamed of finding her rut? Of discovering her new
normal? Now, apparently, her primary job would be to keep peace between Aunt
Adele and Consuela for the duration of her aunt’s visit. How long would that
be?
Love the beginning! How can my readers find
you on the Internet?
Website: http://lindawyezak.com
Blog: http://lindayezak.com
Newsletter: http://dld.bz/CoffeewithLinda
Facebook Fan
Page: http://dld.bz/LWYFacebookPage
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lyezak/
Twitter:
@LindaYezak
Amazon Page: http://dld.bz/LWYAmazonPage
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/LindaYezak
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/lindawyezak/
Thank you, Linda, for sharing this book
with us. I have a lot of readers who will love your books.
Readers, here are links to the book.
The Final Ride: A Circle Bar Ranch Novel
- paperbackThe Final Ride: A Circle Bar Ranch Novel (Circle Bar Ranch Series Book 2)
- Kindle
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