Marcia Lynn McClure

Western Historical RomancePlush, green pasture grasses stretch out forever before the beauty of rugged, majestic mountains on the horizon, and moonlit skies are scattered over with glimmering stars: Adelaide Plume's Colorado cattle ranch home is akin to heaven itself. Paired with the blessings of a loving family and a cherished, bosom friend, Adelaide's life is bright, secure, and filled with satisfied happiness. Moreover, her father's recent hire of handsome cowboy, Chance Flannery lends an entirely new exhilaration to Adelaide's already picturesque existence. And yet Chance's arrival at the ranch sends Adelaide longing to cast off the appearance of childhood and be seen instead as a refined young woman. The fact that her bullying older brother insists on executing a series of humiliating pranks upon her serves only to frustrate Adelaide further. For how will Chance Flannery ever see her as anything more than a clumsy, tousled schoolgirl when he is forever finding her in awkward circumstances? Still, the town's traditional festivities to be held for Christmas offer Adelaide hope--hope that a transformation of appearance might alter Chance Flannery's perception of her, hope that she will at last be seen as a woman and no longer a child. Nonetheless, an unseen, menacing threat begins to creep into the life Adelaide holds so dear. When all she loves is imperiled, will she stumble into harm's way, just as she always has at the hand of her impish brother? Or will Adelaide become the woman she desires to be and find a strength that even she never knew she possessed?

Excerpt from Introduction by Marcia Lynn McClure: My soul respires autumn I sort of have the feeling, as I introduce you to "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving, that is all I need to say. My soul respires autumn, and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" respires autumn beauty and wonder of a bygone time. So I'm sure you see the correlation between the breathing of my soul and Irving's work. And yet, I digress. Washington Irving was born April 3, 1783, in New York City, New York. He was among the very first American writers to gain European acclaim. Charles Dickens, Lord Byron, and Sir Walter Scott were just a few of his admirers abroad. Many American writers were inspired, encouraged, and mentored by him, including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and even Edgar Allen Poe. He was made popular the nickname "Gotham" for New York City and is the author of the phrase "the almighty dollar." And it was Washington Irving's writings that shaped the way Americans anticipated, perceived, and celebrated Christmas--including a dream sequence authored by Irving that became the basis for our own American version of St. Nicholas, i.e. Santa Claus. Of course, you can search out Irving's accomplishments, accolades, and author histories further if you like. My intention is to draw you into a romantic love for his "Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

Exerpt: But when she saw him take his own seat next to her--carefully eyeing him peripherally--she was wildly disconcerted when she felt goose bumps breaking over her arms. Although she had not had a good, solid look at him, she could sense he was very handsome. His voice alone revealed he was--the deep, rich nature of it. In truth, his voice made her feel--well, it somehow whisked her back--whisked her back four years, bathing her in memories of another supper and a voice she'd heard that night--a voice as deep and rich, as warm and wonderful as molasses taffy." It seems we cross paths again, Miss Ambria Blanchard," the man said. And she knew then. Ambria knew that the voice and the man were not simply similar to the voice and the man that had changed her life four years before--but that the same man himself was sitting next to her. Thinking of the worn photograph she still cached in a secret space in her wallet, Ambria turned and nearly fainted with euphoric shock when she found herself gazing into the blue, blue, bluest eyes of the most gorgeous, beefcaked, super-stud lady-killer she'd ever seen.

Sage's hands trembled as she held her cards. One card--that's all she needed. Just one more three to finish her set and she would win Reb had won the first hand they'd played--Sage the second. Now Sage was holding everything she needed to beat him--save one silly three. ... Sage sat, mouth gaping open in astonishment. She had lost She had actually lost Reb looked at her..." Well, Sage," he began, "I'll drop in Saturday and collect my winnin's." "N-now, Reb," Sage stammered, a nervous smile and pleading expression washing over her face. "Why...why don't I just fix you up a nice supper on Saturday...some of my special sage gravy..." "Oh, I like the flavor of sage, all right," Reb interrupted, smiling at her as he smoothed his mustache with the side of an index finger..." Yes, ma'am I do love to savor the taste of sage And I plan on gettin' my fill of it Saturday night...but supper won't be necessary, Sage." Sage felt her cheeks run vermilion as the other ladies in the room giggled... Following the death of her parents, Sage Willows had lovingly nurtured her younger sisters through childhood. She loved her sisters. She'd seen each one married, and was glad to see them settled and happy. Furthermore, she held no resentment at never having found a good man of her own to settle down with. Yet, regret is different than resentment--and far more haunting. Still, Sage found as much joy as was allowed a lonely young woman--in being proprietress of Willows' Boardinghouse, and in the companionship of the four beloved widow-women boarding there. Until, that is, the devilishly handsome Rebel Lee Mitchell appeared. It seemed Reb Mitchel instantly and forever vanquished Sage's feigned contentment. Dark, mysterious and secretly wounded, Reb Mitchell utterly captured Sage's lonely heart. Nevertheless, to Sage Williows, the powerfully attractive cowboy--admired and coveted by every female in his path--seemed entirely unobtainable. How could a weathered, boardinghouse-proprietress resigned to spinsterhood, ever hope to hold the attention of such a man? And knowing she couldn't--would Sage Willows simply sink deeper into the bleak loneliness she'd secreted for so long?

As Keeley unbuckled her seat belt, she looked up to see a man step out of the cabin that was the Snow Creek Ranch office and start toward them." Thank you, Santa Claus," she mumbled to herself--for the man walking toward them was unquestionably the most attractive, the most well-formed, the most striking, the most handsome, sexiest man she had ever seen He looked to be in his mid-twenties. He wore jeans, weathered comp-toe work boots, and a classic barn coat that hung open to reveal the black-and-red flannel shirt beneath it. But it wasn't his manly, capable attire that so captivated Keeley--left her mouth agape and her eyes widened. It was his clean-cut dark brown hair, downright seductive oval, almost rectangular eyes, square jaw, and sensational movie-star smile "Boom-boom-foxy " Paisley said as she leaned over Keeley to stare at the man who had reached their SUV and was offering a friendly handshake to her father.

Seemingly overnight, Renee Millings found herself orphaned and married to the indescribably handsome but ever-frowning Roque Montan. His father, the General, was obsessively determined that his lineage would continue posthaste--with or without consent of his son's new bride. But when Roque reveals the existence of a sworn oath that will obstruct his father's ambition, will the villainous General conspire to ensure the future of his coveted progeny to be borne by Renee himself? Will Renee find the only means of escape from the odious General to be that of his late wife--death? Or will the son find no tolerance for his father's diabolic plotting concerning the woman Roque legally terms his wife?