by Karen Kay
Puncheon logs—Wooden logs, roughly trimmed; one side is hacked flat.
Saa—Blackfeet for “no”.
Soka’pii—Blackfeet for “good”, usually said at the same time that the right hand, palm down and at chest level, is sent out in a quick motion forward—sign language for “good”.
Vertical-face—An excavation method used by archaeologists that is done in a horizontal direction. The general rule is to pick one side of the site and excavate across the site. The other excavation method is the grid method.
About the Author
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”
Find Karen Kay online at www.novels-by-karenkay.com.
Look for these titles by Karen Kay
Now Available:
Lakota
Lakota Surrender
Lakota Princess
Proud Wolf’s Woman
Blackfoot Warriors
Gray Hawk’s Lady
White Eagle’s Touch
Night Thunder’s Bride
Legendary Warriors
War Cloud’s Passion
Lone Arrow’s Pride
Soaring Eagle’s Embrace
The Lost Clan
The Angel and the Warrior
The Spirit of the Wolf
Coming Soon:
The Lost Clan
The Last Warrior
Iroquois Warrior
Black Eagle
Seneca Surrender
Buried treasure shines brightest in the dark…
Lone Arrow’s Pride
© 2012 Karen Kay
The Legendary Warriors, Book 3
Ten years after she survived a cholera epidemic that wiped out her entire wagon train, Carolyn White is on a quest to shake off the bad luck that follows her everywhere and which now threatens her adopted family. The unending string of mishaps can have only one source: the gold piece that she, in childish innocence and wonder, once took from a stolen cache.
She tells herself her journey to Crow Country is merely to put the piece back in the cave where she found it. Yet in her heart, she knows it’s the memory of Lone Arrow, the boy who sheltered her there. The boy whose face, now that of a man’s, inhabits her dreams.
Lone Arrow’s anger knows no bounds. Anger with the white woman he suspects isn’t being truthful to him. Anger with himself that he cannot ignore the beauty who captured his heart even as a boy. Though trust is in short supply, he can’t deny his burning need for her. Whatever else she may be, she is his destiny.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Contains a passion that could lead to soul-stirring love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lone Arrow’s Pride:
Oh, what a kiss.
As his lips captured hers, his hands came up to cup her face, holding her gently, as though even his fingers adored her. Slowly he trailed a forefinger down over her cheek, to her neck.
And while raw hunger swept through her like a living inferno, Carolyn, closing her eyes, went limp. She simply could not control it. Despite what she had said, despite what she had tried to make him—and perhaps herself, too—believe, she had yearned for this moment.
And as his tongue swept into her mouth, shutting off whatever protest she might have made, Carolyn could barely conjure up a single thought.
Not when the soft texture of his mouth, the musky scent of his skin, the utter thrill of his lips on hers made her wish that this moment might never end. She leaned in closer to him, and instinctively, she knew she needed more, so much more.
She felt herself sway in toward him, and he took a step forward, as though in welcome, the action bringing his body into full contact with hers. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, and she held on like she might never let go.
Hard contours pressed up against her soft ones and Carolyn became aware of him, of the rugged imprint of his masculinity which thrust against her.
Lord help her, their positions, her awareness of him, created such an ecstasy within her, she felt it impossible to catch her breath. And without willing herself to do so, she pushed herself even further into his arms, merging her body with his in silent invitation.
His voice was strained when he asked, “Do you understand, Carolyn?” He relinquished her lips for a moment, giving her time to come up for breath. And nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “Do you see? Do you accept that I could make you mine?”
She shook her head slightly, resting her face against the crook of his neck, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing, glorying in the solid feel of his chest as it rose and fell.
Had she done this to him?
She said, “Then marry me, Lone Arrow, marry me and be done with it. Only Lone Arrow,” she threw her head back slightly so that she could look up at him, “don’t think that you will be able to control what I do because of it.”
He groaned. “A woman should obey her man.”
“I will, when I marry,” she said, “as long as I agree with him.”
“And if you do not agree?”
“Then we will have to speak to one another about it, because I would never do something that I thought might be wrong, and I will not stop searching for the cave.”
Lone Arrow sighed, and even the simple movement of his chest beneath her fingertips seduced her, creating a yearning that gnawed at her.
And as raw excitement filled her soul, she realized that, right or wrong, she wanted this man. He might be from an entirely foreign culture, he might be her nemesis at this moment, yet she craved his arms around her. Craved his presence in her life. In truth, she wanted all of him, mind, body and soul.
“Such a stubborn, stubborn woman, you are,” he observed as he stroked her lips with his tongue.
And at the magic of that caress, a tremor stormed through her. She shivered.
Nonetheless, she found it within herself to return his criticism, saying, “Such an obstinate man, you are.”
He paused. Then, “I will not show you the caves because of it.”
It? What was it?
She became lost. Was he talking about love or caves or marriage…or was it sex? This last notion sent dizzying eagerness bolting through her. And oh, how she ached to have his lips back on hers.
Why were they talking?
But he seemed intent on the matter at hand, and he went on to elaborate. “I do not accept your challenge, no matter what you might think.”
Was she supposed to be thinking? She asked, “My challenge?”
“I will not show you the cave, no matter if I make you my wife.”
Oh, yes, of course, marriage. They had been speaking of marriage.
She opened her mouth to state again what she must, but at that very same moment, he raised one of his hands and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. And, heaven help her, her mind went blank.
Reaching out with both his hands, he cupped her face in his palms and gazed down at her. And there was such a look of intensity upon his face that it made her insides somersault. Truly, she felt as helpless as if she were a rag, fluttering in a summer storm. And then he kissed her again, fully, completely, absolutely.
Carolyn forgot all the reasons why she was supposed to resist him. In truth, she could not even recall why she was here, let alone understand the top
ic at hand. All she could think of was him, his lips, his embrace. And dear Lord, she wanted more. Always more.
But as if destined, it did not last. Just as she’d been about to surrender her heart to him, he dropped his arms from around her and took a single step backward.
Carolyn swayed. She felt bereft. And she might have thrown herself back into his arms, if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking up at him at that exact moment.
His look caused her to frown. What was wrong? Why did he appear suddenly forbidding? All she wanted was another kiss.
He said, “I would have you understand.”
She must have looked confused, or maybe she simply continued to frown at him, for he went on to explain, “I would have you understand, without the lure of passion filling your soul, that if I make you my wife, I will not be coerced into taking you to the cave. We will go back to my people.”
Oh. So that was it.
Well, fine. She understood; of course she understood. What he did not seem to know was that at this moment in time, it mattered not at all. Alas, nothing seemed to concern her.
Something was happening to her. And try though she might to look straight at him, she seemed to be gazing down upon them both, from a viewpoint far above them. And at present, she felt carefree.
It was an odd feeling; strange, really. For the world suddenly seemed a bright, sunny place. And there was nothing wrong. In truth, there seemed to be nothing of worth happening in the world at all, except her, him, the passion they shared, her family.
Her family?
Like an arrow shooting straight to its target, Carolyn remembered: why she was here, who she was, who he was and why she needed him. And like a hunter’s target, she felt herself plummet to the earth.
She teetered on her feet unsteadily for a second as a heaviness descended upon her. And clearing her throat, she found she could barely speak, although she knew she must. Finally, mustering together what she could, she was able to utter, “I—I do understand. Y-you want to marry me so I will have to obey you. But my conditions remain. I will marry you only if you promise to take me to the cave. I’m sorry, Lone Arrow, but I am desperate.”
So, there it was. They had reached the same impasse that they had encountered the previous evening. They both knew it and yet, he said, “It is wrong. I know it is not a thing I should do, still…”
Still what? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. So she remained silent instead, daring nothing.
And at last he said, “I would have you.”
A war-weary ex-soldier. An untamable woman. Love doesn’t stand a chance in hell…
With Open Arms
© 2014 Cindy Nord
The Cutteridge Family, Book 2
Hardened in childhood by the death of her parents, then left to run the family’s southwestern territory ranch when her brother rode off to fight for the Union years before, Callie Cutteridge hides her heartbreak behind a mask of self-sufficiency. Breaking horses for the army proves she’s neither delicate nor helpless. When a former cavalry officer shows up claiming to own her brother’s half of the Arizona ranch, she steels herself to resist the handsome stranger’s intention to govern even one single aspect of her life. After all, loving means losing…to her it always has.
For months, Jackson Neale has looked forward to putting the bloodstained battlefields back east behind him. Callie isn’t the agreeable angel her brother led him to believe, but he’s damned well not the useless rake this foul-mouthed hellion thinks he is, either. His quest for calm stability contradicts sharply with her need for control, yet still their heartstrings tangle. But how can these mistrusting partners transform their fiery passion into happily-ever-after?
Warning: Contains a high-strung, tart-tongued heroine who drives the hero past the point of rational thought. If she were a man, he’d be happy to connect a well-aimed fist at her jaw. As it is, he’d be happy to give her foul mouth a good scrubbing with a bar of soap.
Enjoy the following excerpt for With Open Arms:
“What in the Sam hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice boomed over her and Callie whirled to face him, dwarfed by his formidable size.
“Me? What about you?” She blew out her breath. Like a bitter pill, she tasted her unbalanced fury. Her hand slid down the wall and ended in a tight fist at her side.
“I was dancing,” he snapped.
“Dancing? That’s not what I’d call it, mister.” Callie refused to point out the sordid details of what his penchant for groping women might do to her sterling reputation.
He loomed closer. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She raised her right arm and pointed toward the closed door, her index finger wagging furiously. “Out there…on the dance floor is what I’m talking about. You and Miss…” Callie struggled to remember the name and failed. So she settled for, “…Prim and Proper!” She swayed again and rammed her back straighter.
An agonizing moment ticked past as his gaze seared hers. Finally, his voice boomed with scorn, “Good God, woman, is that what this madness is about?” A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and he reared back, his eyes crushing into slits. “You’ve been drinking.”
“A few glasses of wine. And don’t even bother changing the subject.”
Jackson braced his hand upon the rough wall behind her, then leaned forward, closing the distance between them to mere inches. “Why do you care what I do?”
“Because you can’t do that here. You damn polecat, people talk.”
Three more beats of her heart passed before he whispered, “It’s not acceptable for me to dance with a beautiful woman?”
“I’m not talking about dancing, and you damn well know it.” Her chin rose in a blatant challenge. “I didn’t realize you were planning on seducing women tonight. Had I known, I wouldn’t have bothered riding over.” Her cheeks burned in frustration. “I clearly remember you saying you were coming to this party tonight to talk about horses!”
“I already spoke to Señor Eschevon,” he ground out behind clenched teeth, his features tightening into a mask of stone. “Had you been here earlier, like you should have been, you would have known.”
The faraway notes of a guitar underscored the momentary pause. Callie grasped for the closest thought. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you going to breed her or not?”
Jackson leaned closer, pushing his lips into a sideways grin. “Who, darlin’? The horse or Miss Talmadge?” The damnable chuckle that followed pommelled Callie like a scorching wind. “And seduction is a mighty strong word for simply enjoying the charismatic allure of a woman.” The sultry smell of him, all citrusy and spicy and so unbearably male, embedded deep inside her brain. “At least she appreciates being a woman, which is far more than I can say for lonely little you.”
Callie shoved him away and lurched sideways, bumping into a shelf. Glass jars of pickles and preserves and ruby-red tomatoes rattled together, silent onlookers watching her squirm under his stinging words. “I am not lonely, you onerous toad. And a corseted waistline will do nothing to make the tart you crave be strong enough to survive in my country. If creamy skin and décolletage are the only things you’re after, then you won’t last long at my ranch either.”
A dangerous glint flashed in Jackson’s eyes and his features grew rigid. He pushed closer still, wrapping her inside his shadow. “Men like softness and kindness in a woman. Qualities I now know even you possess, but are too damned afraid to show.”
“I’m not afraid of one damn thing.” The lie forced her scalp to tingle as her breathing tripped in and out. She lost track of time and place as the absolute truth of her weaknesses now twisted everything into knots inside her.
“Bullshit. You’re terrified of responding to anything, let alone a man. And God only knows what or who it’ll be to break through tha
t armored wall you’ve erected around yourself.”
“Well I can say with absolute certainty it won’t be you.”
“You’re damned right.” Soaked in sarcasm now, his voice deepened as the glint in his eyes darkened. “I’ll always choose softness and sensuality, both things you’re not.”
A wild tremble rolled through Callie with the force of some unknown demon. Her right hand curled into a tight ball and a second later, she drove her fist full-force into Jackson’s midsection. A resounding oomph resonated as he nearly doubled over from the unexpected blow.
She went rigid with shock as he straightened.
Her gaze locked on his flushed face.
On a slow push of air, he released his breath. A muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes burned with something Callie could not comprehend. She panicked, but before she could slide away, Jackson’s hand jammed into the hair at the base of her braid. He cupped her head, his face looming so close now she could see the flecks of gold embedded in the depths of his dark eyes. He pushed her up against the wall, knocking over a bucket and a broom in the process.
Her heart banged against her chest and a peculiar sound sputtered out. Had it come from her? Or him? Heat drained from her face as her eyes widened.
He dipped his head.
Surely to God he wouldn’t dare.
The empty cavern of her lungs flooded with air as she tried to scream. The sound never materialized. Jackson slammed his mouth down upon hers, capturing her lips in a fierce, hot possession. A hellish, mind-spinning burn that yearned for release swept aside her icy wrath of moments before. The frisson of fear coalesced through Callie’s veins into an all-consuming rush of heat.
Strong arms wrapped her waist. Then lifted her.
Jackson filled every part of her senses…his taste, his smell, his strength. His presence burned high and hot and strange guttural sounds consumed her. She fought to dislodge him. He tightened his hold, crushing her breasts against his body. She could not get rid of him, so she scrambled to push him from her mind. With a maddening will of its own, however, her mind refused to listen. The hard nubs of her nipples rasped against the cotton camisole beneath her shirt. Her hand slipped over Jackson’s shoulders, her fingers digging into the bunched muscles that strained against expensive wool. A wave of tightness spiraled down to settle into her most intimate place. The only thing dominating her now was the pressure of Jackson’s lips and his hand…and the intoxicating smell and taste of him. Richly caramelized. Oaken.