tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19514076300628726422024-03-13T12:03:40.703-06:00Kari Lynn Dell - Western AuthorKari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.comBlogger444125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-81107506334199886332019-12-21T17:23:00.003-07:002020-01-11T11:21:00.765-07:00Relentless in TexasYes! I can finally share the title, cover, blurb and an excerpt from the sixth and final book in the Texas Rodeo series. I wish I could say it will be in your hands soon, but the official release date isn't until June 30, 2020, but it is now up for pre-order online! My web goddess is in the process of updating my site with all the info and where-to-buy links, but if you just want to see that yes, it is actually for real, check it out at <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/relentless-in-texas-kari-lynn-dell/1133879139?ean=9781492658177" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>.<br />
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Here's hoping it's worth the wait--and the hell these characters put me through trying to do their story justice.<br />
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<i><b>There’s a reason they call this cowboy</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Relentless</b></i></div>
<br />
<i>Gil Sanchez was once rodeo’s biggest and baddest hotshot. Now he's thirteen years sober and finally free of the pain that ended his skyrocketing career. Given one last, near-miraculous shot to claw his way back to rodeo glory, he can't let fantasies of happily-ever-after dull his razor edge...but Carmelita White Fox is every dream he’s never let himself have.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And from the moment he saw the spark of challenge in her eyes, he hasn't been able to look away.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Carma may come from a Blackfeet family noted for its healing abilities, but even she knows better than to try to fix this scarred, cynical, and incredibly sexy cowboy. Yet she’s the only one who can reach past Gil’s jaded armor, and the fiercely loyal heart buried beneath the biting cynicism is impossible to resist. Gil needs Carma just as much as she needs him, but as the pressure builds and the spotlight intensifies, they’ll have to fight like hell to save the one thing neither can live without.</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now say hello to the woman who's gonna turn his world upside down and give it a good shake. Hey, this is Gil Sanchez. You weren't really expecting a meet cute, were you? </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~~~~~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
The crowd cheered as a woman—somewhere
around thirty, Gil estimated—stepped onto the floor wearing a short fringed-and-beaded
buckskin jacket and matching midcalf moccasins over a body-hugging black dress
and black leggings. Her ebony hair was pulled into a thick, straight tail that
reached the middle of her back, her face nearly round, but her brows and mouth
sketched in bold lines. Murmurs rustled through the crowd, and Gil caught the
distinct aroma of ripe gossip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Her chin came up and she flashed a smile,
wide and bright, that was the equivalent of a stiff middle finger. Well, now.
This was getting interesting. Gil took a sip of his Coke and settled more
comfortably against the column, prepared to enjoy the show.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
She dropped two ropes near her feet and
built a small loop in the shortest. A trick roper. Nice. There weren’t as many
as there used to be, although the art seemed to be making a comeback. The band
struck up a decent version of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and with a flick of her
wrist, she set the small loop dancing around her in a series of pirouettes and
launched into a fairly standard routine. Well executed, but nothing Gil hadn’t
seen before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
On the opposite side of Gil’s leaning
post, a man drawled, “First time I’ve seen her out and about since Jayden
dumped her. S’pose she’s ready to give someone else a shot?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
“Like you?” A second man snorted his skepticism.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
“She might be a little less particular
after supportin’ his ass all those years, then gettin’ swapped for a hot little
blond soon as he made the Finals.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
“Don’t mean she’ll look twice at anybody
else around here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
The first man grunted, half in annoyance,
half in agreement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="i"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="i"><i>Jayden.</i> </span>The name
would’ve been familiar if the guy had qualified for the upcoming National
Finals Rodeo in any of the roughstock events, but Gil didn’t pay much attention
to the ropers. Like a whole lot of cowboys who got a taste of success, though,
this Jayden must’ve decided he could do better than the girl back home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Watching Carmelita perform with that
diamond-bright smile firmly in place, Gil felt a twinge of sympathy…until her
gaze snapped to his, dark and fierce. <span class="i"><span style="border: none; color: windowtext;"><span style="border: none;"><i>Don<span style="border: none;">’<span style="border: none;">t you dare feel sorry for me.</span></span></i></span></span></span><span class="i"><span style="border: none; color: windowtext;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Gil glanced over his
shoulder to see if she might be glaring at someone else. No. It was definitely
him. He could swear his expression hadn’t changed, but she had singled him out
as if she knew what he was thinking.</div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
What the hell?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
She abruptly spun around and tossed the
short rope in the corner, plucking the longest one from where she’d left it on
the floor. The band segued into “Ring of Fire”—and Carmelita began to dance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br />
Just a sway of the hips at first. Then
shoulders. Subtle shifts of her body that in any other woman would have been a
harmless sway to the music. No one but Gil seemed to interpret it as anything more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
He saw an intense awareness of her own
body, a pleasure in the way it moved that went beyond just dancing. She raised
her arms to start the big loop spinning around her, and when her jacket hiked
up, Gil’s eyes were drawn to the curve of her hip and thigh. Hunger punched
through him—instant, hot, and inexplicable. Geezus, what was wrong him? Yes,
she was attractive, and yes, he’d come looking for a distraction, but this was <span class="i">not
</span>what he’d had in mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Her gaze met his again. Her eyes
widened…and once again there was no doubt she knew exactly what he was
thinking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
The woman hadn’t made a single, overtly
sexual move, and still Gil could barely blink, let alone tear his eyes off her.
There was something elemental about the way she inhabited her body that filled
his head with visions of dust devils chased ahead of a freshening rainstorm, cloud
shadows undulating across the prairie, the snap and crack of a campfire sending
a flurry of embers spiraling into a velvet sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Most performers projected their energy
onto the audience. Carmelita was magnetic, pulling the static out of Gil’s
mind. His entire consciousness was consumed by the sight of her. And then, with
the final, <span class="i"><i>ba-ba-bum</i> </span>of the song, she whipped
around and stopped, feet spread, head and arms flung back, eyes locked on him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
He should have looked away. Backed down.
Walked out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Instead he smiled—a taut, challenging
curl of his mouth. <i>How far are you willing to go, sweetheart? </i>She held
his gaze while the applause compounded the roar of blood in his ears, nearly
drowning out the little voice asking if he’d lost his fucking mind. She faced
him, eyes narrowing, as if she was debating how to react. Slap him with a cold
stare? Ignore him? He saw her come to a decision an instant before she tossed
an equally carnal smile right back at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Then she pivoted and walked to the
corner, where she shrugged out of her jacket and unclipped her silver barrette
so her hair fell loose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
She said something to the lead singer
that made him laugh, then say into the microphone, “And now we’re in for the
real treat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
All around Gil, heads turned and whispers
hissed. Now every eye angled his direction, gleaming with speculation. The
music started and for the first, throbbing notes of “Tennessee Whiskey,”
Carmelita stood utterly still, every generous curve of her body outlined by the
tight dress and leggings. Then she lifted her arms and the loop became her
lover, dancing away, then back, turning and twisting, floating into the air and
dropping over her head to embrace her. Her expression went dreamy as she arched
her back and the loop rolled over the long bow of her body from shoulder to
breast, belly, and thighs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Gil was insanely jealous of<span class="i"><span style="border: none; color: windowtext;"><span style="border: none;"> </span></span></span>that
rope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
The light seemed to dim and the already
close confines of the dance floor to draw in around her—around him—a private
bubble that was theirs alone. She pulled him into the music with her, where
every thrum of the guitar and thud of drums vibrated through both of them,
their bodies tuned to the same intimate beat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
And with each turn, her gaze skimmed over
him, drawing his skin and his lungs as tight as a fingernail dragged across his
bare chest. His breathing went shallow, perilously close to panting. She
pirouetted around the edge of the floor, so close that her rope brushed his
thighs, sending twin bolts of lightning to his core.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Before he could clear the haze from his
vision, the song moaned to a climax and she once again spun to a stop in front
of him, her loop floating up and over his head, settling light as fallen leaves
onto his shoulders.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Captured.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
For the space of a dozen heartbeats they
stood, two wildland creatures frozen in a single, blinding beam of desire. Then
he caught the rope with his free hand and she let him draw her closer, until he
could feel the heat rising off her glowing bronze skin, smell her sweet
cherry-almond scent, and see the gold that shot through her brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
The bar went quiet. Then the
audience broke into an uncertain<span class="i"><span style="border: none; color: windowtext;"><span style="border: none;"> </span></span></span>smatter of
applause.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
Carmelita let her eyelashes drift down as
she inhaled—drawing Gil in molecule by molecule. Her mouth curved, a deeply
knowing smile that nudged his thermostat up another few degrees. She didn’t say
hello. She didn’t ask his name.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p" style="line-height: normal;">
She just gave the rope a tug and said, “Let’s
get out of here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~~~~~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Stay tuned. As soon as the book is up for pre-order I will let you know. Or subscribe to my newsletter at <a href="http://karilynndell.com/">KariLynnDell.com</a> to get all the updates, the latest hijinks from here on the ranch, plus a chance to win an advance copy! </b><br />
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<b>~</b>Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-23041489275025682392019-11-20T11:21:00.002-07:002019-11-20T11:26:27.001-07:00Where to Find the Good Stuff...aka, the short humor posts I used to put on this blog, which I stopped doing after I contracted with a group of regional newspapers who actually pay me for them. However, this means that I've got about eight years of stories piled up in my hard drive, so I decided rather than let them molder, I will share them with my newsletter subscribers every other week (or so, depending on my schedule).<br />
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Here are the two latest editions if you want to check them out. I'll post links here when I send out a new story, but you can also have them plopped right in your inbox if you visit my website and sign up:<br />
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<a href="http://www.karilynndell.com/" target="_blank">KariLynnDell.com</a><br />
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The newsletters will also give you a heads up when I release new books, and there are drawings for things like advance copies specifically for subscribers. Here are the links to the last two editions.<br />
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<a href="https://us9.campaign-archive.com/?u=d169ec5a2e97936d7e908d60d&id=ca6c00273a" target="_blank">Sooo Tired of Winter </a><br />
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<a href="https://us9.campaign-archive.com/?u=d169ec5a2e97936d7e908d60d&id=12faf2951f" target="_blank">A Good Wreck--Lessons in Pain</a><br />
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Enjoy! And don't forget, if you're looking for a stocking stuffer or a very unique Christmas cowboy story, I have just the thing:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pP1BZ7zScC8/XdWD2_zMwFI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/KIiMr0DQgWcdr7F715yyf874uL6D9qk6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/9781492658146-300RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="975" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pP1BZ7zScC8/XdWD2_zMwFI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/KIiMr0DQgWcdr7F715yyf874uL6D9qk6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9781492658146-300RGB.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
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For details and purchase info: <a href="http://karilynndell.com/mistletoe.html">http://karilynndell.com/mistletoe.html</a></div>
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<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-71149847442465955812019-02-18T11:00:00.002-07:002019-02-18T11:09:12.389-07:00The Reincarnation of Muddy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So...there's this thing I've been sitting on for a few months, and it involves the book formerly known as The Long Ride Home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes, I said FORMERLY.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This book has had quite a journey. First the original publisher went out of business, but was good enough to sell me the cover art so I could self-publish it in digitally without any noticeable changes, but no paperback version. Now I am thrilled to say that my current publisher, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sourcebooks/?eid=ARAmLQuz93ThL4sGl0vniaqubj1qKjibGC9qAlNJjCusQoeRP_PyQgq5VdebUucsulObKwGGNk76d2fr&fref=tag">Sourcebooks, </a>is giving it a whole new life. New cover. New title. And while that means it will be unavailable until the new release date of July 30, 2019, when it does come out it will be on sale EVERYWHERE in mass market paperback.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Gentle readers, meet <b>Last Chance Rodeo</b>, available for pre-order as of today. Yes, that is my very own Chief Mountain in the background! I love my art department.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the story behind this story and pre-order links, pop over to <a href="https://www.romancereads.com/blog/cover-love-last-chance-rodeo-by-kari-lynn-dell">Romance Reads</a>.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrpfV5meDJo/XGrynfzcS3I/AAAAAAAAEJA/yC06ypPwWjAGFbgeKvjCdt6PzLWab_wrQCLcBGAs/s1600/112918D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1031" data-original-width="628" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrpfV5meDJo/XGrynfzcS3I/AAAAAAAAEJA/yC06ypPwWjAGFbgeKvjCdt6PzLWab_wrQCLcBGAs/s400/112918D.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-4240909384369289272018-09-13T14:07:00.005-06:002018-09-13T14:07:48.076-06:00On Sale, With a Whole New Look<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fFxKUffbl9Y/W5q8qZzYxFI/AAAAAAAAEGU/d_dXshdN4QoqnoZp8pzUETjYz9FWTPqfwCLcBGAs/s1600/RecklessAlt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fFxKUffbl9Y/W5q8qZzYxFI/AAAAAAAAEGU/d_dXshdN4QoqnoZp8pzUETjYz9FWTPqfwCLcBGAs/s320/RecklessAlt.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
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The digital version of<i> Reckless in Texas </i>is on sale for $1.99 and sporting a whole new look. Why? The keyword is <i>sporting. </i>Many readers have commented that my books are sports romances as much as westerns, and many who say they don't read westerns change their mind when they meet these intensely athletic men and smart, savvy women who aren't afraid to throw a few elbows to make space for themselves in a man's world. </div>
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Damn, I do love me some competence porn. </div>
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The challenge is getting those "No thanks, ma'am" readers to look past the cowboy hat on the cover and discover for themselves that these aren't your Mama's westerns, so my publishing company decided to do an experiment. For the time being, the cover on the ebook has been changed, and I gotta say, as much as I love my cowboys, THIS is how I picture Joe Cassidy, except with more of a long-haired surfer vibe. As Violet thinks when she stumbles over him sans shirt:</div>
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<i>Dear sweet heaven, that was one beautiful body. Like the yellow Corvette, designed specifically for impressing the girls and taking the curves way too fast. This close she could smell the clean sweat from the clumps of damp hair straggling around his face. His eyes were green. The color of luck, and money, and the other side of the fence. They gleamed with the same arrogant light as his smile.</i></div>
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So if you're like me--and like Violet--and you're a sucker for a man in motion who has some serious moves in and out of the arena, give Joe Cassidy a gander. I think you're gonna like what you see. <i> </i></div>
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The sale lasts through September 24th. You can find links to your favorite e-tailers (and the original cover) here: <a href="http://karilynndell.com/reckless.html">Reckless in Texas</a></div>
Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-34046138402733685762018-08-23T11:25:00.005-06:002018-08-23T11:37:36.824-06:00Limited Time Offer - Pre-order Signed Copies of Mistletoe in Texas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J8V0pWMcw0c/W37rmC3YymI/AAAAAAAAEEA/20LuC2pTlWIa_Kl2tmKbhpA_31rjjH5bQCLcBGAs/s1600/Signed%2BMistletoe%2BAd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="207" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J8V0pWMcw0c/W37rmC3YymI/AAAAAAAAEEA/20LuC2pTlWIa_Kl2tmKbhpA_31rjjH5bQCLcBGAs/s400/Signed%2BMistletoe%2BAd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yes, I am getting slightly more organized! </span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've made arrangements in advance this time. Place your order before September 5th and get a personalized, signed copy of my newest release,<strong> Mistletoe in Texas</strong>, on or about the official release date of September 25th. Depending on where you live, it could even arrive early. How that's for holiday treat!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Place your order via <a href="http://latigoandlace.com/" style="color: #00add8;" target="_blank">LatigoandLace.com</a> and don't forget to put a name and any requests regarding the inscription in the ordering instruction box.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(This offer is open to anyone regardless of where you live, but I fear that the shipping will be atrocious for international readers and we can't make any promises on arrival dates.)</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span 16px="" font-family:="" font-size:="" georgia=" " new="" quot="" roman="" serif="" times=""><br /></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span 16px="" font-family:="" font-size:="" georgia=" " new="" quot="" roman="" serif="" times="">And keep us in mind for Christmas gifts. Along with all kinds of gorgeous western decor and artwork, Latigo and Lace </span><span 16px="" font-family:="" font-size:="" georgia=" " new="" quot="" roman="" serif="" times="">has</span> all of my paperback books in stock, including a very limited number of copies of</span> <strong>The Long Ride Home</strong>, which is now out of print. We will be doing another special order of signed books in November, paired with western Christmas ornaments or handcrafted wooden bookmarks for the perfect holiday duo. Keep an eye on your email for ordering dates!</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Also, I have been told that copies of <strong>Mistletoe in Texas</strong> should be arriving on my doorstep any day. The first will be the Advance Reader Copies printed just for reviewers so I only get three of those, but I'll be putting one up for grabs. And when my author copies of the official book arrive later in September, I'll draw for five more copies for lucky newsletter subscribers. So go to <a href="http://karilynndell.com/">KariLynnDell.com</a> to get signed up and remember to check that inbox! </span></span><br />
<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-52789343942449677512018-08-12T10:37:00.001-06:002018-08-12T10:42:56.461-06:00Christmas is coming very early this year!<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Available September 25th!</h2>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">"Dell takes you on a fun, wild ride!" --</span><strong 14px="" font-size:="" georgia="" merriweather="" serif="">B.J. DANIELS</strong><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">, </span><em style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">New York Times </em><span style="background-color: font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Bestselling Author</span><br />
<br style="background-color: font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" />
<strong style="background-color: font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">He's always been the black sheep: the troublemaker.<br />But this Christmas, the prodigal cowboy returns.</strong><br />
<br style="background-color: font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Rodeo bullfighter Hank Brookman was headed straight for the top. But after a single misstep resulted in devastating injury, he disappeared under a mountain of regrets. Now he's back, ready to face the loved ones he left behind-starting with the one girl his heart could never forget.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">When Hank stormed out of Texas, he left Grace McKenna picking up the pieces...and struggling with a secret that changed everything. He may be back looking for redemption, but after everything they've been through, how can she admit what he really walked away from all those years ago?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Hank always knew persuading Grace to trust him again would be a tall order. Convincing her they deserve a happily ever after? That may take a Texas-sized Christmas miracle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Preorder links: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mistletoe-in-texas-kari-lynn-dell/1127704373?ean=9781492658146#/">B&N</a> | <a href="https://www.indiebound.org/search/book?keys=mistletoe+in+texas">Indie Bound</a> | <a href="http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Mistletoe-Texas/Kari-Lynn-Dell/9781492658146?id=7340916388488">Books a Million</a> |<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Mistletoe-Texas-Rodeo-Kari-Lynn-ebook/dp/B07BNPGQFV/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1534091714&sr=8-1&keywords=mistletoe+in+texas+kari+lynn+dell"> Amazon</a> | iBooks</span></div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-49016891758159697322018-04-19T08:57:00.000-06:002018-04-19T08:57:42.300-06:00So Very Tangled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Several reviewers have commented on how Fearless in Texas is much more focused on the relationship between Wyatt and Melanie, and their interactions are more intense than in the previous books. Believe it or not, I did that on purpose.<br />
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With each book I try to do something a little different. For whatever reason, Tangled in Texas seems to get the least attention, but for me it has the most complex layering of relationships and emotions and in some ways was the hardest to pull off, because I not only took one of the antagonists from the first book--Delon--and made him into the hero, but turned the hero and heroine of Reckless into HIS antagonists. (You can't imagine how thrilled my editor was when she read the synopsis and realized what I was going to try to pull off.)<br />
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It all started with a comment from my sister, who taught elementary school for 30 years. We were talking about dealing with divorced parents, and she said, "It doesn't matter how friendly the divorce was or how much they vow to be civil, the minute one of them gets involved with someone new it gets ugly." So I sat down to write Delon and Violet as if they were that amicably divorced couple whose happy arrangement starts coming apart at the seams when Joe gets dropped into the mix. And then it gets worse when I bring Tori in, who has a justified and deeply rooted hostility toward Violet.<br />
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May I just say that there's a reason most romances with single moms or dads find a way to get rid of the other parent? Having to constantly shuffle Beni from place to place and account for why he was with Violet versus Delon at every moment was a real PITA.<br />
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On the flip side, one of the greatest joys of writing this book was the relationship between Shawnee and Tori. If they were guys you would call it a bromance. I not only wanted to explore the unique kind of friendships that evolve between uber-competitive, hard-headed cowgirls, but also to have two women whose conversations are almost never about men. I took that idea one step farther in Fearless, with the man ban scene early in the book. Yes, we do all like to talk about boys, but I wanted to write a best friend whose entire role wasn't to be a sounding board or to give advice about love.<br />
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I also loved writing Delon and Gil, watching them work through all the pain and anger they'd kept stuffed in their pockets for too long. And now I've circled back to them as I'm writing Gil's book, taking their relationship to a new level as Gil (tiny spoiler) suddenly gets custody of his son and has to look to his brother for support and advice on how to be more than a weekend father.<br />
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If you haven't read Tangled, I hope this all intrigues you enough to give it a go. And if you have, I hope I've given you reason to take another look and consider some of those nuances. As always, questions and comments are welcome, our version of online book club.<br />
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And if you want to check out Tangled in Texas, you can find an excerpt and order links on my website: <a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fkarilynndell.com%2Ftangled.html&h=ATP-CtEsNbr0r-AKgq_4cro6slAYXhwqgDj6c3JEdT4teh4favILWFcon6B0AahW0D9JDEBPSneqBl7VBx52Rqc8p6v0lDvWUOAOvIiV17Dg4Ia6fkslqpbTuEjeGOMX7BHWV9wowYk">http://karilynndell.com/tangled.html</a><br />
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***</div>
Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-60778626281395088442018-04-09T11:20:00.000-06:002018-04-09T11:23:01.084-06:00Grannyed Up*<br />
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As a few people have probably mentioned, winter and spring north of the Mason-Dixon line have kinda sucked. But finally, the latest storm is gone. The sun is shining. It's forty degrees and the wind is virtually nonexistent. You would think we'd be done dragging newborns into the barn for a while, but alas...<br />
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There is a thing with cows that we call grannying. It's when a cow that's just given birth (Cow A) is too close to a cow that's in labor (Cow B). Cow B's maternal instincts are already red-lined, and she gets confused and latches onto Cow A's baby. Nine times out of ten, she'll go ahead and have her own calf and just walk away from it to go try to steal Calf A. This is one of many reasons that calving in close confines is much less desirable than out in the wide open field, weather permitting.<br />
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But since weather has not permitted, we've got to drag Calf A into the barn and lock him and his mother up, then chase Cow B over to the other barn where she can't see or smell them anymore so she'll claim her own kid when it's born.<br />
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Yeah. The good times just never end.</div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-19513142120544538502018-03-14T08:03:00.000-06:002018-03-25T14:56:54.386-06:00THREE WEEKS TO GO--AND ANOTHER EXCERPT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Twenty days and counting until the release of <i>Fearless in Texas</i>, and the early reviews have been awesome, including a coveted star from <i>Publisher's Weekly</i>, who said, "<b>Chock full of drama, romantic angst and magnetic supporting characters, Dell’s latest is not to be missed."</b><br />
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<i>RT Book Reviews</i> raved, "<b>There is such a raw vulnerability in these characters that readers will be hard pressed not to scream, cry and cheer right along with them ... </b><b><i>Fearless in Texas</i> will leave you feeling worthy of attaining your own happy ending."</b><br />
<b><br /></b> My job this week is to pick out a handful of excerpts for our online promotional tour, and while I'm at it I thought I'd share one of my favorite scenes. As Melanie says about her tendency to hold a grudge, "Every girl needs a superpower."<br />
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Wyatt mutilated another lump of the slime-coated goo the café called apple pie filling , then pushed the plate away in disgust and checked the time on his phone. Five thirty-seven. If Melanie was going to commit an act of retribution, surely she would have done it by now. And he still had no idea what he could do to stop her.<br />
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“You know she won’t listen to me,” he’d warned Violet. “Why don’t you go sit on her?”<br />
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Violet had grinned, cocking her eyebrows. “Friends don’t let friends’ wives get arrested. And if worst comes to worst, you won’t have to borrow money for her bail.”<br />
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Yet another perk of being a trust fund brat, along with perfect teeth and generations of ruthlessly wielded rich, white privilege. And since he was already here, he might as well give Melanie until sunup before calling this stakeout a bust.<br />
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A flash of yellow caught his eye as a taxi pulled to a stop across the street. In a blink, Melanie was across the sidewalk and into the back seat, a swift-moving shadow clad, like Wyatt, in skulking clothes—dark jeans, a black hoodie, and a baseball cap, with a backpack slung over her shoulder. Hell. That didn’t look good. Wyatt fumbled for his wallet, tossed a twenty onto the table, and charged out past the startled waitress, but by the time he got to his rental car, the cab had disappeared around the corner. He made an educated guess as to her destination and was rewarded when he saw the taxi several blocks ahead on the four-lane avenue.<br />
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He could follow. Or he could attempt to cut her off. He chose the latter, passing on the left in the generic sedan he’d rented for the occasion, and parked under the hotel’s portico just ahead of the taxi. Then he waited, braced to do whatever was necessary…and hoping she didn’t do any permanent bodily damage.<br />
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The yellow cab sailed past the entrance of the hotel and around to the side lot. Wyatt bailed out of his car and started for the front door, intending to meet her at the rear, but instead of heading for the hotel, she hopped out of the taxi at the far end of the lot and paused for an instant to reach under the rear bumper of a Ford pickup. Before he could change directions, she’d climbed in and fired up the engine. Wyatt ducked behind a bush as she roared past and onto the street.<br />
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Oh hell. Her version of Don’t get mad, get even was going to involve $60,000 worth of prime American steel. What was in that backpack? Too small for a Louisville Slugger, but there was plenty of room for a can of lighter fluid. Or dynamite.
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His crappy rental didn’t even have enough oomph to lay rubber when he jumped in and hit the gas. He spotted her immediately, driving well within speed limit, but he had to hang back several blocks, thanks to the deserted streets. They headed for an industrial section on the edge of Amarillo and…Westwind Feeds? He swore as she jumped out, unlocked the single bar that barricaded the entrance to the parking lot, and swung it aside, her movements as swift and precise as a covert operative on a well-planned mission. Before Wyatt got within a block, she was inside—and he was locked out.<br />
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He swore again, then made a left to circle around the block opposite Westwind, killing his headlights as he pulled into an alley between two warehouses. He left the car halfway down and made like a ninja, creeping through the shadows until he had a clear view of where Melanie had pulled the Ford into a slot marked Executive Parking, next to one of the Westwind company pickups. Wyatt paused, then gagged when he made the mistake of inhaling. He pulled his T-shirt up over his nose to filter out some of the dirty-diaper and rotting-fish stench of the nearby Dumpster. If tonight was any indication, it was just as well he’d crossed undercover cop and spy off the list when he’d decided against Yale Divinity and gone in search of a less holier-than-thou career.<br />
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Across the road, Melanie was crouched beside the pickup, scrawling blocky neon-green letters all the way down the side of the Ford with a can of spray paint.<br />
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She finished, stepped back to admire her work for a second, then grabbed her open backpack and circled around to duck out of sight between the vehicles and go to work on the Westwind pickup. Well, hell. Once again he’d failed miserably, because once again he had badly underestimated her.<br />
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A hard lesson Michael Miller was about to learn. You didn’t mess with Melanie and stroll away whistling.<br />
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Wyatt flattened his reluctant smile and contemplated the situation. The damage was already well in progress. The best he could do now was to get her out of here as quickly and quietly as possible. He looked both ways and, seeing no sign of life in either direction, sprinted across the street. The hissing of the spray can stopped. He eased up and peeked over the tailgate of Michael’s pickup as she pulled a long security cable from the backpack. Heavy duty, impervious to bolt cutters. Damn. She had thought of everything. She threaded an end through the front wheel of each pickup and wrapped it twice around the Executive Parking sign, anchoring both vehicles in place.<br />
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As she snapped a padlock through the looped ends, Wyatt said, “Your P is running.”<br />
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She yelped, snatched the nearest paint can, and spun around. Only Wyatt’s superior reflexes kept him from getting a blast of orange square in the face.</div>
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AVAILABLE, APRIL 03, 2018</div>
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Pre-Order Today!</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fearless-Texas-Rodeo-Kari-Lynn-ebook/dp/B0748MXT7B/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1507740307&sr=8-1&keywords=fearless+in+texas+kari+lynn+dell">AMAZON</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fearless-in-texas-kari-lynn-dell/1126855538?ean=9781492658115#/">B&N</a> | <a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781492658115">INDIE BOUND</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/fearless-in-texas/id1264137012?mt=11">IBOOKS</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Fearless-Texas/Kari-Lynn-Dell/9781492658115?id=6849752180128">BAM!</a> | <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Kari_Lynn_Dell_Fearless_in_Texas?id=GFAuDwAAQBAJ">GOOGLE PLAY</a> | <a href="https://www.bookdepository.com/Fearless-in-Texas-Kari-Lynn-Dell/9781492658115?ref=grid-view&qid=1512000656655&sr=1-1">BOOK DEPO</a></div>
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Audio</div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-72199791640673533272017-11-18T12:49:00.000-07:002017-12-15T09:47:36.216-07:00FEARLESS IN TEXAS - EXCERPTSomebody had a little too much rodeo fun this summer to keep up with the blog, but now that winter has settled in, I'm gradually catching up. Book Four of the <b>Texas Rodeo</b> series, <b><i>Fearless in Texas </i></b>is in the final editing process, due for release on April 3, 2018. Here's a sneak peek.<br />
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FEARLESS IN TEXAS</div>
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<i>But even he’s no match for a girl this Texas tough<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "><i>Rodeo bullfighter Wyatt Darrington’s got it all figured out. The perfect car, the perfect job, the perfect looks—the perfect lie. He may be on the fast track to the Hall of Fame, but he knows he’ll always be an outsider to people like Melanie Brookman. Texas-born and bred, with the arena in her blood, Melanie’s come to see Wyatt as her personal enemy, and that suits him just fine—this way, she’ll never realize the truth.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "><i>He’s been crazy in love with her for years.</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: , serif;"><i><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family:">Melanie’s always been a fighter. Fiercely independent and tough as nails, she’s stood up to everything that got in her way—including Wyatt. But now her infamous temper’s got her on the ropes, and there’s nowhere left to run but toward the man she swore she’d never trust…and this time, there’s no denying just how hot he makes her bur</span>n.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</div>
<div class="cn" style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="pf">
<i><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="Fired"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P"></a>The instant Wyatt’s fingers came to rest on Melanie’s bare skin, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><span style="color: black;">they</span></a> both cursed—a mutual, almost silent hiss, too quiet for any of the crowd encircling the nearly empty dance floor to hear over the music. Their steps didn’t falter. They didn’t blink. But he didn’t pretend he couldn’t feel the jolt at the inevitable, unavoidable contact…and neither did Melanie.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="pf">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He smiled—a generic, <span class="i">just making conversation</span> smile that would fool anyone besides the woman looking him directly in the eye. “Well. This is inconvenient.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Extremely,” Melanie agreed.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He didn’t bother to move his hand. The cut of her emerald-green halter-top bridesmaid dress left him with no alternatives other than her exposed back or her satin-covered butt. Her long, straight chestnut hair had been pinned into a tousled updo with tendrils that trailed down her neck, begging a man to twirl them around his fingers.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Damn Violet for being the one woman on earth determined to make her maid of honor look as hot as sin.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>As they circled the floor, eyebrows were raised and glances exchanged. He was aware of the picture they made—him blond and elegant, at ease in the tuxedo that made the other cowboys tug at neckties and fidget with cummerbunds; her following his lead as effortlessly if they’d been dancing together for years. They were sleek and athletic, glowing with the pheromones that had been accumulating, molecule by molecule, over the enforced proximity created by two days of the standard pre-wedding hullabaloo.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Wyatt flicked a glance toward the bride and groom, so wrapped up in each other they wouldn’t have noticed if their attendants had broken into a tango. “Joe is the closest thing I have to a brother.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Even though he did <span class="i">have </span>a male sibling.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Violet <span class="i">is </span>my sister,” Melanie countered. “Her family is my family.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Even though her own parents were sitting at a table only a few feet away, pointedly ignoring each other.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He studied the circle of faces that surrounded them, let his gaze settle for a beat on Joe and Violet, then focused on Melanie again, his voice hardening. “I’m not giving them up.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“I was here first.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Which was why his position was so much more precarious. He had only just found this weird and wonderful extended family that was more about loyalty than blood. Melanie’s ties to them were forever. His connection was new and perilously fragile.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“So this”—his fingers flexed, creating a slight, dangerous increase in pressure—“would be incredibly stupid. Especially for us.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>She tilted her head in question.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“You don’t like me. You certainly don’t trust me,” he said.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Depending on the circumstances. You are a good friend to them. If you hadn’t forced Joe to come to Texas in the first place, he’d still be in Oregon instead of over there trying not to fall face-first into Violet’s cleavage—which is pretty damn impressive in that dress.” Melanie smiled fondly at the two of them, then brought her gaze back to meet Wyatt’s. “I’ve seen you risk life and limb for him in the arena.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He shrugged. “I’m a bullfighter. You do what it takes to make sure the cowboy and your partner walk away.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He didn’t have to explain. She’d been on the rodeo trail long before she took her first steps, and her brother was also a bullfighter. But she shook her head. “You’d do the same for a complete stranger in a back alley. If I ever got caught in the middle of a convenience store robbery, you’d be the person I wanted standing at the Slurpee machine.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“But not sitting across the breakfast table.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>She pursed glossy red lips as she considered the question. “It would be too crowded with you, me, and whatever agenda you’re currently working. I’d have a hard time deciding where I fit into the scheme of the day.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Says the woman who makes a living parting the unsuspecting public from their hard-earned dollars.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Ouch.” But the edge in her voice was more amusement than offense. “I’ll have to tell Human Resources to add that to the job description.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“And this conversation is a perfect example of why we would be a disaster. Despite this.” He traced a featherlight arc across her skin with his thumb.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>She let her lashes flutter lower<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null">, </a>to match her voice. “We could sneak off for a single night of depraved sex. Get it out of our systems.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>For a moment, the possibility hovered between them like a heat mirage. They both inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Been there, tried that, have the divorce papers to prove it.” And he would not let his dick lead him into that steel-jawed trap again. Not when he had so much more than a simple broken heart on the line. He flashed a smile, bright and lethal. “I have it on good authority that you can—and will—hold a grudge.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Every girl needs a superpower,” she said with an equally toothy grin.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Yours could make future Thanksgiving dinners a little awkward, don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Her eyes narrowed. “I <span class="i">think</span> I am both reasonable and mature enough to handle myself.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“History begs to differ.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Color flared in her cheeks, a visible gauge of her rising temper. “Are you trying to irritate me?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>She blinked. Then laughed in disbelief. “You really think that’s going to help?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Can’t hurt. And it comes so naturally to both of us.” He twirled her, then pulled her close again, nearly eye to eye with her in heels. “We can’t be friends.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>The song was winding down. One more chorus, and he would have to step away to dutifully tap the father of the bride on the shoulder and cut in for the traditional dance with the bride’s mother.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“We also can’t avoid each other completely,” she said.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Close enough. I live in Oregon; you live in Amarillo. I visit a few times a year, and even when I am here, you’re usually working. It’s been over a year since Joe and Violet got together, and we’ve barely crossed paths, except at holidays.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Then we should be safe. I’ve had plenty of practice behaving myself at Miz Iris’s house.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He raised his eyebrows. “Also not what I’ve heard.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Hey, it was all at least half Violet’s fault.” Her soft laugh was laced with affection. Then her eyes narrowed again. “So we agree on one thing.” She dragged a fingernail lightly down his neck on the pretense of flicking off a speck of the infernal glitter Violet’s son had blasted them with upon arrival at the reception hall. “This—”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“—is not worth the risk.” Wyatt kept his voice cool, despite the hot pulse of his blood.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“And we swear never to speak of it to any of them.” Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Ever.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He curled his lip. “Would you like to spit on our hands and shake to seal the deal?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“Sunshine,” she drawled. “If I decide to swap spit with you, I guarantee it’ll get a lot messier than that.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>He gave a strangled laugh, dropped his hands, and took a step back as a passing waiter shoved plastic champagne flutes at them for the latest in an endless series of toasts.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>Ignoring the drunken ramblings of some distant cousin, Melanie lifted her glass. “Here’s to no lovin’ between <span class="i">this</span> man and <span class="i">this</span> woman.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>“For as long as we both shall live,” he agreed mockingly.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>They tapped their glasses together, and both tossed back the champagne.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>She handed him her empty glass before sauntering over to join Joe and Violet. Wyatt rocked back on his heels, appreciating the view…as he was sure she had intended. He took two full steps in pursuit before he caught himself, turned, and walked in the opposite direction.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p">
<i>A decision he would live to regret for a very, <span class="i">very</span> long time.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-85322455366827528012017-07-18T18:51:00.000-06:002017-12-15T10:03:05.612-07:00Revved Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's almost that time again!</h1>
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My publisher is getting revved up for the August 1 release of the third book in the Texas Rodeo series, <i><b>Tougher in Texas</b></i>. Shawnee is back by popular demand and this time she's butting heads with Cole Jacobs, who may be the only human on earth more stubborn than her.<br />
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As part of their nefarious plot to lure you into my clutches, my publisher is running specials on the digital version of the first two books for a limited time. You can grab the second book, <i><b>Tangled in Texas</b></i>, for 99 cents, just follow the links on my website to your preferred online vendor: <a href="http://karilynndell.com/tangled.html%C2%A0">KariLynnDell.com/tangled</a><br />
<br />
Even better, <i><b>Reckless in Texas</b></i> is currently FREE as part of a duo with the estimable Carolyn Brown, so you get double for nothing. Visit my Facebook page for details: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/karilynndellbooks">Kari Lynn Dell Western Author</a>.
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<br />
Please do feel free to pass the information along to as many friends, acquaintances, and strangers on the street as possible. Every download makes my rankings jump on the websites and fools them into thinking I'm a big deal, which in turn makes them more likely to point readers my direction.<br />
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Speaking of revved up, I recently had a conversation with a friend on being on the receiving end of the ol' tractor rev. Yeah, fellow ranch wives, I see you nodding and grinding your teeth. For you and for those who've never had the dubious pleasure, here's a little essay I wrote on subject.<br />
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My lifestyle underwent a rather dramatic change after my dad's unexpected illness. Though now that I think about it, that's a ridiculous turn of phrase. I mean, really, who has expected illnesses? Psychics? Time travelers? That guy in your office who always calls in sick the Monday after the Super Bowl? Anyway, after Dad's heart attack I became the number one chore girl, which is a nice change from the desk job. However, since I hadn't been around on a day to day basis, I started out sort of clueless and required a lot of supervision. Which I appreciated. Really. But taking orders from my husband can be--how shall we say?--a bit of a test of our matrimonial bliss.<br />
<br />
Communication is the answer, of course, but first you have to figure out the question, like the morning he made a vague gesture toward the west and said, "Load up some bales in the tractor bucket and take them over to the horses."<br />
I was somewhat baffled because I was under the impression that the herd of horses out in the pasture got big round bales, but I dutifully stacked the tractor bucket full of small squares and headed out.
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My husband came roaring along in the pickup to flag me down. "Where the heck are you going?"<br />
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"To feed the horses," I answered, because, <i>Duh</i>, isn't that what he just told me to do?<br />
<br />
"I meant the horses on the west side of the barn," he said. "Not the west side of the ranch."<br />
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"Oh. Well. You should be more specific."<br />
<br />
Sometimes, it's a matter of semantics. As a person accustomed to communicating via the written word, I occasionally find the lack of visible punctuation in spoken language troublesome. Thus began the endless loop in which my husband attempted to instruct me to acquire medication for what he referred to as 'heifer calves'. I assumed these to be 'calves who are heifers', when in fact what he meant was 'calves born to heifers'. Which, technically, would be heifers' calves, but he proved to be emphatically disinterested in discussing the finer points of grammar while one of said calves was showing signs of expiring at any moment.<br />
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Then there's the non-verbal communication. We have the usual repertoire of arm waves and finger points for when the situation makes shouting impossible. Most often this is because he is driving the tractor and I'm running around on the ground doing the real intellectual stuff like cutting twine on round bales and making sure no baby calves stumble into his path and get squashed.<br />
<br />
Lacking a functioning horn, his preferred method of getting my attention is to rev the tractor engine. <i>Vroom!</i> Point, gesture, <i>No, go that way!</i> I trot that way. <i>Vroom!</i> Point, gesture. <i>No, I meant that gate!</i> I trot over to the gate in question. <i>Vroom!</i> Point, gesture. <i>Watch out for that cow.</i> I watch out. <i>Vroom!</i> Point, gesture. <i>Don't forget to feed the bulls. </i><br />
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And so on. And so on. All. Day. Long.
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<br />
I do much better now, except when I'm up to my eyebrows in my writing and suffering book brain, in which case expecting me to remember exactly where I was supposed to deliver the fuel pickup and at what time is completely unrealistic, let alone recalling that I was supposed to toss in a water bottle. I swear I do try to listen. I've even taken to making notes on my wrist with a Sharpie and setting alarms on my cell phone to shore up my notoriously faulty memory. Even then, a certain amount of miscommunication is inevitable, so we both try to keep an even keel.<br />
<br />
But honest to Pete, if he revs that engine at me one more time…
Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-74943110800899639522017-06-07T10:02:00.002-06:002017-12-15T10:00:05.931-07:00Nod Your Head, CowboyThe cool thing about being A. a contestant and B. at a small, local rodeo, you can get right down in the middle of the action. While watching, try to tune out the rodeo announcer and concentrate on the pickup men and gate man.<br />
<br />
Notice the guy on the white horse. He's sitting as close as possible to the chute because the proximity of his horse helps keep the one in the chute calm. As soon as the cowboy is ready to nod for the gate he backs off to give the bucking horse room to fire. <br />
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This would be Cole Jacobs from my Texas Rodeo books. "I'll help you any way I can but don't be messing around on my horses. Get in, get down and nod your face."<br />
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And in Tougher in Texas you'll meet the fictional version of that white horse, who I named Salty. He's one of the best characters in the book. <br />
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**Addendum: you can also see that the ground was a little iffy due to a rainstorm a couple of days earlier. The committee did a great job getting the arena in shape overall but there were still a few slick spots and this horse seemed to have a gift for finding them.<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="255" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HQdKbv7ZRKU" width="500"></iframe><br />
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For more info and where to buy Tougher in Texas visit my website at <a href="http://karilynndell.com/">KariLynnDell.com</a><br />
<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-47167785273929974152017-06-05T10:36:00.000-06:002017-12-15T10:03:29.284-07:00Win an Advance Copy of Tougher in Texas!<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's Almost Rodeo Time!</span><br />
<br />
55 days until the release of the next book in my <i>Texas Rodeo</i> series, <i><b>Tougher in Texas</b></i>! It sounds like a long time but if your summer plans are anything like mine, it'll be the first of August before we know it.<br />
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<br />
Like the first two books <b><i>Tougher</i></b> centers around a fictional family of rodeo stock contractors, Jacobs Livestock. Well, sort of fictional. I grew up going to Montana rodeos produced by the very real Jacobs Rodeo company, and the name in the book is an intentional salute to a lot of great memories. Last weekend we went to what has been one of the first rodeos of the summer season for at least half of the years of my life, and I was able to catch a behind the scenes video that is an almost perfect replay of the opening of <b><i>Tougher</i></b>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><i>Almost</i> perfect because the real crew does it flawlessly--but flawless doesn't make for a good story, so...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Here's the video, and the opening scene. Meet Cole Jacobs. And if you click on the link in the right tool bar and subscribe to my newsletter by Sunday, June 11th at midnight PDT, I'll toss your name in the hat for one of two signed Advanced Reader Copies of <i><b>Tougher in Texas</b></i>. <br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="255" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0aeZfvo4ERw" width="500"></iframe></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</div>
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<i>All of Cole’s problems would be solved if he just found a wife.<br /><br />The thought popped into his head at the exact instant that a ton of bovine suddenly bellowed and kicked, slamming into the steel gate Cole was holding and knocking him flat on his ass. If Cole hadn’t stood six foot six, he probably would’ve lost some teeth. The gate caught him in the chest instead, and sent him sprawling in the dirt. His red heeler, Katie, barked once and launched herself at the bull to protect him, but Carrot Top just trotted off down the alley, more interested in checking the empty pens for leftover hay.<br /><br />Cole scrambled to his feet and snarled as his gaze zeroed in on the bright-yellow cattle prod in the hand of one of the men who rushed to his aid. “What the fuck are you doing with that thing?”<br /><br />The cowboy took a hasty step back, then another when Cole stalked toward him. “Just hurryin’ things along.”<br /><br />“My stock moves just fine without a hotshot.” Cole made sure of it, training them from birth to handle easily.<br /><br />The rodeo season was a cross-country marathon of long miles and strange places. Less stress equaled better performance, and even though the low-current buzz of the cattle prod was more startling than painful, Cole wanted his stock as relaxed as possible until the moment they exploded from the bucking chute. Carrot Top was an old pro. He’d earned the right to inspect the loading chute before setting hoof on the steep ramp.<br /><br />And to come unglued when some asshole zapped him.<br /><br />The cowboy ran out of room and backed up against the fence. Cole snatched the hotshot, busted it over his knee, and then tossed it back, the ends dangling by the wires that ran down the long shaft. "Pack that and the rest of your shit and get out of here.”<br /><br />The cowboy clutched the broken prod to his chest, jaw dropping. “But I’m your pickup man.”<br /><br />“Not anymore.”<br /><br />Cole turned his back and strode down the alley to retrieve Carrot Top. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.<br /><br />Half an hour later, his cell phone buzzed. He was tempted to ignore it, but she would only keep calling until he answered. There was a strong undercurrent of stubborn in the Jacobs gene pool. He heaved a deep sigh and put some distance between himself and the rest of the crew before he accepted the call, holding the phone three inches from his ear in anticipation of his cousin’s displeasure.<br /><br />“What the hell is wrong with you?” Violet yelled.<br /><br />“He used a hotshot on Carrot Top.”<br /><br />“So ban him from the stock pens. Hell, ban him from the whole rodeo grounds except when he’s working the performances, but did you have to fire him?”<br /><br />“He used a hotshot on Carrot Top,” Cole repeated, slower this time.<br /><br />“I understand. It was stupid. But what do you suggest we do next weekend when you’re the only pickup man in the arena?”<br /><br />Cole hadn’t thought about that at the time. He’d been thinking about it since, but hiring contract personnel was Violet’s job. If she was here like normal, he wouldn’t have had to put up with a stranger. He wouldn’t have to put up with any of this crap. He could go back to just taking care of his stock and leaving all the people bullshit to Violet. He couldn’t say that, though, and as usual, his brain collapsed under pressure and offered up only the one sentence in his defense. “He used a hotshot on Carrot Top.”<br /><br />Violet huffed out a breath so exasperated he swore he felt the breeze on his end of the line. “You do realize the doctor sentenced me to bed rest because my blood pressure is through the roof, right?”<br /><br />Cole ducked his head, crushing a dirt clod with the toe of his boot. He wasn’t trying to aggravate anyone, especially Violet. She was command central for Jacobs Livestock. The hell she’d been going through had thrown all of them for a loop, Violet most of all. She hadn’t been sick a day in her first pregnancy, though Beni had decided to make an appearance six weeks early. She’d been prepared to be cautious and watchful. She had not expected to be sick as a dog practically from the moment she and Joe had seen the telltale line on the home pregnancy test.<br /><br />Besides, Cole was almost as excited about the baby as its parents. He loved being Uncle Cole, and now a little girl? He grinned at the thought of a future full of ponies and pink cowboy boots—assuming his family didn’t string him up for driving Violet into another premature labor.<br /><br />Cole huffed out a breath, leaning a shoulder against the back of the infield bleachers. Around him, the empty rodeo grounds looked like a hangover—garbage cans overflowed with empty bottles, corners of banners drooped along the fences, spilled popcorn and a smashed glob of cotton candy littered the ground. Katie nosed around under the bleachers and came out packing a half-eaten hot dog. It all looked ill-used and abandoned—sort of like Cole felt.<br /><br />Yes, he had put them in a tight spot, but there were some things he wouldn’t tolerate when it came to his stock. Okay, many things. Obsessive-compulsive prick was another way of putting it, though only Joe dared say that to his face. He was family. Plus, he was a lot faster than Cole. <br /><br />“Don’t try to say I didn’t warn you,” Violet said, her voice laced with grim amusement.<br /><br />Cole froze. She couldn’t mean… “I thought you were kidding.”<br /><br />“No, I was not, any more than I was kidding when I told you to make this one work, or else.”<br /><br />Panic churned Cole’s gut. “Violet, you can’t. There must be somebody else—”<br /><br />“I refuse to even ask. This makes three perfectly good pickup men you’ve chased off. If you can’t force yourself to get along, I’ll send someone you can’t fire.”<br /><br />“Don’t. Please.” He didn’t hesitate to beg. If she followed through on her threat, he’d either be insane or under arrest by season’s end in September. “Just one more. I promise—”<br /><br />“Nope. I’m done. If you can find a replacement before tomorrow morning, I’ll hire him. Otherwise…” He could hear her smirking, dammit. “Your new partner will meet you at Cuero.”</i><br />
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For more about<i><b> Tougher in Texas</b></i> AND handy dandy links to pre-order a copy of your very own, visit my website at: <a href="http://karilynndell.com/tougher.html">KariLynnDell.com/tougher</a><br />
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-44647495938077067432017-05-19T19:58:00.001-06:002017-05-19T20:12:58.041-06:00Happy Spring!We have, with the exception of a few stragglers, survived another year of calving. Another winter. And in nine days, another school year. We are literally emerging into the light, as we approach the longest days of the year when we have around eighteen hours of daylight.<br />
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You may feel free to assume that we don't work from dawn 'til dusk, although some days I have to practically hit my husband with a stick to make him stop at a decent time. Spring is fickle--like every other season--with a bitter wind, snow and rain on Wednesday.<br />
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But today...well, today was the kind of day that makes all those other kind worth the suffering. Blue skies, white mountains, fat shiny calves, good horses, awesome cowdogs and almost NO wind.<br />
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I have also survived another new book, the fourth in the Texas Rodeo series, which was turned into my editor next week. I am an brain break for a few days, but the beginning of next week I'll be back with a chance to win an advanced copy of my August 1st release, Tougher in Texas, which early reviewers are saying is the best in the series so far. </div>
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<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-31397223061729511862017-04-14T07:56:00.000-06:002017-12-15T10:03:50.038-07:00I Can Do It....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's calving time. Actually, it's been calving time since the middle of February--first the pampered registered princesses, then the first calf heifers--so we've been watching this scene replayed over and over for two months--and this year it's on Cow Cam! We now have a remote-controlled infrared camera mounted in the rafters of our indoor arena/maternity ward. At 2 a.m. we could just stagger out of bed and into the porch to check the cows.<br />
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Now we've hit April, the weather has warmed up and the older, commercial herd is calving out in the pasture, where there are fewer germs to share but also so much space that doing night checks isn't feasible. I shove the husband and kid out the door at 6:30 every morning to make the twelve mile trip to the school bus, then I go drive around and check to see what happened overnight. It's sort of like hunting for Easter eggs, poking through the brush patches to see what I can find.<br />
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Unfortunately, calves aren't the only thing that's due. The fourth book in my Texas Rodeo series, <i>Fearless in Texas, </i>is supposed to land on my editor's desk by the end of the month and I am not exactly on schedule, so when I'm not wrangling or playing midwife I've been feverishly trying to pry words out of my brain, and reminding myself that I have, in fact, done this before. </div>
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And trying not to be that guy who was recently arrested for taking his laptop out on the front lawn and shooting it. Five times. </div>
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<br />Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-21483434061338932017-03-07T08:32:00.000-07:002017-03-07T14:56:25.444-07:00Cow TechA writer friend sent me an ad from the USPS, showing a rancher out in the field checking the status of his package on his mobile phone. She was highly amused at the idea. And then I had to go and burst her bubble because, yep, we walk around with a phone stuck to us like everyone else. Comes in pretty damn handy when you're a couple miles from the house and bury the tractor in a deep and steep dry wash you couldn't see because of the snow. And if that package happens to be the replacement whatchamajig for the hay baler that has us at a standstill, you can bet your boots we'll be checking to see when it's gonna get here.<br />
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Beyond communication and "Um, need a little help here", there are literally hundreds of applications for cell phones on farms and ranches. Computerized irrigation systems send alerts to a farmer's phone, letting him know if there are malfunctions, or if water levels need to be increased or decreased in particular parts of a field. We have an app that lets us enter data on newborn calves out in the field and creates a spreadsheet that tracks cow performance from year to year. And of course there are the podcasts and audiobooks that keep me from losing my sanity somewhere around load #127 of round bales.</div>
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But nothing since the invention of pickup trucks has revolutionized the rodeo industry like the cell phone. No more standing in a phone booth outside the cafe in Lavina, Montana, dialing and dialing and re-dialing, trying to get through on the always-busy line to the rodeo entry office. And now when they put you up in Thursday evening's performance when you're already scheduled to be at a rodeo 500 miles away, you can actually track down the people who are on the program for Friday night to try to find someone who'll trade you places. Plus, when you're at the Pendleton Roundup and you can't locate your traveling partner, instead of hiking all over the rodeo grounds to run him down, you just fire off a text that says, "Put down the drink, get out of the Let er Buck room and meet me at the rig in half an hour or I'm leaving without you."<br />
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-18316947186811301162016-12-29T09:45:00.003-07:002017-02-07T14:56:05.391-07:00Tiny Home on the Range<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Since it's Throwback Thurday, I would just like all of you to know that we are SO far ahead of the curve on this whole tiny home craze. When we moved back to Montana we took up residence in the bunkhouse. Two adults, a toddler, a full grown Border collie in approximately 450 square feet. We survived the first six months with our minds and our marriage mostly intact, mostly because we arrived in the spring and spent a lot of time outside. But there was no way we were going through the winter with the kid sleeping on a futon in the kitchen.</div>
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The answer to our fervent prayers was a wooden granary built by my grandfather and mostly unused. Come fall, we shoveled out a pile of fertilizer from one side, a pile of old barley from the other (funny, you never see THAT on the home improvement shows) jacked the granary up onto a pair of telephone poles for runners and dragged it half a mile across the hayfield to set it on the concrete pad we'd poured for a floor.</div>
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We learned many things in this process. First, it was easier than you'd think to saw the old floor off and bolt the building to the concrete. Second, these old granaries are lined on the inside with plywood to resist the outward pressure of tons of wheat or barley. And my grandfather was a real over-achiever when it came to nailing on siding and roofing. Which was probably why the building was in such great shape, but we weren't feeling as thankful as we might have while we pulled out those ten thousand nails. Especially when the dust, grain chaff and mouse turds began raining down on our heads.</div>
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Also, because like most things the process took a bit longer than expected, I learned that when the temperature is hovering around zero, you don't hold that extra new nail in your mouth. Think tongues and flagpoles. Ouch.</div>
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But we finally got it stripped, insulated (six-inch walls in cold, windy country are AWESOME), wrapped in moisture/wind barrier and sided in particle board, at which point we could hack a couple of holes through into the old part of the bunkhouse and triple our square footage. We also added an attic so I could unload the last of our worldly possessions from the tack room of the horse trailer.</div>
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After a couple of years of the kid sleeping on a mattress in the living room, we added a wing with another bedroom and a porch, a quick three-year project. And last summer we decided to put on real siding (mostly because my mother was tired of looking at the peeling, faded particle board and offered to pay Dale and Richard Bird to come out and do the work.)</div>
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One of these days, I might even get around to doing something with those plywood interior walls.</div>
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Want more stories of the sublime and the ridiculous out here on the range? Subscribe to my newsletter, Rock Soup for the Cowboy Soul, by clicking on the gold button in the top right corner of my home page: <a href="http://www.karilynndell.com/" target="_blank">KariLynnDell.com</a></div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-36063358173989625742016-12-17T10:14:00.001-07:002016-12-17T10:35:53.394-07:00Not that I'm procrastinating or anything....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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...but this damn book is not cooperating, AND I got a pretty cool shot of Hollywood with the Super Moon rising in the background, but the resolution wasn't great so I decided to run it through this awesome app called Prisma ( http://prisma-ai.com/ ) that applies all kinds of artsy effects. And you can adjust the intensity of the effect, all the way from just giving it a paint stroke look in the first example to totally abstract in the third. And since there are about twenty different effects to choose from....yeah, I could basically do this all day. </div>
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But I will suck it up and get back to the writing of words. In the meantime, you can decide which version you like the best. </div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-38404716450601245152016-10-06T07:38:00.004-06:002017-02-07T15:08:27.771-07:00Write It and They Shall Come...to Pass<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
~~~~~</div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once again, my real life is mirroring something I made up. In the early chapters of <i>Reckless in Texas</i>, there's a scene where Violet's son, Beni, has a couple of the adults helping him test out some new cereal. This actually did happen with my son before I wrote the book. He's still miffed that Max the Cowdog didn't magically learn to play fetch when he ate his Reeses Puffs. Dang false advertising.</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rest of it I made up. It goes like this:</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Beni reached into his box, fished out a few chocolate</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>puffs, and handed one to each of his companions. “Ready?”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>They nodded gravely.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“Okay, go.”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>All three popped the cereal into their mouths and</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>chewed. Beni scrunched his eyes shut as if waiting</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>for a firecracker to explode. After a few seconds, he</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>opened one eye to peek at Cole, who shook his head.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Beni opened the other eye to check with Joe, who did</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>the same.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Beni heaved a mournful sigh. “It’s not working.”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Violet looked at her mother, who shrugged.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Pushing open the screen door, Violet went out onto</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>the deck. “Why the sad face, little man?”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“There’s something wrong with this cereal.” Beni</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>scowled at the box. “On TV, they said amazing things</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>will happen if you eat it.”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Violet had to work to keep an appropriately solemn</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>expression. “What kind of amazing things?”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“I don’t know, but we’ve been eating and eating it—”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“And not one single monkey has flown out of my</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>ass,” Joe drawled.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Cole made a noise that sounded like a chocolate puff</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>going down the wrong pipe.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Beni giggled. “You said a bad word.”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“Oh sh—I mean, shoot. I didn’t mean—”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Violet strangled another laugh and gave Beni a stern</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>look. “Sometimes big people say those words. Doesn’t</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>mean you can.”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“But, Mommy—”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“No.” She turned to Cole before Beni could drag</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>her into a debate about exactly which words were offlimits,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>requiring him to say all of them. “You still want</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>to gather those two-year-old bulls?”</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~~~~~</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back to the present. Night before last I was working away at the computer when my son strolled up and said, "So, Mom, other than shit, damn and F#%&, what words can't I say?"</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I scraped up my jaw and demanded, "Where did you hear those words?"</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"You and Daddy."</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And this, my friends, is why taking your kids along when you work cows is not always a good idea.</span></div>
<div style="background-color:; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-top: 6px;">
~~~~</div>
Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-11753885640356020322016-04-08T08:56:00.004-06:002017-12-15T08:14:18.479-07:00The First Step is a Doozy*<br />
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<div style="background-color:; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
You know what they say, the first step is a doozy.</div>
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This calf was about five minutes old when the video starts. I cut out all the parts where he stopped to catch his breath between attempts, the original video was fifteen minutes long. He was born breech, which means he was head down, and if you're not Johnny-on-the-Spot to assist the cow by pulling the calf out, they'll usually drown. Even when you are they tend to have fluid in their lungs, so seeing this one get right up and at 'em was fantastic.</div>
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I know the birth of a living creature is supposed to be an incredible sight to behold. Personally, I think it's mostly slimy. But this part never fails to amaze me. And to come back an hour later and see him trying to buck...that's downright miraculous.</div>
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*Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-6379294766617525572016-02-03T12:44:00.000-07:002017-12-15T08:35:32.400-07:00My Grandpa, the LegendThis coming Saturday my grandfather, Melvin Icenoggle, will be inducted into the Montana Cowboy Hall of Fame. He's always been a legend in our minds, and it's pretty cool to see others recognize his accomplishments.<br />
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His father died of appendicitis before he was born, so by the age of twelve Grandpa was earning his own keep, exercising race horses at the Tanforan race course in San Francisco and farming with four and six horse teams in Oregon.<br />
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As a cowboy, he competed in all three roughstock events, wrestled steers, occasionally roped calves, and put a little extra money in his pockets by also providing entertainment in the form of stunts like Roman riding races, climbing aboard a bucking horse in a steel washtub filled with flour to imitate smoke as the horse blew out of the chute, and one of his crazier inventions, a 'bull chariot'.<br />
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As a rodeo producer, he often acted as both stock contractor and contestant. If they were short of entries in any of the roughstock events, he'd ride, then hustle behind the chutes, change shirts, and ride again under a different name, just to be sure the crowd got their money's worth.<br />
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My grandfather was one of the founding members of the Montana Rodeo Association and also built the original, wooden jackleg indoor arena that was used at Montana State University and College National Finals rodeos for over twenty years. He was a horse trainer, a logger, a farrier and in his later years, long time custodian of the fieldhouse at Montana State.<br />
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We will be gathering in Great Falls on Saturday to celebrate his exploits, and no doubt learn about a whole lot more that can't fit into a press release. Hope to see some of my Montana friends at the induction ceremony, and that you'll stop by afterward as our family gathers poolside at the Heritage Inn.
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-88979071723006237402015-11-24T11:08:00.002-07:002017-12-15T08:36:54.705-07:00On the MendNovember may be fall in most places, but for us it is traditionally the first month of winter. Each year we engage in our annual race to finish any and all maintenance or improvement projects that cannot be done once the ground freezes--driving fence posts, repairing roads, cleaning feedlots--and every year we push it right to the limit. One fall my husband trenched in the plumbing for our new porch in the dark, as the snow fell and the temperature dropped. By morning the ground was frozen solid. The next fall we scrambled to get the foundation for the same porch poured before the weather got too cold for concrete to set properly. (This is a sterling example of the rate at which home improvement occurs around here, by the way.)<br />
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This year my husband rented a backhoe for the fall fix-it rush. His last project, again completed as the snow began to fall, was cleaning out the south reservoir. The soil out there is a gumbo clay that stuck in the bucket, then partially froze overnight. Before hauling the backhoe to town he spent most of an afternoon chiseling muck with a crowbar. Then he hauled a few hundred pounds of salt and mineral out to the cows. Then he pitched hay in all of the round bale feeders. The next morning, he couldn't bend his left elbow.<br />
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A few days before all this, we got our initial warning blast of snow--the week we all weaned and shipped calves, as per usual. While helping my cousins gather, my horse stepped in a snow-covered badger hole and pancaked, slamming me down on my right side. Thanks to the five layers of clothes that made it nearly impossible to climb on said horse, I bounced pretty well, but it sored my shoulder up enough that for the first few days it was difficult to reach over my head or behind my back.<br />
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Yesterday we stopped by the house for a Pepsi break and Greg proudly demonstrated that he is now able to bend his elbow far enough to reach his mouth. He asked how my shoulder was doing.<br />
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I said it was much better, and in my usual, high brow fashion added, "We're both doing great. You can pick your nose and I can wipe my butt."<br />
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-26910500727699101062015-11-11T01:00:00.000-07:002017-12-15T08:38:02.574-07:00You Inspire Me<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: left;">As a writer, I am often asked where I find the inspiration for my stories. The answer--everywhere. News stories, family gossip, conversations overheard at the dentist's office, and most of all life. It's all around us, you just have to pay attention.</span></div>
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One of my favorite nuggets, though, came courtesy of long time writer friend Patty Blount, who made me spit Pepsi all over my computer by declaring on Twitter that she'd just given herself a minor concussion trying to remove her sports bra at the gym. Her tale of woe sounded just like something that would happen to a character I was writing at the time, so I asked if I could borrow it. She graciously agreed. </div>
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In honor of a great friend and an award-winning writer (check out her books at <a href="http://pattyblount.com/">PattyBlount.com</a>) who is celebrating the beginning of a shiny new half century of life tomorrow, here's a sneak peek at the scene she inspired, now a part of my novel <i><b>Reckless in Texas,</b></i> due to for mass market release by Sourcebooks in August 2016.</div>
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<i>The Set Up: Immediately prior to this scene, Violet has suffered a fall from a horse in a muddy arena, causing a mild case of whiplash. Joe has been given the job of seeing that she gets safely to her camper and tucked into bed.</i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">The parking lot outside the
emergency room had a wicked tilt to it. Or maybe that was Violet, because when
Joe wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tipped her to the left, the ground
flattened out. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“You’re a mess.” </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">She wanted to smack him for laughing at her, but she needed all
her concentration to climb into the pickup without braining herself on the door
frame.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Joe buckled her seatbelt and shut the door. When he climbed
behind the wheel, he asked, “Are you hungry?”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Nope.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Do you mind if I swing through a hamburger stand on the way?” </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Nope.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"> He cranked the engine and
she hunkered into her seat, letting her eyelids droop so the lights along the
main drag zoomed past in streaks like when a movie spaceship jumped into
hyperspeed. She was stoned. More stoned than she’d ever been in her life,
including the day she gave birth and the night her son was conceived. And the
second one didn’t count because she was drunk, not stoned, and they were
totally different. Weren’t they? Except in that Johnny Cash song about Sunday
morning, but she was kinda young and naïve back then so maybe she just thought
he was stoned on beer.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Anyway, this was nothing like being drunk. More like floating. <i>Really</i> high. She could still feel the
pain in her neck—the real pain, not Joe, who was annoying her with the bossing
and pushing and all—but neither pain bothered her if she didn’t move too fast.
Joe didn’t ask if she wanted her prescription filled, just pulled into an all
night pharmacy and left her in the pickup while he jogged inside. Just for
that, she ate most of his French fries while she waited. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">When he parked at the rodeo grounds, she slid out of the pickup
only to discover her legs had gone on strike. Joe caught her, propped
her up and steered her in the direction of her trailer. Violet yelped when
something popped out from under the fender and went straight for her knee.
Katie jammed her head under Violet’s hand, stubby tail doing double time. Joe
scratched the dog’s ears while Violet turned her head one careful degree at a
time. Where Katie went… </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Cole unfolded from one of the lawn chairs in the black void
under the awning. He looked at Violet, frowned, then looked at Joe. “What’s
wrong with her?”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“She’s got whiplash and she’s zonked to the eyeballs on pain
meds.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“And they left her with you?”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Joe made a face as if he couldn’t believe his bad luck, either.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“How’s Delon?” Cole asked.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Good enough to ask if he won a check,” Joe said.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Guess he’ll live then.” </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">The rigid set of Cole’s shoulders relaxed a touch, the
equivalent of a normal person’s giddy smile. Violet ground her teeth. Of course
he hadn’t come to the emergency room. Instead, he’d sat alone in the dark,
brooding. The big dumbass. She shrugged free of Joe’s arm and stumbled over to
plant a hand square in the middle of Cole’s chest, both for balance and
emphasis.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“You are a jerk,” she said, giving each word its own space.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“I know.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">She slid her arms around his waist and burrowed her head into
his shoulder. “I love you anyway.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">He stood, stiff as a statue, as she clung to him. After a few
seconds his hand came to rest on her back, patting awkwardly. “You scared the
shit outta me.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Join the club.” She gave him another squeeze then let go and
turned on her heel, sending her head spinning off into hyperspace again. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Joe grabbed an arm and swung her around to face the steps. “Up
you go. Say goodnight, Violet.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“G’night, Violet,” she repeated, then giggled.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Geezus. She’s wrecked.” Cole whistled to his dog. “Let’s get
outta here, Katie.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .3in .6in .9in 1.2in 1.5in 1.8in 2.1in 2.4in 2.7in 3.0in 3.3in 3.6in 3.9in 4.2in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“Appreciate the help, buddy,” Joe called after him, then
manhandled her up the steps and through the door, propping her against the
nearest wall while he found a light switch. “Which bed is yours?”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">“I need to clean up first.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Joe made an exasperated noise, but helped her to the bathroom
door. He inspected the interior and grunted. “It’s so small you probably can’t
fall over.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"> But she could faint, and
almost did when she got a look at herself in the mirror. She peeled off Joe’s
coat, hung it on a towel hook and shrugged off the hospital gown. A shower was
beyond her. She’d have to settle for combing the mud out of her hair and
swabbing her face and neck with a washcloth. First, though, she had to lose the
sports bra. The clammy elastic dug into her shoulders and ribcage like steel
cable. She hooked her fingers under the bottom band and tried to
peel it up. The bra didn’t budge. She pulled harder, gritting her teeth against
the arrow of pain that shot down her neck. Her fingers popped loose and her
hand flew up to cold-cock her square in the chin. The toilet
hit the back of her legs, buckling her knees, and her shoulders slammed into the wall. She slid
down like a bird on a windshield.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Joe yanked the door open as her butt hit the toilet lid. “What
the hell—” </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">Violet blinked up at him. Them. Multiple versions of his face wobbled though her
field of vision. “I believe I’m gonna need a hand here,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PATTY!</span></div>
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Kari Lynn Dellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06864636462802149247noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-20417294604606962372015-10-25T08:53:00.000-06:002017-12-15T08:38:25.489-07:00In Praise of a Good Wreck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7a1vN_8QKNc/VizsBcvVqXI/AAAAAAAAAug/QTXwMnUhdE0/s1600/HPIM0731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7a1vN_8QKNc/VizsBcvVqXI/AAAAAAAAAug/QTXwMnUhdE0/s400/HPIM0731.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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My latest latest blog post is available at Progressive Forage Growers, in which I cogitate on all the wisdom I've accumulated from questionable choices: <a href="http://www.progressiveforage.com/blogs/guest-blog/a-good-wreck-lessons-learned-from-ranch-mishaps" target="_blank">A Good Wreck</a>.<br />
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And while you're there, check out the other blogs. If you enjoy mine I suspect you'll get a chuckle from some of their other humorists.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1951407630062872642.post-63069391035550779902015-10-10T13:10:00.000-06:002017-12-15T08:38:49.385-07:00Sucking It UpThe trouble with being the person on the ranch with the least mechanical expertise is you get stuck with the jobs that don't require any, especially on the days when there are five pieces of equipment that require repairs and you may have had a hand in breaking two of them. For the record, nobody mentioned I shouldn't tilt the bucket down past level while setting big round bales on the stack, so the broken strap on the grapple fork is totally not my fault. And that thing with the hoist on the grain truck would NOT have happened if my husband hadn't been rushing me.<br />
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Basically I get the menial labor jobs, like when big globs of algae/moss grow inside the tank on the water truck and will plug up dozens of nozzles if they're allowed to get into the sprayer. My mission (and nobody asked if I chose to accept it)--clean the inside of an eight hundred gallon tank through an opening the size of a dinner plate.<br />
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The answer--Shop Vac, naturally. If you've been hanging around here for a while, you'll know either Shop Vac or duct tape is my answer to everything. (See <a href="http://montanaforreal.blogspot.com/2010/09/of-moths-and-madness.html" target="_blank">Of Moths and Madness</a> for one example).<br />
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And thus....<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8XZPrewozo/Vhlfsz7GriI/AAAAAAAAAtk/HBCfTOI2zMo/s1600/IMG_1832%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8XZPrewozo/Vhlfsz7GriI/AAAAAAAAAtk/HBCfTOI2zMo/s400/IMG_1832%255B1%255D.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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So this weekend when you gather 'round for your tailgate party, keep in mind some ranch wife may have Shop-Vacced a water tank so you could enjoy those steaks and burgers.</div>
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