“You’re a low-down, murderin’ bastard, Harkner! Everybody knows it. They smile to your face, but they know you’ve got no right wearin’ a badge. Wasn’t long ago you was on the other side of that badge, rottin’ in prison for robbery, rape and murder.”
“Everyone froze. Jeff had no idea why, but he felt compelled to reach over and take Randy’s hand. He was surprised at how hard she gripped his hand when he did so.
Jake remained casual and chewed on a toothpick as he spoke. “Hash, there are other people in this restaurant, including women and children, who don’t need to hear your trash talk. Why don’t you just go home?”
Hash Bryant raised the shotgun.
Jake rested his right hand on his gun. “Don’t even think about it, Hash,” he warned. “Not in here. I don’t intend to make a mess of Sadie’s restaurant. She’s a nice lady.”
The restaurant became so silent Jeff could hear water boiling somewhere. He noticed Randy close her eyes. Her grip on his hand was beginning to hurt.
“I’m thinkin’ that when I beat you within an inch of your life, Harkner, I want it to be when you’re healed up. A man can’t brag about beatin’ on somebody who’s wounded.”
Jake folded his arms. “Well, that’s very gentlemanly of you, Hash. I didn’t know the Bryants had a sense of honor, considering what your sons did to that fifteen-year-old girl they holed up with after robbing that bank. I’ve done pretty much everything people say I’ve done, but I’ve never abused a woman. After what I saw out there when I arrested your boys, I have no problem with my son abusing your son, as you put it.”
Hash squinted his eyes, never moving from Jake’s gaze. “A man can’t always be responsible for what his son does, now, can he? I hear yours is no angel … followed in his pa’s footsteps for a while, or so I’m told … a murderin’, theivin’, whorein’ outlaw … so don’t be tellin’ me about sons, Harkner. And you ain’t one to be talkin’ about honor. I’ve lost two sons on account of you! Two! Ted and Gordy both, and both by your gun! I’d say that requires some pay-back. Your son is still alive!”
Jake just glared at Bryant, keeping his arms folded. Jeff had a feeling that if it weren’t for his leg, Jake would launch into Hash Bryant right now and drag him out into the street.
“I’d suggest that once you leave town with Brad, you stay out of town, Hash. It would be best if I didn’t see your face again, understand? If I see you in town any time soon, I’ll throw you in jail just for being here!”
The water kept boiling, and Jeff could hear a clock ticking on the wall behind him.
“This ain’t over, Harkner.”
“Maybe not. But your wife has lost two sons because they were thieves and rapists. I’m sure she mourns them anyway, but don’t add losing her husband to the picture. Go home Hash. Make any more trouble and I’ll come after every damn one of you. And if anyone in my family gets hurt, I’ll kill every last Buckley and Bryant who are left!”
Hash Bryant looked around at others in the restaurant. “You hear that? A lawman who executes his prisoners!” He turned to Jake. “Maybe that’s somethin’ my Marty is willin’ to risk.”
Jake stiffened even more. “Where is he, Hash? Where’s Marty?”
“I got no idea.”
“The hell you don’t! I’ll find him, and if I find you with him, you’ll die right along with your son! It would go easier on you if you owned up right now where I can find Marty!”
“Find him yourself, Harkner,” Hash sneered. He glanced sidelong at Randy. “And keep your family in town where it’s safer while you’re at it.”
Jake stormed toward him and ripped the shotgun right out of his hand. “Get out, Hash! You are truly pushing your luck. I am real tempted to change my mind about not leaving body parts all over this restaurant!”
To help celebrate the reissue of OUTLAW HEARTS and the debut of DO NOT FORSAKE ME, I will be guest posting for a Western Historical group post tour beginning today, April 27th and continuing through May 8th! Some blogs have chosen a topic or asked questions, and some will let me choose what to write about. No two posts will be the same, and I've had a ball writing each and every one! Click on the blog names on the dates listed below to learn a little more about me and my books -- and just have fun!
(Jake has learned some terrible news – his beloved Randy, the woman he loves more than his own life, is very ill – she wakes up groggy from sedatives and Jake is trying very hard to lighten the moment, not wanting to tell her the truth (or even face it himself), which leads to the following conversation after he’s crawled into bed with her that morning …) (Jake speaking) … “You’ve been out like you went on a drinking binge. You even talked to me, but like a drunk woman. You don’t remember?” “No! I don’t remember a thing!” Randy turned onto her back. “What did you do to me after you undressed me?” He grinned. “Unspeakable things … horrible … shameful … unspeakable things. You don’t even want to know. You’d never talk to me again. I’d be out in somebody’s dog house if I told you.” She pushed at him. “You did not.” “Oh, I figured I’d take advantage of the situation and I did all the things you’ve always been too embarrassed to let me do. Only the worst prostitute in the worst brothel in Oklahoma would let me do such things.” Randy couldn’t help a smile. “And how would you know that?” “I’ve seen it all and done it all.” He met her mouth in a deep kiss. “It was great.” “You’d better be lying,” she told him when he moved his kisses back to her throat. “I never lie to you. You have been properly ravished, mi querida. We had nothing but disrespectful sex last night.” “Is there such a thing?” “You bet. I got to know things about you I never realized in twenty-six years of sleeping with you.” She laughed softly. “You’re being mean.” “Mean is what I’m known for.” Randy studied his eyes and saw the hint of fear behind all the joking. “What did Brian tell you?” His smile faded a little. “He told me it’s okay to have sex with you.” Her eyes widened. “ You didn’t ask him about that!” “Of course I did. Do you think our son-in-law doesn’t know we still frolic in bed?” “Jake, I will never be able to face him again.” “Mrs. Harkner, who are you married to?” “Jake Harkner.” “Do you really think those closest to us don’t know a man like me still enjoys women?” “Women? As in plural?” “You know what I mean.” “I’m not sure I do. Did you really just take a bath at that brothel the last time you were gone?” she teased. “I really did.” “And who helped bathe you?” “Me, myself and I.” Randy grinned. “I’m not sure I believe that.” “Who loves you more than his own life?” “You.” “And there is your answer.” He started to kiss her again but she put her hand over his mouth. “What did Brian tell you? You’re avoiding the answer, Jake.”
(Reporter Jeff is having a conversation with Jake Harkner) “Can you answer one question for me before I leave?” Jeff asked. “If it doesn’t take a long story.” “No. I just want to know how you would describe your wife if you could only use one or two words.” A look of complete adoration and sorrow moved through Jake’s gaze. He smoked quietly, saying nothing at first. “The center of my universe,” he finally answered. “And the air I breathe. No man could ask for better.” Jeff scribbled the words. “That’s a beautiful way to put it.” “She’s a beautiful woman – inside and out. I have absolutely no idea how or why she puts up with me.” “Pardon my forwardness, but I suspect it’s because she feels the same way about you, Jake. You are the air she breathes.” Jake met Jeff’s gaze. “I had no right ever touching that woman, but I never wanted anything worse in my life than I wanted her the first time I saw her.”
For my readers … I wrote this close to thirty years ago and thought it might interest you as to how much I love to write and how I managed to write sixty big, historical romances over the past thirty years:
I try so hard to write the best book I can write, and get so frustrated when I realize there are still so many millions of people out there who will never know about my books. I love writing so much, work so hard at it, but true success is always just out of reach. It’s so hard to keep going sometimes, amid the hurry and worry of everyday life; yet I cannot stop, even if I should end up a pauper, I cannot stop, because writing and the West are alive in me. I live to write, and my spirit belongs to the West. It will never, never belong anyplace else. Someday the world will know this. I will make a name for my western writing. I will be famous for it. Perhaps God is only waiting for me to know this for sure – to know my destiny and never take it for granted, never think about the money or the fame, only about my destiny – my goals, my purpose for living, which is to WRITE – and to write about the West – only the American West. I desire nothing else, live for nothing else. May God help me keep this spirit – keep the West alive in my mind and my heart even when I cannot be there. And may He remind me that I HAVE reached success, if only in the form of writing book after book and staying at the computer and doing what I love. If I can’t reach the whole world, I can at least reach hundreds, thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of readers and teach them about the great history of the American West, respect it, love it.
The men inside the jail laughed. “Jake Harkner, kind and thoughtful toward kids, and a ruthless, murderin’ sonofabitch toward everybody else.” “Something like that,” Jake answered. “You try anything, or hurt Sparky, and you’ll see the ruthless, murdering sonofabitch side of me.” (Reporter Jeff is watching all of this) Five men against one, (he is thinking). Jeff wondered how he would manage to find his next breath. “What about the hired gun, Bo?” Jake yelled. “Who is he?” “Pierce Henry. He’s out in the street somewhere, waiting to shoot your ass if we can’t do it. One way or another, you’ll die today for killin’ Jack, and for what you done to Brad. The kid is hurtin’ real bad, Jake. He might not live.” “He made his choice,” Jake yelled back. “Now come on out of there unless you’re ready to die. Give it some thought.” It was then that everything changed. A little boy came running down the street on short little legs. “Gampa! Gampa!” Jeff froze in terror. “My God, it’s Jake’s grandson!” “Jesus Christ!” Jake swore. After that, all hell broke loose. Jake charged off the boardwalk and literally leaped over a hitching post. He ducked and rolled his way toward his grandson while guns blazed from inside the jail.
I feel so honored that this man designed the covers for OUTLAW HEARTS and DO NOT FORSAKE ME. I've already had a "sneak peek" at the cover for #3 and it's beautiful! Jon Paul is so talented, and soon you will have a chance to win framed prints of my covers when DO NOT FORSAKE ME gets close to publication. His work is so beautiful that you want to hang it on your wall. These prints are valuable so be sure to enter my contest!
I recently came across something I hand wrote close to thirty years ago, and it says it all when it comes to why I write American Western Historical stories. I was just doing some musing, after writing a description of how I feel about certain places out west. I thought this would interest my readers.
ROCKY MOUNTAINS: There is a peace here unlike anyone can find anyplace else. It is not just quiet. It is total silence, except when the wind blows, often whipping up in an instant, surging violently down from the peaks ahead of a storm, giving no warning, and diminishing in minutes.
NORTHERN WYOMING: Here, I feel, is home. I have been here, in some other life, some other time frame. Perhaps my soul belongs to Sacajawea, or to a long-forgotten pioneer woman. Whoever has moved into this earthly body to live for whatever years God will grant to me, she came from this place, just as surely as I live and breathe today. Someday I will live here again, if not in the flesh, then in spirit. My bones will be buried here, or my ashes scattered here, and I will at last be home again.
YELLOWSTONE: Who can imagine such vast wilderness? It is too awesome to fully describe. Deep green but scraggly pine against black and gray granite. Live and dead trees side by side. Deep blue skies and puffy clouds. Deep canyons with clear water rivers that rush and roar over rocks and boulders. Green and yellow grass grows along the stream beds where animals graze. Along steep banks lie fallen trees and scattered rocks that have slid from higher lofts. Other rocks rise like organ pipes to the heavens, some hanging seemingly on nothing and looking ready to come crashing down.
MUSINGS: There is a life to this land I never realized when I first came west. What at first I called isolation became something of beauty. What looked lifeless came alive, and each time I come here I know why those who live here love it, as I, too, feel a love for it, feel drawn to it more each time I come here. This is home, this great West, all of it, from the arid deserts of Arizona to the snow-covered peaks of Colorado and the green, rolling hills of Wyoming. There is truly nothing like it in all the world, not one place that can match its beauty, its endless horizons, its thousands of miles of snowy peaks, its delicate ecology. It is wide and wild and beautiful, and it is colorful, full of a unique history unmatched in its rapid growth, its wild and wonderful settlement. It grows on you. I can see why those who came here, whether for gold, to settle, whatever the reason, could never go back east and be the same – or could go back and not return again and again, finally to stay. If I could, I would never, never go home – never.
Randy’s stomach fell a little watching him strap on the guns. She never quite got over the dread of what each new day could bring. … He tied the holsters to his thighs … and pulled on his leather vest, his badge already pinned to it. Randy sighed. “I can already see a dark mood setting in, Jake.” “And I don’t like having to look at Marty Bryant. I want to kill him and I can’t. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll give me an excuse.” He opened the bedroom door and started out. “Jake, don’t you want breakfast?” “No. I’ll just grab a hunk of bread on the way out and get a cup of coffee down at the jail.” “Wait,.” Randy walked closer and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m telling you, I don’t have a good feeling about this. Lloyd would understand if you want to get him.” “No. I’ll be all right on my own. And Sparky will be at the jail.” Their gazes held. “Jake, don’t lie to me.” He turned away. “Just stay in the house today, will you? … That means even if you hear shooting. Don’t you dare go running out into the street, you hear me? If you’re needed, someone will come and get you.” “Jake -“ “Promise me!” She felt the tears wanting to come. “I promise.” She watched him leave, then closed her eyes and turned away, praying the same prayer she prayed every single morning. “God, be with him.”
A rather disgruntled Jake came down the steps. “What do you want? Give us a couple more days and you can come and talk to my wife when things calm down.” “It’s not that.” Jeff looked back toward town. “Marshal, when I headed back to town, some men stopped me. They were watching you, and they … made threats … said now there was one more pretty woman in your family. One even said to tell you that Gordy says hello.” Jeff watched all the soft side of Jake Harkner the family man turn to something else as Jake looked past him toward town. In one quick moment he’d become the man Jeff saw ride into Guthrie just yesterday. “How many?” Jake asked. “Three. Do you know who they are?” Jake’s demeanor grew even darker. “You bet your ass I know them.”
(Reporter Jeff Truebridge is speaking) “What’s your opinion of Jake, sheriff?” The hefty man grunted as he took his feet down from the desk. “He’s a mean sonofabitch, and mean is probably an understatement. But he can be a damn good friend once he’s figured out you’re worth it. He’s the kind of man you want to have your back if you’re in trouble, but also the kind of man you don’t want to cross. My advice to you is to tread lightly. Jake doesn’t like people poking into personal affairs or bothering his family.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sheriff Sparks grunted again as he stood up. “Good luck to you, kid.” He lit some oil lamps as the sun began to set behind the western landscape. “You all right in there, doc?” he asked Brian. (a doctor treating wounded prisoners) “I’m almost done.” “I’ll tell you about Harkner,” one of the prisoners yelled to Jeff. “He’s a murderin’ sonofabitch! Killed his own pa, they say!” (Later, Jeff follows the doctor, Jake’s son-in-law, home) “You’re married to Jake’s daughter, right?” “I am. And Jake Harkner is one of the finest men I’ve known, so don’t be thinking I’m going to tell you horror stories about the man.” He turned away. “Not that he doesn’t have any horror stories to tell you himself.” Jeff kept pursuing him as he walked. “Did he really kill his own father?” “That’s a very touchy subject for him. I can only tell you he had good reason, but don’t think it doesn’t eat at him. … I’d be very careful asking him about it. You’d better get to know (Jake) pretty good before you even touch that subject.” (Later in the conversation Brian tells the reporter …) “…it’s Miranda you’ll need to deal with, not Jake. If he lets you write a book, it will be because Randy says it’s okay. Out there on the trail, he’s in full command. But when it comes to things like this, it’s like I told you, my mother-in-law owns that man. And if you do anything to offend her, you’ll have Jake to answer to.”
