Do you have something to celebrate? Whether it's a Birthday, New Release, or something else

Do you have something to celebrate? Whether it's a Birthday, New Release, or something else - Book your Celebration Roasting Bash now ! BUT FIRST PLEASE READ OLIVER'S RULES !

P
lease Note:
We don't do reviews or interviews. just virtual parties to promote your book!

As many of you may know, our beloved sister hostess SHARON DONOVAN, tragically passed away on 11th April 2012. We who knew her, loved her, and were inspired by her courage and determination to face head on whatever life threw at her. When she could no longer see to paint she turned to writing and showed her amazing talent in the Inspirational Romance and Romantic Suspense genres, and her story 'Charade Of Hearts' was awarded the coveted Predators and Editors Award in January 2011.

This Blog was a source of great delight to her, she was one of the founder hostesses and she contributed to the fun and silliness in her own original way, and was kind enough to let her unique creation, the hunky butler 'Oliver' join us for our Friday romp and prepare 'virtual breakfast' for the guests on the following morning. It's beyond hard to have to go on without her, but we know that she would have been the first to insist that 'the show must go on.' She is, and will always be with us in spirit.
Sharon, dear friend, we will never forget you.
The Author Roast and Toast is part of the legacy you left us. Let's raise a Toast to you as well as all our guests.
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Friday, January 25, 2013

Charlene Raddon rolls the wagons West


The wagon bounces over a rut and tosses the hostesses in the air. They come down hard on the wooden plank seats. Mac grabs hold of Patsy’s arm to keep from tumbling off the side.
deep ruts on the Oregon trail

“Are we there yet?”

Chimney Rock
Lyn  laughs, clicks her tongue, and flicks the reins, directing the horses pulling the wagon up a small rise. 

“The campsite is just over this hill.” She jerks her chin toward the towering rock formation in the distance. “See, there’s Chimney Rock.”

“Thank God. I don’t know how the pioneers did it. Can you imagine spending weeks on the trail?” Mac brushes at the simple calico material of her pioneer dress. “And in these clothes. What do you want to bet a man came up with the idea of covering a woman from head to foot.”

“Tell me about it.” Patsy lifts the hem of her skirt and flaps it in the air. “These pantaloons are making my legs and… other things sweat!”

Mary snickers. “TMI Patsy.”

Mac grins but nods in agreement. “You know, we’d already be there if we took my Jeep like I offered. Did I mention it has air conditioning?”  

Patsy nudges her with a shoulder bump. “Charlene wants her party to be an authentic camping celebration along the Oregon Trail. The pioneers didn’t have Jeeps or air conditioning.”
Mary lifts her face to the gentle breeze. “But they did have fabulous adventures full of spectacular views and fresh air.”
Mac scowls and angles on one hip to rub at her butt. “And splinters.”

Nibbie begins barking wildly as the wagon crests the hill and the campsite comes into view. Cuddles, Hampy and Foster climb up from the wagon bed to perch on the hostesses’ shoulders.
“Wow.” Mary wraps an arm around the dogs shoulders. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time.”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, ladies,” Lyn breathes reverently.

“Kansas?” Mac looks around. “I thought this was the Oregon Trail.”

Mary winks at Patsy and Lyn. “She’s confused again.” She pats Mac’s arm. “We’ll explain it to you later, hon.”

At the bottom of the hill in a clearing beside a gently flowing river, covered wagons formed a horseshoe around a roaring fire pit. Three large cows and two pigs forage the wild grass amongst a small herd of horses. Several dogs race after a half dozen children at play. Dainty ladies in simple dresses mill about the clearing, fussing at makeshift tables laden with platters of food. Roasted wildfowl and venison share the tables with bowls of dandelion green salad, fresh berries, beans, rice and bread. A kettle of porridge simmers on a spit about the fire. Sturdy men in homespun breeches and shirts hover around the large punch bowl on the center table, or gather around the fire. One plucks out the toe tapping notes of Jim Cracked Corn on the strings of his guitar.

Charlene spots the wagon lumbering to a stop at the edge of the clearing. She lifts the skirt of her dress with one hand and rushes across the clearing to greet the hostesses. 

“You made it!” She claps her hands. “Isn’t this fabulous? I half expect Brianna and Columbus from TENDER TOUCH to come rolling over the hill.”
The hostesses scramble from the wagon to hug Charlene. The side-kicks leap to Nibbie’s collar, clinging as the excited dog races off toward the children. 
Mac groans and rubs at her bottom. “Just tell me one thing, Charlene.”
Charlene lifts a brow in question.


“Please tell me that punch bowl is spiked.”
She laughs and herds them toward the crowd waiting to meet them. “Oh, we are going to have such a good time!”
  
*And if you'd like to know some of Charlene's authentic 'Pioneer' recipes you can find them HERE

Purchase HERE
TENDER TOUCH

They had lost everything that mattered...

Three nightmarish years of marriage had shattered Brianna Wight's sheltered world. Leading her husband to believe she'd been murdered, she fled St. Louis...harboring terrible secrets that could mean her death.

The tragic loss of his Indian wife left Columbus Nigh a wanderer; necessity made him a wilderness guide. But now he found himself drawn to the enigmatic woman who'd hired him to lead her westward. Her gentle strength stirred his lonely heart...her tender beauty aroused his deepest passions.

Would they find love again on a western hourney?

But the perils of the Oregon Trail paled beside the murderous wrath of the man who tracked them across the harsh frontier. Brianna knew the only way to save herself and Columbus was to risk their tender love. Only then could she free herself from the horrors of the past--and embrace a rapturous future.

EXCERPT

Chapter One
St. Louis, Missouri, April 1849

            Brianna Wight’s heart pounded as she reluctantly fol­lowed her housekeeper’s son inside the dingy, cavernous livery stable. She felt as though she were entering the very bowels of hell.
Heat from the blacksmith’s shop blasted her delicate skin through her clothes and fluttered the veil covering her face as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark­ness. The flames leaping from the forge and the murky silhouettes of men, dancing about the fire like so many devils, were all she could make out.
Harsh, angry voices flew at her out of the blackness, like hurtled knives. Instant terror stiffened her body and she threw up an arm to shield her face.

“Wait your turn, stinkin’ squawman. Whaddya need yer horse shod for anyways? It’s only one o’ them Injun ponies. Get back to yer slut squaw an’ have her pick the lice from yer hair, why doncha?”

The voice that answered was soft, deep and—Brianna thought—deceptively calm, but the words were unclear.
“Why, you bastard!” the first voice yelled.

The sound of flesh and bone striking flesh and bone froze Brianna. Her heart stuttered. That sound was entirely too familiar, as was the pain that always followed. She tensed, waiting to feel the expected blow.
Instead, a man sailed toward her out of the smithy. Brianna screamed in the instant before he slammed into her. Together, they tumbled to the straw-littered floor in a tangle of arms, legs and skirts.

“You blasted squawman!” someone bellowed. “Look what ya done now. Get up, damn you! That’s a lady you’re laying on.”

Brianna fought for air and shoved frantically at the heavy man weighing down her already bruised and bat­tered body. Pain from a hundred places threatened to rend her unconscious. Inside her head, a voice shouted,“It’s not Barret!  Not Barret!” But the fear had her in its grip. She could not stop batting for her life, as she had been forced to do, so many times before.

Close to her ear a low rumbling voice muttered, “Hell- fire! Give it up, woman. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
Hands like steel bands pinned her wrists to the hay-and horseshit-strewn dirt floor. His panted breath warmed her cheek, smelling of tobacco, and, oddly enough, apples. Brianna felt her breasts flatten against his hard chest, felt that same hard chest expand and deflate along with hers, as they each gasped for air. Something stirred inside her, something she had never felt when Barret held her this way, something that left her confused, as well as scared.

“All right,” the low voice rumbled. “I’m gonna get up now.”
The weight lifted from her body. He towered above her, ten feet tall and at least three across. As she lay there staring up at him through her veil, still fighting off the fear, he reached down to offer her a hand up. She could see better now, well enough to note that his palm was dirty and callused, the smallest of the long, slender fingers missing a joint.

“You all right?” he asked, not unkindly.

Before she could gather enough sense and wind to answer, Sean and his mother were there, bending over her. Brianna groaned as they hauled her to her feet. Every bone in her body ached. It was all she could do to stay upright while Mrs. O’Casey brushed the dirt and straw from her rumpled skirts. She refused to give way to the tears and pain and terror that threatened to engulf her. If she couldn’t even survive one day of freedom without knuckling under, how would she live long enough to start a new life?

AUTHOR BIO
Charlene Raddon is the award winning author of five western historical romance novels originally published by Kensington Books, which are now coming available in ebook format from Tirgearr Publishing http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com. TENDER TOUCH is her second book to be released electronically. This story was a Golden Heart Finalist in 1990 under the title Brianna. Ms. Raddon's other books have won other awards. She began writing in 1980, driven by a love of romance, the old west, and a dream she felt had to be put into print. The result was an unpublished time travel, which she is now reworking. When she isn't writing, Ms. Raddon loves to travel, do needlepoint, crochet, collect antique china, scrapbook, do genealogy and spoil her two grandchildren. She lives in Utah with her retired husband and a paranoid cat.




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31 comments:

  1. Good Morning Charlene - Sister Hostesses. The Oregon Trail, what a great idea. You know, the Oregon Trail goes right by Boise so we can stop and chat with my friends. Love the cover and the excerpt is wonderful! Congratulations on the release!

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  2. Hi Patsy,Lyn hugs her sister hostess.
    Yes it's great being out on the Oregon Trail isn't it, and it's great that your Boise is close by too. I agree, it's a beautiful cover and I enjoyed the excerpt so much!

    Welcome to your Roast, Charlene.

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  3. Oregon Trail research is so cool. I bet Charlene had a great time with the research while writing this one!

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  4. Morning chickies! *air kisses*

    What a great opening excerpt, Charlene and a very cool idea for a party. Although, I hope someone brought sunblock, because I seem to have misplaced my bonnet and my nose tends to burn.

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  5. I bet she did, Patsy. Mac, I'll have a delve in the back of the waggon and see if I can find a spare bonnet, You shouldn't have traded yours with that hunky indian brave - what you gonna do with a tomohawk, anyway?

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  6. Hywela, Patsy, MacKenzie, thanks for joining me on this trek. It's a long, dusty haul so we'll need all the liquids we can drink, right, ladies? Maybe we should spike the water barrel. Keep Brianna's cat, Shakespeare, out of it though. Don't want a drunk cat.

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  7. LOL Charlene. Shakespeare enjoys an adult beverage, huh? I should introduce him to my Zoe. She's got the whole dip-the-paw-in-the-wineglass thing down pat.

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  8. Well if we're talking about drunken pets, my little rescued Jack Russell isn't averse to a drop of the hard stuff! :)

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  9. Wine is really all Shakespeare likes. Hates raspberry-vineagar lemonade.

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  10. Shakespeare obviously has impeccable taste!:)

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  11. Our Mary is currently off hunting with Nibbie or I'm sure she'd be telling us all about Nibbies bad habits too! :)

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  12. Is Nibbie afraid of shoes? My Toby is. He's also afraid of people, loud noises, flyswatters (though he's never been hit with one), tinfoil, vacuums and the TV. He won't go into the parlor if the TV is on. He growls when the doorbell rings and races to hide in the basement. Thanks goodness Shakespeare isn't afraid of people.

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  13. Aw! I don't know if Nibby is afraid of things like that, I'll have to ask Mary. Nibby seems pretty feisty actually.

    Bouncer is afraid of anything falling (and a lot of things fall in our house.) He's also terrified of the vacuum cleaner. He was ill treated before we rescued him so I tend to think he's had things thrown at him, to make him nervous, but he's such a sweet, loving little dog!

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  14. Phew! Got chased across the prairie by a javelina. Thank God the sidekicks are along this week. Nibbie cornered the nasty little pig and Foster turned him into a slab of game bacon. What did I miss?

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  15. LOL Mac, come and sit down and catch your breath back. Since you come bearing bacon, we might as well roast it over the campfire!

    Let's see if Charlene will read us some more of 'Tender Touch' while we eat!

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  16. Yes, another excerpt please! And some of that spiked punch. And later, I'm going to go help that strapping pioneer stud chop more wood for the fire, since I happen to have a tomokawk. ;-)

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  17. Another excerpt? Ok. here goes:

    Columbus Nigh squatted with his back against the outer wall of the livery and began to whittle a small piece of wood. His hands flashed as he deftly turned the stick into a tiny, lifelike cougar. From under his hat brim, he studied the widow he had agreed to escort to Independence. She picked her way across the livery yard, careful as sin to avoid each aromatic puddle and suspicious looking pile of muck.
    If he could have guessed her age, his blood might have raced a bit at the sight of the white lacy petticoats and trim, black-stockinged ankles peeking out from under her cautiously raised skirts. Truth was, she could be eighty and ugly as a pock-faced whore for all he knew.
    So far he hadn’t glimpsed a square inch of bare skin on the woman. Even her hands were covered with gloves—white ones, of all the fool things. His only certainty was the slenderness of her body which the black dress and cloak failed to hide. Her voice sounded youngish, but that didn’t prove much.
    Seventeen years in the wilderness—which had honed his senses to a fine edge, particularly his sense of judgment—told him she was hiding more than her age under those black garments and the thickly veiled hat she wore.
    A man didn’t live long in the wild unless he learned to make instantaneous decisions based on nothing more than the sudden flight of a robin or a glint of light where it oughtn’t to be. The right decisions. Then, of course, he had to be able to move fast enough to escape whatever form of death was about to descend on him, be it grizzly or a Blackfoot warrior in full war paint.
    Columbus Nigh had learned his lessons so well that the Indians called him Man Without Fear.
    They were wrong about that; there were plenty of things scared him plumb silly. Such as dealing with “la¬dies” that likely didn’t even speak the same sort of English he did.

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  18. Good afternoon Charlene- Congratulations on your release!
    I know I was not made to wander the way of the old stagecoach or wagons...lol...too used to my comfort - powerful scene from Tender Touch. Thanks for sharing it with us.

    junegirl63 at gmal dot com

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  19. Thank you, Maria. Tender Touch was a lot of fun to write.

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  20. Hi Maria

    Thanks so much for helping us celebrate Charlene's book. Isn't that excerpt something? *Sigh* it sounds like such a wonderful story and Columbus is such a lovely hero. Thanks for letting us hear a little bit more of 'Tender Touch', Charlene.

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  21. Hi Maria

    Thanks so much for helping us celebrate Charlene's book. Isn't that excerpt something? *Sigh* it sounds like such a wonderful story and Columbus is such a lovely hero. Thanks for letting us hear a little bit more of 'Tender Touch', Charlene.

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  22. Hiya Maria.

    Oh, I like Columbus, Charlene. A down to earth man who is only as hard as he has to be. Yumm.

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  23. Yes, I like Col too. A strong man but tender inside. And uneducated as he might be, he knows how to treat a woman.

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  24. The cover is beautiful. Will add this book to my tbr pile!

    lsbookcrazy(at)yahoo(dot)com

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  25. Wagons ho!!

    I loved this thank you.

    marypres(AT)gmail(DOT)com

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  26. Hi LB and Mary, thanks so much for stopping by to celebrate Charlene's new book.

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  27. Thank you, Mary. Glad you enjoyed my little piece.

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