A sure sign of Spring-Wildflower Bride

We interrupt this broadcast of Mary’s series on revisions for one of two reasons.

1) To bring you a totally self-promoting, pathetically ego-driven advertisement for my soon-to-be-released novel Wildflower Bride.
2) In the light of Julie on deadline, St. Mary, who only lives to help others, steps in to save the day. (why do I picture a St. Bernard instead of St. Mary? Whiskey jug attached to my coller?)

You pick.

So today, BECAUSE

I got my authors copies. YAY. (I always love those cases of books showing up at the door.) I'm giving away a signed copy of Wildflower Bride, my May release. With my promise that whoever wins it will get it BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. (unless I forget to mail it, or I mess up the address, or put the wrong postage on, or the mail is misdirected--please insert the whining disclaimer of your choice) Read on for instructions on how to get your name in the drawing. There may be some assembly required.

Here’s a bit about Wildflower Bride.

A white woman, raised by the Indians has yet to meet a white man she doesn't pull her knife on. . .including Wade Sawyer, who is determined to marry her.

She doesn't really need saving, but Wade doesn't let that stop him. And she hasn't actually cut him yet so he thinks she'd coming around.Wade's been trying to rescue women who are doing fine on their own since Cassie Dawson didn't need saving in Montana Rose. Now he's picked the toughest woman he's ever met to protect.

Glowing Sun might end up marrying him out of pure respect for his persistence. . .she can’t get rid of him anyway.
And while Glowing Sun is trying to adjust to a different world, Cassie Dawson is taking lessons on how to be tough from Belle Tanner.

Red may not survive.

Here is how it begins.
Gunfire jerked Wade Sawyer awake.
His feet hit the floor before he made a conscious decision to move.

Grabbing his rifle mounted over the door, he rammed his back to the wall, jacked a shell into the chamber and listened.

Another shot fired, then another. The volley went on and on. Many guns blazing. Even as he figured that out, he realized the gunfire wasn’t close.

Wade yanked the shack’s door open. In the heavy woods and the dim light of approaching dawn, there wasn’t much to see, but he knew the ruckus wasn’t aimed at him.

It had another target and from the direction of the sound he knew what. . .or rather who.
Glowing Sun. And her village.

Already dressed because he slept in his clothes, he yanked his boots on. Snagging his heavily lined buckskin coat off the peg on the wall, he dashed toward his horse, yanking the jacket on while he ran.

Living in a meadow Wade had penned off, his chestnut gelding had his head up, alerted by the shooting, staring toward the noise. Wade lassoed the horse and had leather slapped onto the animal within two minutes. Wade swung up and slid his rifle into the boot of the saddle. Letting loose a yell that’d make a rebel soldier proud, Wade kicked his horse and charged toward death.

The shots kept ringing, echoing from the Flathead village high on the mountain top.

His horse was game and terror goaded Wade to risk the treacherous trails at break neck pace.

But it was too far.

Racing up a deer trail, he knew, no matter how fast he rode and how much he risked, he’d be too late. He was already too late when the shooting started.
The hail of bullets ended. Wade galloped on. The weapons falling silence only made Wade more sure that whatever damage was being done, was over. In the gray of dawn, that silence ate at him, only interrupted by his horse’s thundering hoof beats. He reached the base of the rise surrounding the Flathead village and he tore up the mountainside.

A horse sky-lined itself, a masked rider atop it. A struggling woman thrown over his lap, screamed, clawing, kicking. A blonde woman, dressed in Indian garb, her hair catching the rising sun.

Screaming as only Glowing Sun could scream. She was still alive. Wade felt a wash of relief mixed with rage and terror as he goaded his horse forward. He could rescue her. Save her. He was in time.

Wade closed the distance, his horse blowing hard as it galloped up the rugged hillside, hoofs thundering. Still a long upward quarter of a mile away, Wade wasn’t close enough yet to open fire. Afraid he’d hit Glowing Sun, Wade drew his rifle and carefully fired over the man’s head.
At the instant he pulled the trigger, three masked riders topped the hill, riding at full speed.
Wade’s bullet slammed the first one backward. The man shouted. His horse reared. A splash of bright red bloomed on the man’s shirt. Grabbing at the saddle horn, the outlaw showed great skill by keeping his seat. But he lost control of his mount and plowed into the horse bearing Glowing Sun and her abductor.

Shocked and sickened to have shot a man, Wade grimly raced on toward Glowing Sun.
The masked man just behind the one Wade had wounded swung his gun at Wade in a way that struck Wade as awkward or somehow wrong. The shooter hesitated, then without firing a shot, abandoned the fight, whirled and race his horse back the way he’s come.
The third man, skinny, but beyond that unrecognizable behind his kerchief, turned to face Wade’s gunfire. The instant he saw Wade he turned coyote like the other outlaw and ran, leaving his wounded friend and the man who had Glowing Sun behind.

Cowards.

Glowing Sun gave an impossible twist of her body and an ear splitting shriek. She kicked herself over backward, landing a bare foot in the man’s face. He must have yanked on the reins because the horse reared, neighing and fighting the bit, skidding and spinning. As the horse threatened to go over backward, the man threw himself to the ground.
Glowing Sun went with him, screaming but not with fear or pain. It sounded like fury, killing mean rage. And it sounded strong. Wade prayed she hadn’t been hurt.

Wade, still galloping full ahead up the long slope, leveled his rifle one-handed and fired again, even higher this time.

The man Wade had shot gained control of his horse, wheeled and dashed after the other bandits.

The fallen man leapt to his feet, still holding onto Glowing Sun. Then Wade realized the masked man wasn’t holding her, he was fighting her off.
Shouting Flathead words Wade didn’t understand, she had one hand jammed into the man’s throat as she slashed with her knife.

With the sharp smack of his backhand on Glowing Sun’s face, the man broke her grip. Her blade slashed, catching a flare of light from the first beams of the rising sun, cutting the man across his arm and chest. The outlaw yowled in pain.

Staggering back, Glowing Sun screamed an Indian battle cry and dove at him. She caught his kerchief and pulled it down. Then her fingers slipped. She fell and slid down the steep hillside on her back.

Wade fired again, his horse thundering forward.

Stay alive. Stay alive.

He’d be there in seconds. But one bullet, one slash of a blade could rob the world—and Wade—of Glowing Sun’s courage and beauty and indomitable spirit.

The outlaw jerked his gun free and shot at Wade. There was no blast. The gun jammed or was empty. Wade thought of the volley of gunfire that had awakened him and suspected the man had emptied his gun already.

Fury twisting his face, the man, his mask dangling around his neck, gave Wade one wild look. Wade saw his face plainly. Blood poured over his thick, black beard and down the front of his heavy sheepskin coat. The outlaw snatched up his horse’s reins, threw himself into the saddle and, in two leaping stride, his horse vanished over the rim, following the other outlaws into the Flathead valley.

Wade reined hard as he reached Glowing Sun. His horse nearly sat down as it slid to a stop. Wade swung to the ground and raced to Glowing Sun’s side. Blood soaked the front of her dress, coated her hands. She jumped to her feet as he got there.
“Where are you hurt?” Frantic, Wade tried to force her onto the ground.
She fought to stay on her feet and slashed the knife.
He only ducked in time because he knew her so well.
And here's a chance to win Wildflower Bride.
Wade survives a terrible, lonely winter, and with spring comes a re-union with Glowing Sun.
To get your name in a drawing for a signed copy of Wildflower Bride, leave a comment telling me your favorite sign of spring.

WAIT!

You know, that’s not what I really want to hear. I’ve just lived through a winter that would stress a polar bear, what I’d REALLY like to hear is why you LOATHE THE COLD.

Yes, I know snowflakes are shore enuff perdy. And I know you like to snuggle by a roaring fire sipping hot chocolate.

FINE. WHATEVER. I HATE COLD!!!

The signs of spring around here are robins. . .all laying on their backs, feet in the air, frozen to death in a snowdrift.

Forgive me if I’m not thrilled.

Okay, sorry, got carried away. Signs of spring. Or why you’re NOT sorry to see winter go.