The Halsey Brothers Series by Paty Jager ~ Book Tour and Giveaway

Steamy historical romance set in the raw and wild west.

Marshal in Petticoats

Halsey Brothers Series Book 1

by Paty Jager

Genre: Steamy Historical Western Romance

“What kind of bullets does this take?” Darcy Duncan cradled a shiny, new rifle in her arms.

The merchant on the other side of the counter cleared his throat. She turned her thoughts and gaze from the gun to the merchant’s bald head. Both the glass counter and his head shone glossy in the sunlight streaming through the large window. Did he spend hours polishing both?

 The man plunked a box of .45-70 shells on the counter. Darcy picked one up. The bullet was nearly the same size as her pointer finger. Something this size was sure to bring down food, keep claim jumpers away, and scare their uncle should he find them. She shivered. So far they’d not been dogged by him, however, she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up to her and Jeremy. He held deep grudges. Ones her pa hadn’t known or he wouldn’t have left them in his brother’s care.

 “I’d like to take a look down the sight outside,” she said, setting the stock of the gun against her shoulder.

 “Just bring the gun back and pay for it. I don’t take kindly to people walking off with what they ain’t paid for.” The man scowled at Jeremy, who fingered a knife small enough to get lost in the pocket of a pair of trousers.

 “If I like it, I’ll pay for it,” she said and knocked Jeremy’s hand away from the knife before walking to the door.

 The bullet in her hand made gripping the gun awkward. She slid the cumbersome ammunition into the chamber of the rifle. Slipping the bullet in her pocket wouldn’t work. The man would think she was stealing. Neither she nor Jeremy, her twelve-year-old brother, had stooped that low even when their bellies went empty more than a day.

 She stepped out of the store onto the hastily thrown down plank walkway. The board wobbled under her feet, causing her to lose balance. Darcy grabbed Jeremy’s shoulder to keep from making a spectacle and clutched the rifle against her body. With her luck she’d drop the dang thing and have to pay top dollar for a scuffed up rifle. They didn’t have enough money to waste on her clumsiness.

 When her legs steadied, she raised the butt of the gun to her shoulder and sighted down the barrel. Squinting one eye, she tipped her head, and held the sight on a man walking across the street. Then another man appeared between the gun and her prey. She moved the gun, following him as he walked. Just like a deer in the woods. Only these deer weren’t nearly as agile.

 A cry rang out. Two men burst from a building across the street. Darcy trained the sights on a man with a bandana over his face, carrying a saddlebag. He vaulted onto the saddle of a horse tied to a rail. His movements resembled a leaping deer. This was more like hunting. The horse whirled around.

 “Look!” Jeremy slapped her on the arm. “A bank robbery!”

 BANG! The rifle rammed against her shoulder, a spasm of pain shot up her neck. Black smoke curled from the end of the gun and rolled back along the barrel. The caustic smell of burnt gunpowder burned her eyes and stung her nose. Through her tears, a blurry object fell forward over the neck of the horse and landed with a thud on the ground.

 “Oh, blazes!” Her stomach convulsed as she stared at the motionless body beside the horse’s nervous hooves. Darcy pushed the rifle at Jeremy. He shook his head and shoved it back at her. She scanned the storefronts and cringed as every person along the street, save the man lying face down in the dirt, stared at her. This was worse than the last town. At least there she’d only knocked the mayor’s wife into a pile of cow manure.

Outlaw in Petticoats

Zeke Halsey patted the pocket on his vest. The tintype his new sister-in-law, Darcy, found while kidnapped by outlaws resided close to his heart. How the likeness of his parents ended up in a pile of loot in the outlaw’s hideout had all the Halsey brothers perplexed.

He took the stairs of the boarding house in McEwen two at a time. He hadn’t laid his eyes on Maeve Loman the pretty, prickly school marm since his youngest brother Gil showed up at the family mine with a woman dressed like a boy and her brother.

After witnessing his baby brother marry Darcy, Zeke was more determined than ever to get Maeve to come around to his thinking. He planned to start by showing her he came from good stock and put one more reason for her to reject his marriage proposal behind them.

Maeve met him at the door.

He stared taking in her perfection. Her black hair glimmered like a raven’s wing in the sunlight.

Her delicious pink lips, he hadn’t sampled near enough, fluttered a moment before straightening into a firm line. She’d wanted to give him a welcoming smile and thought about it. That was the problem with Maeve, she thought too darn much.

“I brought something for you to see,” he said, removing his hat and following her swaying backside into the parlor.

She sat primly on the wooden chair and gazed up at him. “What did you bring?”

He sat, placing his hat on his knee and reached for his vest pocket. Panic widened her dark blue eyes.

When he slipped the tintype out, relief relaxed her pretty features. She’d thought he was going to propose, again. He grinned. One of these days he was going to ask her to marry him, and she wouldn’t be able to avoid answering.

“It’s a tintype of my parents. We’d thought it was lost, but Darcy, the girl who married Gil, found it.”

She took the tintype and stared at it before running her finger over the faces. Her brow furrowed, and she looked up at him. “These can’t be your parents.”

“Why can’t they be my folks? Because they’re too pretty?” Zeke watched her continue to stare at the tintype in her shaking hands. The lacy curtain in the window behind Maeve framed her form, giving her a fragile appearance.

“No. Pa said that man was his brother.”

Zeke jerked his attention from Maeve’s comely attributes back to her angular face and wide eyes. He nearly choked from her contorted expression. Memories of all the times he’d stolen a kiss and been tempted to do more drifted in his thoughts. The idea they could be kin, and something else he couldn’t place, didn’t set well with her. He saw it in her troubled, blue eyes.

“That can’t be.” He bolted out of the sturdy, yet comfortable chair, he favored when visiting and crossed the room in two strides. Zeke stared down at the picture of his parents. “My pa didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, for that matter. They all died on the way out west. Only him and an uncle survived the trip.”

Her steely stare glimmered with unshed tears. “My pa had this tintype. It sat on our mantel. He’d look at it and tell stories of how he and his brother,” she placed a finger gently on his father’s likeness, “this man, played jokes.”

The anguish and longing in her eyes said she wasn’t making it up, but his head and heart knew she had to be.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and roughly pulled her to her feet.

She jerked her hand from his and glared at him. Her odd habit of curling and uncurling her fingers right about holster height caught his attention. She only did that when she was annoyed or distraught.

Miner in Petticoats

Ethan kept the horse at a leisurely pace. He didn’t believe the trio under the porch roof would shoot him, but the things Clay and the other men said when they found out who he was headed to talk to, niggled in the back of his mind. There was nothing cowardly about being cautious. Even if all he saw was a child, a young boy, and a tall, sturdy woman dressed in men’s clothing.

The clothing didn’t bother him. The other men had made mention of how the widow woman wore the dead husband’s clothes. Both his sisters-in-law wore britches as much as they did dresses. They allowed it made riding and working outside easier. If the widow worked the claim, she needed to wear practical clothes. And her dead husband’s would be handy and free.

He stopped his horse near a tree and dismounted, wrapping the reins around a limb.

 “Afternoon,” he called, sauntering toward a cabin smaller than the one he shared with his brothers. The only difference between the two structures was the state of disrepair and the lean-to in the back.

The woman nodded, but didn’t say anything. None of them appeared hostile. The boy stared blankly. The little girl’s grin was infectious, and he found himself grinning back at her. He pulled his attention from the curly-haired imp to study the woman. She was tall. Not near his height, but she had to be gaining on six foot. The men’s clothing she wore did nothing to hide her attributes. The pants clung to her wide, round hips, and her full breasts gave the buttons on her shirt a working.

“Mrs. Miller?” he asked, extending his hand. She kept her head tipped forward just enough her face was shadowed and hidden behind the brim of the hat.

“Who be askin’?” Her voice caught his attention with its deep, lyrical tone.

“I’m Ethan Halsey. My brothers and I have a claim just over the ridge.” It aggravated him he couldn’t see her face and register how she took his words.

“Are ye lost?” The voice vibrated under his skin, causing his body to warm.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for Mrs. Miller. I’m assuming that is you, since you’re the only grown woman I see here.”

“Ah m Aileen. Ah don’t fancy bein’ called Mrs. Miller.”

This disclosure piqued his curiosity. “Mrs—Aileen. I’ve come with an offer.” Her head tilted, tipping the wide-brimmed hat to the side and revealing a slip of her face.

“And what may this grand offer be?” He saw the slightest curve on one side of her lips.

“Ma’am, not to sound bossy, but I’d like to see your face as we discuss this proposition.” Her shoulders dipped slightly before she squared them, stretched her neck to its full length, and whipped the hat from her head. Copper sparks reflected off her hair as the sun lit her dark locks.

Ethan hadn’t believed the words of a cowardly man like Miles, and he was happy to see there wasn’t any kind of mark on the woman’s face, at least none put there by the devil. Her skin was abundantly sprinkled with angel kisses. That was what his mother had called the freckles on her face. Angel kisses. He’d always had a fondness for freckle-faced women and children.

“Thank you, I appreciate seeing people’s eyes when talking business.” Ethan took a step closer to the porch, waiting to be invited to the shade.

“And what be yer business?” The woman didn’t seem inclined to invite him any closer.

“I’ve scouted the land all around our claim. The five acres of your land down where Cracker Creek drops in elevation is the perfect spot to set up a stamp mill. The side of the canyon has the right slope and the water is moving fast enough to power the mill.”

“So, yer business is askin’ me to sell my land?” She clamped work-reddened hands onto those ample hips and glared at him.

Doctor in Petticoats

He used the woman’s hold to leverage off the hard, smooth bench he’d warmed the last hour. He’d been adamant Ethan leave him at the blind school and let him enroll himself. It was time he owned up to his new life.

The matron’s breathing came in coffee fetid puffs at shoulder height. That made her nearly as tall as his height of a couple inches over six feet. She set a slow pace down the hall. I’m blind, not an invalid. He stepped out at his usual pace, and her wide hips brushed against his.

“After your meeting, I’ll show you the railing on the halls and how to determine where you are.” She huffed to keep up with him. “Whoa. You’re going right past the office.”

A whoosh of air wiggled his pant leg and rustled his hair. Someone opened a door.

“Dr. Tarkiel.” The matron’s voice sweetened in a patronizing way.

Clay snickered. Must be an old geezer the woman has a crush on.

“This is our newest student, Mr. Halsey.” The matron pushed his arm forward.

He held his palm out waiting for a crippled hand to slide across. Instead, long slender fingers and a firm grip clasped his hand. Warmth radiated up his arm.

“Mr. Halsey, welcome to the Blind Institute. I hope you use all the facilities to your benefit.”

The sweet feminine tone and sincere welcome intrigued him.

“A woman doctor?” He couldn’t stop the words tumbling out his mouth.

“You’re very astute, Mr. Halsey.” A light-hearted laugh trailed away from him. Citrus wafted in the wake of her barely audible retreating steps. The eye-watering lye fumes quickly engulfed the sweet lemon scent. The citrus reminded him of the lemon drops his mother had bought with money she earned from selling knit scarves to the mercantile in winter. His mouth watered as he remembered the sweet treats, and his heart ached for the little things his mother did for her sons that as a boy he hadn’t appreciated until it was too late.

The matron dragged him forward. “You’re lucky she’s used to that reaction.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’ve never met a woman doctor before.” Clay cringed. Ever since that damn dynamite had blown up in his face and taken away his sight, he couldn’t do or say anything right.

“She’s a kind heart. She’s already forgiven you.” The matron nudged him ahead.

Logger in Petticoats

“Only when they’re in the camp. Outside the camp it’s me and my boys, and some instances Kelda, who are in charge.”

Hank ripped his attention from the man’s large booted feet stepping out yet another square and peered at Arvid’s face. “Your wife is in charge of the loggers outside camp? I thought she cooked?”

“Nei! Kelda, my daughter. She’s been learning the trade since she was big enough to follow me and her brothers about the forest.” He winked. “And the men respect her. She can shank a chain and swing an axe as good as they. Of course, there’s always the newcomer who has to give her a challenge, but she’s gives them a good turn.”

“Your daughter works in the woods? Isn’t that dangerous?” Hank shook his head. It wasn’t right for a woman to be in that kind of danger. “While you’re working for me, I don’t want her in the woods.”

Arvid narrowed his eyes. “She is one of the best. She can handle any logging job.”

Hank stood his ground on this. “She’ll not work in the woods while you’re here. Keep her in the kitchen.” His brother’s wives had held occupations usually held by men. But a logger? What did the woman look like? Hank shivered at the thought.

“She will not be happy to hear you forbid her to work in the woods.”

“If she values her family having work here, she’ll abide.” Hank wasn’t going to back down.

Arvid watched him intently. “When we met I told you my family worked together, and I had a daughter.”

“Yes, I like that about your outfit, that it’s family. But I can’t have a woman out in the woods distracting the men or possibly getting hurt.”

Arvid shook his head, before his eyes lit with merriment again. “She can cook a berry pie better than any you’ve ever tasted. The men beg her for pies when the berries are ripe.”

Hank found it hard to fathom a woman who swung an axe like a man, baking pies. It just didn’t settle in his mind.

Excerpt #2

“If Kelda isn’t back in here in fifteen minutes you can come looking for us.” Hank said to appease Karl as he pulled on his coat,

“I don’t know what you’re worrying about. No man is going to think of Kelda in the way you’re talking.” The door hadn’t fully closed when Dag’s voice cleared the threshold.

Kelda’s shoulders drooped proving she’d heard her brother’s comment. She walked around the corner of the cookhouse to a fallen log at the backside of the building. Hank wanted to catch up to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She was a fine woman. Any man would be dang lucky to have her for a wife. He stood in front of her as she sat on the log, her face pointed toward the men’s logging boots on her feet.

Hank crouched in front of Kelda, tipping her face up to read her emotions. “Your brother sees you only as his sister. You’re a woman any man would be lucky to marry.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m the size and body of a man. Men want a small delicate woman.” She wiped at the tears, and her hands clutched his. “Don’t make Far keep me out of the woods. It’s all I have to make me happy.”

Pleading in her eyes and voice sucker punched Hank. “Why would you want to work alongside men in the woods? Women belong in the home.”

“I don’t care to work inside. I love the outdoors and the labor of logging. Don’t keep me out of the woods. It’s the one thing I can do well.”

The strong grip of her fingers on his proved her strength. He had no doubt she was a skilled woodsman…woman. He pried her fingers from his hands and held them between his palms. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you in the woods. It isn’t proper for a woman to work like that. And what if you prove too weak to handle a job and someone else gets hurt?”

“Ooooo!” Her hands ripped from his grasp and rammed him in the chest. He started tipping backwards and grabbed the first thing in reach—Kelda’s arms.

He fell back into the snow dragging Kelda on top of him.

The surprise in her eyes quickly turned to interest as she gazed down into his face. Her body sprawled across Hank, pressing him into the snow. Even with the heavy clothing, her curves were evident as her relaxed body molded over his.

Hank pushed the scarf back from her face and stared into amazing eyes that glistened from the moonlight bouncing off the snow. Her gaze searched his. The rise and fall of her chest quickened. She licked her lips…

 He held her head in his hands. Inch by inch, Hank drew her lips closer, wondering if the heat and passion he’d witnessed in her eyes would be in her kiss.

“Kelda!”

The male voice broke through the insanity of his actions. Hank rolled, rose to his feet, and pulled Kelda up with him.

Paty Jager is an award-winning author of 54 novels, 8 novellas, and numerous anthologies of murder mystery and western romance. All her work has Western or Native American elements in them along with hints of humor and engaging characters. Paty and her husband raise alfalfa hay in rural eastern Oregon. Riding horses and battling rattlesnakes, she not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it.

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