Limitless Possibilities

The final book in my long Cotillion Ball series, The Forgotten Debutante, is at the publisher for edits, finally. While I love my Fitzpatrick family immensely, I'm ready to move on. But move on where?

And by moving on, I don't mean to a different publisher, necessarily. I mean moving on with my writing. Inventing new families for my readers to fall in love with, developing plot lines that are different from the Cotillion series. It's an exciting time for me, with my imagination being the only limitation placed on me.

So where do I move on? I could finish the time travel book, which has been languishing under the bed for years. Hmm, maybe. I could put a spin on a family tale and figure out why my grandmother and her siblings were ridiculed their entire lives for having Indian blood when a DNA test has proved that notion to be false. Hmmm. This tale has been discussed in depth for a number of years with my uncle, my dad's last remaining brother. He has his own version of what happened. And, after finding my great-grandmother's gravesite and realizing that all this time we referred to her as Missouri Belle when she was actually Missouria Belle, the speculation grew to the point where we did some hasty research on the subject. There was a tribe in the Great Lakes back in the early years called the Missouria, which merged with another tribe along the way. Could there have been a morsel of truth to the tale? And if so, how, since my DNA doesn't have a drop of Indian blood?

My mind began to spin in all kinds of directions. Yes, the latter idea proved to be the one with the most potential. I'm going to put an ending on the tale which makes sense. I just hope the Myers and Huffman branches of the family are not upset that I've stolen a leaf from our family tree to craft a story about.

Our Private Worlds

I'll admit it–I caught the genealogy bug years ago. I methodically traced my family tree back to the Revolutionary War and to Europe. One of the things I kept noticing was the way the last names of various family members kept intersecting. I realized travel was hard, and there wasn't a large gene pool to draw from, so I kept track as cousins married first and second cousins. As more and more branches on the tree interconnected, it became a family joke that the inbreeding explained the occasional lunatic in the family–those who lived in their own private worlds.

Today, as I write this, I've just finished the seventh book in my American historical series. It takes place in 1860 and the story line is woven around the Pony Express. I've spent the last few months studying the movement of horses, and learning more about this portion of American history than I ever thought possible. I told a friend the other day that, after a morning of working on this novel, I was surprised to see cars driving by my door instead of horses. My private world has consisted of dirt roads, wide open prairie land and wild mustangs. Am I this generation's occasional lunatic? Or am I merely an author?

The book, Expressly Yours, Samantha, is about ready to be shipped out to my publisher. Normally, I take a break from my historicals, and intersperse a contemporary, just to lighten things up and to keep me grounded in reality. But, for some reason, the 1860s keep calling me. I'm thinking of taking a leaf from the old family tree and write about my great-great-grandmother, who had to maintain a homestead in the hills of southern Ohio and keep four children alive while her husband fought in the Civil War. Obviously, the woman could have used a strong man during these years. Who better to camp out in her woods than a half-breed Ojibwa Indian? So, I'm headed back into the 1860s, where I'll roam the hills and woods of southern Ohio with Susannah and Raoul. I'm headed back into my own private world again.

Here's the cover blurb for Expressly Yours, Samantha, set to release in March, 2015.

Samantha Hughes needs to get away from her wicked uncle, and, following her aunt’s death, she has one day to escape. A sign in the post office offers an avenue out. She can cut her hair, pose as a man, and become Sam Hughes, a Pony Express rider.

Valerian Fitzpatrick has defied his parents and stayed in St. Louis for the past year. He doesn't want the weight of responsibility his brothers have in the family business. All he wants to do is ride horses, and, fortunately, the Pony Express is starting up and looking for wiry young fellows.

When Sam Hughes helps Valerian control a runaway horse, Joseph, Valerian’s brother-in-law, tells him their meeting was destiny. Over the weeks and months that follow, Sam and Val work side by side on the exciting Pony Express. Val assumes Sam is on the run from the law, and helps shield his buddy from the Pinkerton agents. He thinks this must be the destiny Joseph talked about. Although Samantha harbors feelings for Val, he has no idea she’s a woman. Until she suffers a stray gunshot wound and he has to undress her to staunch the wound.

Friendship turns into attraction and maybe even love. When her uncle tracks her down, she is forced to run yet again. She realizes the danger she’s put Valerian into, having him try to shield her from her uncle, and leaves him behind with a note to not track her down. Will he be able to find her again, or is he relieved to not have any responsibility again?