The past week has been an amazing
week.
On May 2, 2013, Author Dean Sault
arrived at our home as a cherished houseguest.
Ironically, Dean
brought the sun and warm temperatures with him. We experienced beautiful
weather, great conversations, and some interesting adventures of our own.
A fun video of Dean cooking dinner for our family.
Together we attended
The Ontario Writer’s Conference in Ajax.
There, we met with many aspiring authors. We attended information seminars, participated in a few classes (to help us improve our craft), and enjoyed meeting with others.
One of the most exciting moments was
when we were able to finally meet with the beautiful and always pleasant
Stacey Donaghy!
For well over a year, Stacey and I
have been friends (via the internet), and although we live in the same
province, time was never on our side when it came to personal visits.
 |
| The Devil's Punchbowl |
Ironically, Dean brought the sun and warm temperatures with him. We experienced great conversations, and some interesting adventures of our own.
My youngest son and I took Dean sightseeing,
to the Devil’s Punchbowl in Stoney Creek, ON.
Took the dogs for a long and enjoyable
walk. Toured our village, Hamilton, Ancaster, Stoney Creek, Toronto and Ajax.
But, sadly, we ran out of time and were unable to tour Albion Falls. That will have to be our next visit.
:)
Some of our plans we were able to
maintain, such as, focusing on a marketing strategy and searching for a great
cover designer for Dean’s newest book entitled, Ghost of Lost Eagle. This book
amazed me, and I can honestly say that I am officially a fan of Western Romance
Paranormal!
Ghost of Lost Eagle, will take you
on a fast paced, thrilling, emotional rollercoaster! It is a story like no
other I have read. It has it all! Characters you can relate with, historical
values, gunfights, romance, paranormal, and, so much more.
Below is the first chapter:
*WARNING!*
May contain offensive language and this story is highly addictive!
Ghost of
Lost Eagle
Book one
- The Sweetwater Canyon Series
By:
Author Dean Sault
CHAPTER ONE
Rain
seemed heavier this afternoon. Chuck, my horse, splashed steadily along the
narrow path while it filled six inches deep with fast-flowing runoff. He did
not like it.
“Easy
boy. It’s just rain. We’ve been in hard rain before.”
Reining
him out of the growing stream, I hoped firm ground covered in grass might give
him better footing to settle his nerves. Steep canyon walls on either side of
the trail ahead, gave me pause. In the distance, a wolf howled. The eerie wail
echoed off nearby granite.
“Whoa,
boy.”
Sitting
high in the saddle, I listened intently through the steady din of the storm.
Then, I heard it. A rumbling noise grew from the ground all around us. I yanked
Chuck’s reins, turning us back down the trail.
“Hee’yah!”
Muscles
of my stallion swelled beneath my thighs. He galloped down the pass having
heard the danger before me. Good thing he resisted my coaxing.
We
blasted at a dead run past saplings growing on either side of the streambed.
Some stung when they slapped my legs, but Chuck knew instinctively what he was
doing. I loosened his reins giving him his head. Less than two hundreds yards
ahead, safety beckoned in the form of a wide spot with gradual slopes on both
sides where we could climb out of this gorge.
I
chanced a quick look over my shoulder. Churning water raced toward us with
incredible speed. Small trees tumbled in the center of a churning,
twenty-foot-high flash flood. Water filled with debris coursed through the
canyon. Our only escape? Outrun it to those slopes.
“Gid’up,
Chuck!” I shouted, jamming my heels into his sides to urge more speed out of my
magnificent steed.
The
wide spot approached fast. Only a few dozen more yards.
Water
wrapped around my horse’s legs. He high-stepped, but it quickly surged above
his knees taking his balance. We tumbled forward, vanishing under the brown floodwater
filled with tumbling branches. Up versus down was impossible to know under the
dark water. My shoulder slammed into something hard jarring the breath out of
me.
My
lungs screaming for relief when I saw daylight and gulped a welcome load of
fresh air. Chuck’s legs stuck out of the water on the opposite side of the
flood. He thrashed wildly, trying to roll over.
Sharp
pain spread through my ribs when a thick tree limb jammed into my side. Each
time I surfaced, Chuck was nowhere to be seen. Sanctuary of the intended slopes
passed with violent currents sweeping me helplessly toward the mouth of the box
canyon.
Awareness
hit suddenly. Entering this gorge, we weaved up a boulder-strewn rise that
would now be a deadly drop off. This water would crash over that fall with bone
breaking force, carrying us with it.
My
foot wedged between rocks below the water and the powerful current slammed me
painfully against the gulch floor. Pinned to the bottom by water pressure, each
movement trying to pull my leg free forced my boot deeper into the tight slot.
Lungs burned for air. Vision narrowed. I came close to passing out when a hand
appeared before my face. I grabbed it. The hand slid past my fingers to grip my
wrist with amazing strength. The strong arm pulled me upright against the
current. My ankle popped free.
Breaking
above the surface, I gulped air in desperate relief.
The
strong hand that saved me was nowhere to be seen. I wrapped my arms around a
large tree riding above the rest of the debris. Pulling onto it, I straddled
the thick trunk. The growing roar of water crashing over the drop-off confirmed
my fears. Disaster was close at hand.
Something
flashed across my vision. It jerked me backward by the neck, tearing me from
the false safety of my log. I grabbed the rope that tightened around my throat,
pulling with all my strength to loosen the choking noose. It dragged me against
the current toward the shallows where I felt rocks knocking against the back of
my legs. I dug my heels into sand, but the rope did not relent until dragging
me out of the water onto heavy gravel of the shore.
Tension
let up in the rope. The coil fell loose on my shoulders and my rescuer flipped the
loop over my head. I coughed up water while rubbing rope rash on my neck.
“You
always this stupid, mister?” a female voice asked, dripping with contempt.
I
looked up at a small woman sitting on a quarter horse. She untied her lasso
rope from the saddle horn.
“Good
thing I roped you with my first throw. If I missed, there wouldn’t be much left
of you on those rocks.”
She
pointed at the nearby top of the waterfall as I rolled onto my knees.
“Thank
you,” I said, still coughing up water.
I
looked for Chuck.
“Have
you seen my horse?”
“Over
there.”
She
pointed across the surging water. Chuck’s front legs draped over a spit of rock
protruding into the raging water. His rear legs found footholds somewhere
beneath the roiling torrent. He hung on in desperation.
“He’ll
be okay,” she continued. “Flash floods pass quick. Get him when it’s over.”
“Thanks.”
I
didn’t know what else to say. I wobbled on bruised legs when I stood.
The
young woman recoiled her rope and hung it on the saddle horn before
dismounting.
“What
the hell were you thinking?” she asked. “Any idiot knows better than to go up a
box canyon during heavy rain, especially Lost Eagle Gulch.”
“You’re
right. But, I thought—”
“Bullshit,
you didn’t think at all, dumbass! That’s the problem. Could have killed yourself
and your horse, much less putting me at risk to save your fool life.”
“I’m
sorry. You’re right. I made a mistake. Where’s the guy who pulled me out?”
She
planted her hands on her hips.
“Do I
look like a guy to you? Are you blind?”
She
was definitely female. Soaking wet long hair stuck to the front of her shirt.
It reached almost to her waste.
“Well,
no ma’am. I’m not blind. I’m talking about the hand that pulled me off the
bottom.”
“I’m
the only other soul up here. Nobody else roped you. I didn’t pull you with my
hand. You musta sucked too much water. You’re hallucinating.”
She might be right, I thought.
“And
I’m not a ma’am. I’m a miss.”
She
pointed to the water behind me.
“Five
minutes. It’ll be low enough to get your horse. Good luck finding your hat.
Gun’s gone, too.”
I
looked down. Sure enough, my forty-four was gone from its holster.
“Dammit,”
I said wiping wet hair back off my face.
The
little woman began to laugh.
“What’s
so funny?” I asked.
“Can’t
help you with your gun, but your hat went over the falls on the right side.
Floatin’ pretty good, last I saw. Flash floods don’t run more’n a mile or so. If
you get going ’fore the wind comes up, you might find it before dark.”
She
enjoyed a good laugh at my expense.
Rainwater
poured off the down-turned brim of her black Stetson hat in a steady stream
splashing onto her chest before vanishing into red plaid fabric of her shirt.
The ruddy skin color of her heavily tanned face hinted at long hours spent in
the sun. Outlines of supple breasts with noticeable nipple bumps danced through
clingy, wet shirt material.
“Hey
cowboy—up here!” she said, pointing at her face. “Typical, asshole. Why can’t
men see beyond a woman’s chest?”
She
grabbed her horse’s reins, slipped a boot in the stirrup and swung onto her
saddle in a smooth, experienced movement.
“Good
luck finding your stuff. You’re gonna need it . . . dumbass!”
She
slapped her horse with loose reins and leaned forward while the heavily-muscled
cattle-working mare made quick work of the gravel slope to a trail above.
“Wait,”
I yelled. “What’s your name?”
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