by Karen Kay
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”
Find Karen Kay online at www.novels-by-karenkay.com.
Look for these titles by Karen Kay
Now Available:
Lakota
Lakota Surrender
Lakota Princess
Proud Wolf’s Woman
Coming Soon:
Blackfoot Warriors
White Eagle’s Touch
Night Thunder’s Pride
Legendary Warriors
War Cloud’s Passion
Lone Arrow’s Pride
Soaring Eagle’s Embrace
Written in the stars…
Soaring Eagle’s Embrace
© 2012 Karen Kay
The Legendary Warriors, Book 4
Kali Wallace has no room in her busy life for marriage. Instead, she is following her father into a photography career, striving to capture the beauty of the Wild West and its vanishing Indian cultures before they both disappear forever.
Montana’s Blackfeet country is everything she could have dreamed—and more. At night a handsome man gently invades her sleep. Their nightly encounters become more and more real until one bright morning, she is startled to find everything has changed.
Lawyer by profession, Blackfeet by blood, Clay Soaring Eagle is determined to do everything in his power—legally and spiritually—to save his people’s way of life. He trusts no one of the white race, and hopes that once Kali’s task is done, she will leave and take temptation with her.
The spirits have their own plan. As their passion burns with a brightness that rivals the stars, Clay and Kali are aware that it can never last…unless they find a way to make their two worlds come together as one.
Warning: Contains soul-stirring dreams, passionate unions, and a mountain-top quest that will leave you hungry to see these two lovers get their happily ever after.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Soaring Eagle’s Embrace:
“I thought you wished to take pictures of my people.”
“I do.”
“And if you take these pictures, what will you do with them?”
Kali felt herself relax. On this subject, she was on familiar ground. She said, “My father and I will make them into a book, which will be sold back East.”
“Ah,” he said. “Then this is how you and your father make your living in the white man’s world?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is your wish to make money off us Indians.”
Kali shrugged. “Yes,” she said. “In a way. But in a way, not.”
“And how will we Indians profit by your pictures?”
“By bringing more understanding of you and your people’s plight to the world. After all, if the native people of America were better understood, you would be able to enlist more aid to your cause.”
He raised an eyebrow, his glance at her hard-hitting. “You are a wise woman,” he said, “yet I don’t think you are wise enough. You tell me that you wish to take our pictures, tell our stories, relate our adventures, yet you do not offer the Indian anything in compensation, though these adventures are rightfully ours.”
“I hadn’t thought about it. It’s not something that has ever been brought up to us before.”
“Always,” he said, “the white man has explanations.”
Kali shook her head and pulled a face. “That’s too bad, really.”
“Too bad?”
“You are a very prejudiced man.”
“I am a realistic man.”
“All right, then. I suppose you are too realistic to take a dare, then, as well?”
“A dare?”
“Yes. I must admit that I have come into this project blind. I should have learned more about the situation and what was confronting the people I wished to contact—before I arrived. However, I didn’t. Be that as it may, I am prepared to parlay with you.”
“Parlay? In what way?”
“Tonight I was besieged with bigotry not only from you but from the agent’s wife, Mrs. Black. It leads me to believe that there is something going on here that needs investigation. Therefore, I am prepared to make a bargain with you.”
“Humph.”
“Here it is. I will acquaint you with what I do so that you can more fully understand why I am here. You, for your part, will show me what is going on between you and the ranchers who share this land with you. Then we will examine the facts and make our own judgments. If I am right, and my pictures do not do harm, you will do all you can to help introduce me to your chiefs and your people, perhaps talk them around to meeting me and letting me take their pictures. If, on the other hand, you convince me that I am hurting people by doing this, I will leave.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand.
“You will, for your part, show me what is happening on your reservation. If you are right, and the white ranchers are trying to push you out, I will do all I can to help you fight this. If, however, you are wrong and the ranchers have just cause to do as they are, you will do all you can to convince your people to help them.”
“I will never help the white ranchers. And I will not put myself into a position where I might ever have to do so. No, I don’t think I will bet with you.”
“I see,” she said, biting down on her lip. “You’re afraid.”
He frowned at her. “Only at the prospect of being hoodwinked by a small redheaded woman.” He softened the words with a grin. Then, after a moment, “Who would decide if the white ranchers have ‘just cause’?”
“Why, both you and I, of course.”
“And you will listen to me?”
“I will listen to you.”
“And if we don’t agree?”
“We will examine only the facts and keep examining them until we do agree,” she said. “In truth, I would be willing to bet that you have simply misunderstood the actions of those who live around you. If it’s not a case of simple misunderstanding, then—”
“And if I am right, if you discover that I speak the truth? What then?”
“Then you would win the bet, I would help you and I would have to pay you whatever we decide are the stakes.”
He leaned in toward her. “And what are the stakes?”
“Well, for my part, if I win, I would like you to help me get as many pictures as I can. If you win, hadn’t we already decided that my father and I would leave?”
He pursed his lips, nodding. “It sounds good, but I’m not sure I like it.”
“What about it don’t you like?”
“It is not personal enough.”
“Personal?”
“Aa. It is not a small thing that you ask of me if you should win the bet. I think you should wager with something you do not wish to part with.”
“I am.” She crossed her arms. “If you win, I would have to leave.”
“Yes, but is that enough? At least in comparison to what you ask of me.”
“I see,” she said, then a little sarcastically, “I suppose you have something in mind?”
He appeared to mull this over, although Kali was certain he had something firmly fixed in his thoughts. Several moments passed. At last, however, he spoke up, saying, “If you win, I will do as you say and try to persuade the others to agree to your photos and to understand the whites around us. But if I win…”
Kali waited. “Yes?”
“If I win, you will do as I say…even though the request might be a little intimate.”
Kali�
�s stomach dropped; she raised her chin. “Exactly how intimate?”
He grinned. “It is told by our elders that, in the past, young men were willing to use their wives as the stakes in a wager. The woman had no say in it, even if she loved her husband. She went to the winner willingly, and in marriage.”
Kali stared at this man who stood before her so handsome and proud, who probably had half the female members of his village running after him. And he was asking her to…what? Aloud, she said, “Are you telling me that if you win you might ask me to marry you?”
“Or something like that.”
“How much like that?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps the physical side of it.”
Kali spun away from him, although it did her little good. She could feel the heat of his glance on her back. She said, “If you are asking what I think you are, it is immoral. And I’m certain that your society isn’t that much different than mine when it comes to such things.”
He didn’t speak for some time, and he must have come up close to her, for when he next spoke, she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. He said, “Yet it is certainly a high enough stake. And you are an attractive woman.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
These were thrilling words, wonderful words, even if she didn’t believe them, and she clenched her fists to keep herself from reacting to him. She said, “I think you are being impertinent.”
She could feel him shrug. “It would, at least, make the wager interesting.”
She sniffed. “I’m not that desperate.”
His face must have been close to her ear, for when he whispered, “Neither am I,” she heard him distinctly. Then he went on to say, “But then, a kiss is perhaps too much to ask of a white woman.”
A kiss? She spun around so quickly, she wheeled off-balance. He caught her, his hands grabbing hold of her waist to steady her. “That’s all you’ve been speaking of? A kiss?”
He gave her a devilish grin, his lips close to her own, before he said, “Maybe two, if you please.”
She took a step backward, out of his arms, watching as his arms fell to his sides.
“What kind of kiss?”
Darn. There it was again, that dazzling smile. It made his face light up as though mood alone ruled his countenance. Worse, when she looked at him, her insides went all soft and warm, as though she were made of nothing but butter and rum. He said, “Should I show you the kind of kiss that I like?”
“Sir!”
He chuckled, closed one eyelid and winked at her. “It would be a simple kiss, two pairs of lips squeezed against each other.” He leaned down to her, but simply pressed his lips against one of his own fingers, which he then placed over her lips.
At the contact, her body reacted as though it was ready for so much more. She shut her eyes, feeling slightly faint.
“But I would reserve the right…” He paused, causing her to open her eyes. Drat! His handsome face swam in front of her, and at the sight, a smoldering fire fanned to life within her; her stomach somersaulted. He stood close; so close, she could smell the scent of mint on his breath, the musky fragrance of his skin, the fresh odor of buckskin.
“The right,” he continued, “to hold you in my arms when I kiss you.”
“Oh, I see. I…I’m not sure.”
“Are you afraid, then? Afraid you might start to feel something besides a white woman’s contempt for an Indian?”
“You know that’s not true,” she whispered. “You know from speaking to me tonight that I don’t hold this opinion.”
He drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Aa, yes,” he said. “You are right, and I apologize for saying that. You are not the kind of person to feel scorn for another, are you? Simply because he is different than you are. So if not that, what are you afraid of?”
“I…I’m afraid that I might…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She wasn’t certain that she herself understood what she’d been about to say. Although there was one thing she knew she could count on…her mind’s ability to reason. She said, “Y-you are correct. The stakes should be something we are unwilling to part with. You, to aid something alien to you. Me, to give up my work, and a kiss.”
He nodded. “Seems fair.”
“All right, then I…I believe we have a venture, Mister, ah…Soaring Eagle. Sh-shall we shake on it?” She would have held out her hand, except that he stood too close to her to do so.
“We could,” he said, “or perhaps we could do something better.”
And before she could stop him, he gathered her hand in his, bringing it, glove and all, to his lips. She gasped. Not because of what he was doing, but because…
He glanced up at her and smirked. “When I was at the white man’s school,” he said, “I learned an odd custom. At first I thought it was a strange practice, but the more I thought about it, the more and more I appreciated the wit of the white man.” And turning her hand palm up, he pressed another kiss against her wrist.
Kali’s heartbeat raced out of proportion to the action, and it was all she could do to stand upright at the moment, for her knees threatened to collapse beneath her. And truth to tell, she had little time to hide her reaction from him, for when he raised his head and said, “I believe we have a wager, Little Miss Redhead,” his look was so full of mischief, she wondered if she had, perhaps, made a tactical error…
In this battle of the sexes, the ultimate prize is love.
Donovan’s Bed
© 2012 Debra Mullins
Calhoun Sisters, Book 1
Sarah Calhoun is bound and determined to restore honor to the family name the only way she knows how—make her late father’s newspaper, the Burr Chronicle, the most successful in the Wyoming Territory.
Haunted by past scandal, she knows one misstep, one misunderstanding, could bring disgrace back down on her head. Yet that doesn’t stop her from running an article about the insulting Jack Donovan. The blasted man is shopping for a wife as he would a horse!
Jack finally has the house in the kind of town he’s always dreamed about. Now all that’s missing is a wife. At first, he thinks Sarah’s scathing article about his quest is a good thing—until he finds himself hounded by hordes of young girls, spinsters and widows. Still, he can’t stop thinking about the sassy newspaper editor who started it all.
Sarah is as determined to ignore her impossible attraction to Donovan as she is to uncover his mysterious past. But the harder she digs for his secrets, the deeper he hides them. Until there’s only one rock left unturned. His heart.
Warning: Contains sensual love scenes and enough barn-burning passion to heat the coldest winter night.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Donovan’s Bed:
“You want a piece of me? We’ll take it someplace private.”
She stared at him, battling the urge to stomp off, consequences be damned. “What do you mean, private?”
He pulled her back into his arms and began dancing her toward the edge of the crowd. “Don’t you worry about your virtue, Miss Calhoun. We’ll stay within screaming distance.” He grinned, and she wanted to smack that dimple right off his cheek.
He swept her to the edge of the platform and then gallantly took her hand to help her down the steps. Given his strong grip on her fingers, Sarah wondered if he was holding her prisoner.
Only a few heads turned their way as he escorted her with a firm hand on her elbow toward the church a few yards back. She knew she would have attracted much more attention had she given in to impulse and stormed off the dance floor, and was grudgingly grateful that he’d just rescued her from her own impetuous nature.
Donovan led her around the side of the building, away from prying eyes but close enough to be heard should she call for help. Then he released his grip on her elbow, crossed his arms and looked down at her.
They were alone. Above them stars glittered like diamonds against a sky of dark blue velvet, and insects chirped mating songs fa
r prettier than the music they had left behind. Donovan stood with his back to the moon, his face cast in shadow, his masculine stance making Sarah restlessly aware of her own smaller feminine stature.
“Now what was that you were saying, about me not knowing a woman from a horse?”
His voice rippled over her, soft, dangerous. For a moment she couldn’t think for the fluttering in her belly. “That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, finally.
“I know what you meant.” He reached for her. She tensed, but all he did was slide his hands down her bare arms. His callused thumbs rasped over the vulnerable flesh of her inner elbows, the sensitive palms of her hands. The pure sensuality of the gesture sent heat spiraling through her system, making her tremble in a response that she couldn’t deny.
His fingers tightened over hers as he sensed her reaction. He took a step closer, slowly raising his hand to her chin. Her breath caught. She thought he would kiss her—finally, after all these months—but he only stroked the backs of his fingers over her throat.
“A woman,” he said with slow deliberation, “has soft skin. Silky hair.” He tugged gently at a wispy curl, his knuckles brushing her ear. “And a sweet mouth, meant for kissing. I don’t ever recall wanting to kiss my horse.”
“I should hope not.” Her words were barely audible. Where had her anger gone? He touched her with the skill of a man who knew women well, yet the knowledge excited instead of repulsed her.
“Now you…” He stroked his thumb along her lower lip. “You, Miss Sarah Calhoun, are a different kettle of fish altogether. I’ve been thinking entirely too much about that sassy mouth of yours.”
“You have?” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her body hummed with readiness, poised for whatever he asked of her.
“Yeah.” He cupped her face in his hands, spearing his fingers into her hair. A long blond coil dropped over her shoulder as he dislodged her hairpins. “Sweet Lord, what a sassy mouth.”
“I’ve thought about you, too,” she admitted in a shy whisper. Slowly she raised her hands to his lean waist, massaging the taut muscles.
