{"id":2828,"date":"2009-09-26T09:23:46","date_gmt":"2009-09-26T14:23:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=2828"},"modified":"2009-09-26T09:23:46","modified_gmt":"2009-09-26T14:23:46","slug":"cowboy-christmas-by-mary-connealy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=2828","title":{"rendered":"Cowboy Christmas by Mary Connealy"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
Mary Connealy<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Cowboy Christmas <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Barbour Books (September 1, 2009)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>As an award-winning author, Mary Connealy lives on a Nebraska farm with her husband and is the mother of four grown daughters. She writes plays and shorts stories, and is the author of two other novels, Petticoat Ranch and Calico Canyon. Also an avid blogger, Mary is a GED instructor by day and an author by night. For more information on Mary Connealy, visit her Web site at .<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $10.97
\nPaperback: 304 pages
\nPublisher: Barbour Books (September 1, 2009)
\nLanguage: English
\nISBN-10: 1602601453
\nISBN-13: 978-1602601451<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A mining camp in Missouri, November, 1879<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll wear that dress, Songbird.\u201d Claude Leveque grabbed Annette Talbot\u2019s arm, lifted her to her toes, and shoved her backward.<\/p>\n

Annie tripped over a chair and cried out as it toppled. The chair scraped her legs and back. Her head hit the wall of the tiny, windowless shack, and stars exploded in her eyes.<\/p>\n

Stunned by the pain, she hit the floor, and an animal instinct sent her scrambling away from Claude. But there was nowhere to go in the twelve-by-twelve-foot cabin.<\/p>\n

Her head cleared enough to tell her there was no escape, so she fought with will and faith. \u201cNever.\u201d Propping herself up on her elbows, she faced him and shouted her defiance. \u201cI will never go out in public in that dress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll sing what I tell you to sing.\u201d Claude, in his polished suit and tidily trimmed hair, looked every inch civilized\u2014or he had, until tonight. Now he strode toward her, eyes shooting furious fire, his face twisted into soul-deep rot and sin.<\/p>\n

\u201cI sing as a mission.\u201d Annie tried to press her back through the unyielding log wall. \u201cI sing hymns. That\u2019s the only thing\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

A huge fist closed over the front of her blouse, and Claude lifted her like a rag doll to eye level, but he didn\u2019t strike.<\/p>\n

He would. He\u2019d proved that several times over since he\u2019d come here with his disgusting demands.<\/p>\n

She braced herself. She\u2019d die first. Claude might not believe that, but he\u2019d know before long.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, you\u2019re willing to die for your beliefs, heh?\u201d Claude\u2019s fist tightened on her blouse, cutting off Annie\u2019s air.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d She could barely speak, but he heard. He knew.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you willing to watch someone else die, Songbird? Maybe your precious friend, Elva?\u201d He shook her and her head snapped back. \u201cI can always find another piano player.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d Annie had to save Elva. Somehow. Of course Elva would be threatened. Annie hadn\u2019t had time to think that far.<\/p>\n

Elva would never stand for this. Elva would die for her beliefs, too.<\/p>\n

A wicked laugh escaped from Claude\u2019s twisted mouth. \u201cShe\u2019s easily replaced. But I\u2019ll never\u201d\u2014he shook her viciously\u2014\u201cfind another singer like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

How had it come to this? God help me. Protect Elva and me.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy answer is no! Elva wouldn\u2019t play the piano for me if I wore that.\u201d Her eyes went to the slattern\u2019s dress hanging, vivid red, near the door. \u201cShe would refuse to play the piano for those vulgar songs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll see, Songbird.\u201d Claude laughed again.<\/p>\n

Annie saw the evil in him, the hunger to hurt. He wasn\u2019t just hurting Annie to get his way. He was enjoying it. Her vision dimmed and blurred as she clawed at his strangling fist.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll go have a talk with your frail old friend and then we\u2019ll see.\u201d He shoved Annie backward, slamming her against the wall.<\/p>\n

She hit so hard her knees buckled. What little air she still had was knocked away.<\/p>\n

Claude charged out, shutting the door behind him.<\/p>\n

Annie heard the sound of a padlock snicking shut as she slumped sideways.<\/p>\n

She became aware of her surroundings with no idea how much time had passed. In the falling darkness, she could barely make out blood dripping down the front of her dress. Tears diluted the blood and she wept.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo something, idiot! You can\u2019t just sit here crying.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was indeed an idiot by burying her face in her hands and sobbing her heart out. The tears burned. She swiped at them and flinched from the pain in her blackened eye.<\/p>\n

Shuddering, she lifted her battered face from her hands and looked at the dress. It seemed to glow in the dim light, as if the very fires of the devil gave it light. Indecent, vivid red silk with black fringe. No bodice worth mentioning, the front hem cut up nearly to the knees. The garment was horrible and disgusting, and Annie\u2019s shudders deepened. She shouted at the walls of the tiny, solidly locked cabin, \u201cI won\u2019t do it!\u201d<\/p>\n

Claude had known before he\u2019d asked that Annie would never wear that sinful dress and sing those bawdy songs. Touching gingerly her throbbing, swollen cheek, Annie pulled her hand away and saw blood. Her lip was split, her nose bleeding. She knew Claude\u2019s fists had been more for his own cruel pleasure than any attempt at coercion.<\/p>\n

\u201cBeat me to death if you want,\u201d she yelled at the door. \u201cI will never again perform onstage for you!\u201d She felt strong, righteous. Ready to die for her faith.<\/p>\n

Then she thought of Elva. Annie\u2019s elderly accompanist was maybe, right now, being punished because Annie hadn\u2019t fallen in line.<\/p>\n

Claude\u2019s cruel threats rang in her ears even with him gone.<\/p>\n

For all her utter commitment to refusing the Leveques and singing only her beloved hymns, how could Annie watch Elva be hurt? Could Annie stand on principle while Elva was beaten?<\/p>\n

The welts on Annie\u2019s arm, in the perfect shape of Claude Leveque\u2019s viselike hand, along with Annie\u2019s swollen eye and bleeding lip, proved the hateful man knew how to inflict pain. He\u2019d proved he had no compunction in hurting a helpless woman.<\/p>\n

Noise outside her prison brought Annie to her feet. He was coming back! Annie was sick to think what the couple would do to the elderly woman who had spent her older years worshipping God with music.<\/p>\n

Sick with fear that they\u2019d force Annie to watch Elva being battered, Annie clenched her fists and prayed. God would never agree that Annie should wear that tart\u2019s dress, sing vile, suggestive songs, and flash her legs for drunken men.<\/p>\n

But Elva!<\/p>\n

Please, Lord, guide me though this dark valley.<\/p>\n

A key rattled in the doorway.<\/p>\n

Annie braced herself. If she could get past Claude, she would run, find Elva, and get away. Go somewhere, somehow. Throw herself on the mercy of the men in this logging camp\u2014the very ones Claude said would pay to see that dreadful harlot\u2019s gown.<\/p>\n

The wooden door of the secluded, one-room shack swung hard and crashed against the wall. Elva fell onto her knees, clutching her chest. \u201cYou have to run!\u201d Elva, eyes wild with terror, lifted her head. Annie saw Elva\u2019s face was battered; a cut on her cheek bled freely.<\/p>\n

Expecting Claude and Blanche to be right behind the gray-haired woman, Annie rushed forward and dropped to Elva\u2019s side. \u201cElva, what did they do to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard. . .I heard Claude making plans, awful plans for you. He caught me eavesdropping. He thought he\u2019d knocked me cold, but I lay still and waited until he left. He\u2019d hung the key on a nail, and I stole it and slipped away to set you free.\u201d Elva staggered to her feet, every breath echoed with pain. She stretched out a shaking hand, and Annie saw Elva\u2019s black velvet reticule. The one the sweet pianist, who made Annie\u2019s voice sound as pretty as a meadowlark, carried always. \u201cThere\u2019s money. All I\u2019ve saved.\u201d Elva coughed, cutting off her words. She breathed as if it hurt. \u201cT\u2013Take it and go. There\u2019s a wagon. It\u2019s already left, but run, catch it. Ride to town. Enough.\u201d Coughing broke her voice again and Elva\u2019s knees wobbled. She clung tight to Annie. \u201cEnough for one train ticket.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie realized what Elva was saying. \u201cNo, I won\u2019t leave you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s my heart.\u201d Elva sagged sideways, clutching her chest. Annie couldn\u2019t hold her dead weight, slight though Elva was. They both lowered to the floor. \u201cWhen Claude landed his first blow, I felt my heart give out. Oh, Annie, the things he threatened for you. The evil, ugly words from a serpent\u2019s mouth. My precious girl. Run. You must run.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t leave you. They\u2019ll kill you, Elva.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. My heart. I\u2019ve felt it coming for months and tonight\u2019s the end. They can\u2019t harm me anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cElva, don\u2019t talk like that.\u201d Tears wanted to fall, but Annie had no time for such weakness. \u201cYou\u2019re all I have!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father. Go home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe doesn\u2019t want me. You know that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elva\u2019s hand closed over the already bruised place on Annie\u2019s wrist. Elva clearly saw what Annie had already suffered at Claude\u2019s hands. \u201cGo. There\u2019s no time. What they want from you is a fate worse than death.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie gasped. Those words could mean only one thing. She glanced at the indecent dress. A harlot\u2019s dress.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod is calling me home, my beautiful girl. He\u2019s taking me b\u2013because He knows you\u2019d never leave me. God in heaven is rescuing us both. I\u2019ll go home and so will you. I believe that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie looked into Elva\u2019s eyes, and even now they clouded over.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo. Please. It\u2019s my fault you\u2019re in this place. I thought we\u2019d bring the Lord to these people with your beautiful singing. I convinced you to stay when the Leveques took over. If you stay I will have died for nothing, Sw\u2013Sweet Annie.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elva\u2019s grip tightened until Annie nearly cried out in pain. Then as quickly as the spasm had come, it was gone.<\/p>\n

And so was Elva. She sank, lifeless, to the floor.<\/p>\n

Annie saw the very moment Elva\u2019s spirit left her body\u2014a heartbreaking, beautiful moment, because now Elva was beyond pain.<\/p>\n

But Annie wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you stay I will have died for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

A loud snap of a twig jerked Annie\u2019s head around. She gazed into the nearby woods surrounding the sequestered shack she\u2019d been locked in. The Leveques were coming.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat they want from you is a fate worse than death.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if God Himself sent lightning to jolt her, Annie clutched Elva\u2019s reticule, leaped to her feet, and ran.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a wagon. It\u2019s already left, but run, catch it. Ride to town.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie gained the cover of the woods and, without looking back, began moving with painstaking silence.<\/p>\n

She heard Claude\u2019s shout of rage when he discovered the cabin door ajar.<\/p>\n

Poor Elva. No one to bury her. No one to make her funeral a testimony to her life of faith.<\/p>\n

Annie hated herself for running away. It was cowardly. There had to be some way to stay and pay proper respect, see to a decent Christian burial. Every decent part of herself said, \u201cGo back. Face this.\u201d<\/p>\n

She kept moving. Elva had insisted on it. Common sense confirmed it. God whispered it in her heart to move, hurry, be silent.<\/p>\n

Silence was her only weapon and Annie used it. She\u2019d learned silence in the mountains growing up, slipping up on a deer or an elk. Slipping away from a bear or a cougar.<\/p>\n

As much as Annie had loved her mountain home, she\u2019d never learned to hunt. Pa fed the family. But she loved the woods and was skilled in their use.<\/p>\n

Heading for the trail to town, she was careful to get close enough to not lose her way but stay off to the side.<\/p>\n

Not long after she\u2019d started out, she saw Claude storming down the trail toward town. He\u2019d catch the wagon Elva spoke of long before she did. And, she hoped, insist on searching it. Once Claude assured himself that Annie wasn\u2019t there, she\u2019d have her chance.<\/p>\n

Annie felt the bite of the cool night air. She heard an owl hoot in the darkness. The rustle of the leaves covered tiny sounds she might make as she eased along. She knew the trail. She knew the night. She knew the woods.<\/p>\n

All of it was filled with treachery.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Cowboy Christmas<\/a> is another winner from Mary Connealy as far as I am concerned! Once again she has paired a spunky but lovable heroine with a tough but sensitive hero. In her usual style, the story is full of drama, humor, suspense, and witty dialogue. Sparks fly between Annie and Elijah as they fight their mutual attraction with verbal jabs. Each distrusts the other for justifiable reasons from their past. Yet in spite of all the evidence stacking up against Annie, Elijah is motivated to support and protect her.<\/p>\n

A fun, enjoyable read, Cowboy Christmas<\/a> is not by any means a lightweight tale. Connealy uses her trademark humor to temper a story that might otherwise become oppressive with serious situations that reveal the darker side of life. This combination of humor, profound content, and a spiritual thread that leaves the reader aware that God is undeniably in control is why Mary Connealy continues to be one of my very favorite authors.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8,57,41,44],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2828","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","category-christmas","category-romance","category-western"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2828","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2828"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2828\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2837,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2828\/revisions\/2837"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2828"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2828"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2828"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}