Black Widow Spiders and Historical Romance from Charlene Raddon
Today, author Charlene Raddon is visiting my blog to reveal the gorgeous cover of her new Western romance, Taming Jenna. Charlene is generously holding a
drawing for a $30 amazon gift card for readers who leave the most comments on cover reveal posts, with contact info of course, and awarding three copies of her new book to
randomly chosen participants, so don't forget to leave comments and visit the other pages of this 3-day event (listed below).
Reading Charlene's bio, below, I'm guessing she's not quite as neurotic about spiders as I am... And just think, I met my first black widow in Utah, the setting for Taming Jenna...
...We were new immigrants from England. My husband was at work. And my three sons had somehow managed to invite three friends "home" from school. But home was a rented house where we knew no-one and possessed next to nothing--just the clothes that fitted in our suitcases, with some notebooks and pencils freshly bought for school.
I fought the front door--still learning how to use the unfamiliar key. We stepped inside. And the oldest visitor cried out, "Oh look! Be careful Mrs. Deeth." He pointed out the hourglass mark in red, easily visible on this obliging, and very large, specimen of black widow spider with its legs stretched across the the doorway. He explained how dangerous these spiders are, and how I mustn't let it move (i.e. "Don't try to close the door!") or lose sight of it, since it might reappear to bite us in the night--the size that thing was, it could have bitten a sizeable chunk even without its other, more poisonous attributes. And he said I should "remove it." But how?
In a house with no cleaning materials, never mind insect repellants or black widow discouragers... in a house full of kids, three of whom had never even heard of black widows before, and three of whom weren't mine... in a house in a strange neighborhood in a strange country...
My oldest son and our oldest guest walked up and down the street together while I watched the younger ones and guarded the spider. People were at work, of course, so it was quite a while before the boys found a house where anyone answered their knock. Then an elderly man, wrapped in hat scarf and gloves (on a hot sunny day) for protection, with heavy jeans, thick socks, and super-heavy boots, arrived bearing an armful of cloths and multiple sprays.
He caught the spider. I caught a renewed respect for the wildlife of America. And I thanked my new, temporary neighbor profusely. Soon afterward we moved into a home of our own, but first I bought some spider spray, frequently used as, indeed, there were black widow spiders there too--just a little smaller and less scary.
There were termites as well, but that's another story...
I wonder if there were black widows and termites in Israel at the first Christmas--read Bethlehem's Baby for five-minute bedtime stories of what might have been.
TOUR STOPS
Don't forget to visit and comment to be eligible for the prize!
MEET THE AUTHOR:
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Charlene Raddon began her fiction career in the
third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never
had was killed by a black widow spider. She often penned stories featuring
mistreated young girls whose mother accused of crimes her sister had actually
committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she
woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter
and begin writing. She’s been at it ever since. An early love for romance novels
and the Wild West led her to choose the historical romance genre but she also
writes contemporary romance. At present, she has five books published in
paperback by Kensington Books (one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers), and
four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.
FIND OUT ABOUT THE BOOK:
THE WRONG MAN
Reading Charlene's bio, below, I'm guessing she's not quite as neurotic about spiders as I am... And just think, I met my first black widow in Utah, the setting for Taming Jenna...
...We were new immigrants from England. My husband was at work. And my three sons had somehow managed to invite three friends "home" from school. But home was a rented house where we knew no-one and possessed next to nothing--just the clothes that fitted in our suitcases, with some notebooks and pencils freshly bought for school.
I fought the front door--still learning how to use the unfamiliar key. We stepped inside. And the oldest visitor cried out, "Oh look! Be careful Mrs. Deeth." He pointed out the hourglass mark in red, easily visible on this obliging, and very large, specimen of black widow spider with its legs stretched across the the doorway. He explained how dangerous these spiders are, and how I mustn't let it move (i.e. "Don't try to close the door!") or lose sight of it, since it might reappear to bite us in the night--the size that thing was, it could have bitten a sizeable chunk even without its other, more poisonous attributes. And he said I should "remove it." But how?
In a house with no cleaning materials, never mind insect repellants or black widow discouragers... in a house full of kids, three of whom had never even heard of black widows before, and three of whom weren't mine... in a house in a strange neighborhood in a strange country...
My oldest son and our oldest guest walked up and down the street together while I watched the younger ones and guarded the spider. People were at work, of course, so it was quite a while before the boys found a house where anyone answered their knock. Then an elderly man, wrapped in hat scarf and gloves (on a hot sunny day) for protection, with heavy jeans, thick socks, and super-heavy boots, arrived bearing an armful of cloths and multiple sprays.
He caught the spider. I caught a renewed respect for the wildlife of America. And I thanked my new, temporary neighbor profusely. Soon afterward we moved into a home of our own, but first I bought some spider spray, frequently used as, indeed, there were black widow spiders there too--just a little smaller and less scary.
There were termites as well, but that's another story...
I wonder if there were black widows and termites in Israel at the first Christmas--read Bethlehem's Baby for five-minute bedtime stories of what might have been.
TOUR STOPS
Don't forget to visit and comment to be eligible for the prize!
MEET THE AUTHOR:
.jpg)
Charlene Raddon began her fiction career in the
third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never
had was killed by a black widow spider. She often penned stories featuring
mistreated young girls whose mother accused of crimes her sister had actually
committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she
woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter
and begin writing. She’s been at it ever since. An early love for romance novels
and the Wild West led her to choose the historical romance genre but she also
writes contemporary romance. At present, she has five books published in
paperback by Kensington Books (one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers), and
four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.
Charlene’s awards include: RWA Golden Heart
Finalist, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award Nomination, Affair de Coeur
Magazine Reader/Writer Poll for Best Historical of the Year. Her books have won
or place in several contests.
Currently, Charlene is working on her next release.
But what about the book? Here's a blurb from Taming Jenna
FIND OUT ABOUT THE BOOK:
THE WRONG MAN
Deserted by her father at the tender age of seven, Jenna
Leigh-Whittington had taught herself to ride, shoot, brawl…and steer clear of
the opposite sex. But now, in a lonely Utah canyon, the Pinkerton agent has
drawn her gun on a rugged stranger—only to discover that, far from the
dangerous outlaw she’d been tracking, he is Branch McCauley, hired gun…and the
most irresistible rascal ever to tempt and torment a woman!
THE RIGHT WOMAN
If there’s one thing McCauley trusts less than a female, it’s
a female who packs a six-gun. But what a woman! Vowing to bring the sensuous
hellcat to heel, McCauley has no inkling that their passionate battle of wills
has just begun. Taming Jenna will be the most seductive—and satisfying—job he’s
ever taken on.
Okay, so there are some fascinating characters there, and I grew up loving Westerns, but how do I know I'll really enjoy reading this. I guess an excerpt would help...
TAMING JENNA EXCERPT 1
Jenna scowled as she studied the man by the flickering
glare of his campfire. He had the right build and appeared close to thirty,
Mendoza's age. But something didn't fit.
The Denver police chief had described her quarry as a
spoiled aristocrat, too busy wooing Lady Luck and every other female to be much
of a train robber, let alone a killer. But the rogue in front of Jenna looked too
lean and hard to be spoiled, too wary and aloof to be a ladies' man.
To Jenna he seemed the perfect gunslinger: cold, tough,
and ready to spring. Like a big yellow cougar perched on a ledge. Or a rattler,
tightly coiled. Either way, his bite would be deadly.
In spite of the cool night breeze, sweat oozed from her
pores. She couldn't forget that lightning draw. Why had she come here? How had
she expected to take an outlaw Pinkerton's other agents had failed to bring in?
No, she refused to think that way. She was every bit as capable as any man to
capture Mendoza. She had to believe that, the same way she had to do what she'd
set out to do. Only one question remained: Was this Mendoza or not?
"Who are you, mister?"
"Who am I? Hell, who are you? "
Blast! Did no male exist in this empty wilderness who
wasn't so taken with himself that he couldn't cooperate for a change?
She took a calming breath. A body could catch more flies
with honey than vinegar, old Charley Long Bow used to say. Jenna figured flies
might fancy the hairy creature facing her, so she decided to try being
friendly. "Listen, I smelled your coffee and hoped you might spare a cup,
is all. You can understand me being a mite leery of walking into a stranger's
camp without knowing who I'm hooking up with."
Firelight glinted on the man's straight white teeth as his
whiskers parted in a cold smile. "Don't recall inviting company, but I'll
play your game. Name's Branch McCauley. Now it's your turn."
His smile unnerved her. It held no humor, only a lethal
sort of grimness that cannoned her stomach into her throat and made her wish
she'd wired William Pinkerton for instructions instead of going off half-cocked
this way. "I'm Jim...Jim White," she lied.
"All right, Jim, how about some honesty? You come
here looking for me?"
"I'm not looking for anyone named Branch McCauley. If
that's who you are, you've nothing to worry about."
The wide, innocent eyes McCauley studied held honesty. He
relaxed. "In that case...be glad to pour you some coffee." He reached
for the battered graniteware pot. His visitor's next words froze him in a
half-stoop: "I'd feel more welcome if you'd set aside your gun
first."
Cool as Montana sleet, McCauley straightened, hand poised
above his holster. "Reckon you would. Wouldn't do much for my sense of
well-being, though."
So much for trying to be friendly, Jenna thought. What
now? She clenched her knees together to still their shaking and swallowed the
fear knotted in her throat.
"Look." McCauley shifted his weight to one leg.
"Why don't you put your gun away and have a sit? Could be I might know
something about the hombre you're hunting.
Hombre. Sounded Spanish. Like Mendoza. It must be him. She
had to get his gun away from him. Surprise seemed the best means. She squeezed
the trigger of the .44 Starr. The bullet kicked dirt onto the man's scuffed
boots. He jumped and let out a yelp as though she'd set his feet afire.
"Dammit, kid, going up against me won't get you
anything but a six-foot hole in the ground."
"Shut up and toss over your gun or I'll turn them
boots into sieves. 'Course, my sights might be a bit off." She raised the
muzzle toward his groin.
"You made your point," he growled as he
unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it over.
Instead of the fancy weapon she had expected a gunslinger
to own, an ordinary, six-gun lay at her feet. No ivory handle or engraved
barrel. Only an ordinary .44 Peacemaker, crafted and worn for one reason—to
kill. The thought did funny things to her innards.
"All right," she said, getting back to business.
"You aren't going to like this, mister, but I don't know any other way to
be sure who you are. Drop them trousers to your ankles."
"Do what?"
Want to know more? Why not watch the video, then connect with Charlene Raddon through on of the links below. And enjoy the read.
Links:
Comments
Kit3247(at)aol(dot)com
sheiladeeth at gmail dot com
Oh, and thank you Charlene for setting this up--nice to meet so many more people.
I can't wait to read your new book.
It was Cathy Mansell blog I couldn't post on.
quiltlady110 AT gmail DOT com
Charlene-loved how you ended that chapter, lol! And when you consider the times it would have been as shocking to the guy as it would have been to a woman.Take a lot of moxie for a woman to demand that.
Sia McKye Over Coffee