An Old-Fashioned Romance Read online

  Individually, each Groovy Chick has taught me, helped me, inspired me—been infused with my heart. I met Karen (Kay) first—a super sweet, book-reading quilter. Karen really does quilt and sew like the wind! Her house is always immaculate—very white and blue and homey—and she’s a cookbook author. Karen’s humor is borne of the fact that it is often unintentional—just something she says that comes out hilarious when she didn’t necessarily mean it to be that way. She’s the “sweet” chick, and we all adore her. Karen sprinkles serenity and smiley-faces in her wake. She’s like a little pink petunia that makes you feel as if all is right with the world when you’re with her. Karen—the book-reading, quilting, cookbook-authoring, seamstressing Groovy Chick.

  Dixie is one of the three farm girls in the Groovy Chick contingency. I once heard her get onto one of her kids for chewing with his mouth open. “Close your mouth. We don’t need to see you chewing your cud,” she told him. If that doesn’t reveal the farm girl in her, I don’t know what would. Dixie makes the most delicious homemade bread and rolls—by hand! In fact, she had to have carpal tunnel surgery. The cause of her carpal tunnel—kneading so much bread dough! Dixie is also hilarious. Some of the things that shoot out of Dixie’s mouth can leave the rest of us rolling on the floor with laughter at the moment and bursting into random giggles when remembering it years later. Furthermore, Dixie (like Trixie) really does sculpt her food! I have photos of pancake remains jigsaw-puzzled together to form North America, French fries stacked into a perfect little log cabin, and cake frosting literally sculpted into a bird. You never know what the remains of Dixie’s meal are going to end up as—artistically speaking. Dixie—the patient, self-sacrificing, sultry-voiced, food artist Groovy Chick.

  Now, Barbara—she’s the adventurer of the group. A one-time “survival guide,” Barbara could get you through anything! And she’d catch, cook, and feed you a rattlesnake while she did it. The camping, hiking, rattlesnake-cooker of the group, Barbara doesn’t mince words. She’s straightforward and matter-of-fact, and she has the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard in my entire life! Just hearing Barbara burst into laughter can send you into your own peals of chortling—whether or not you even heard what made her laugh or thought it was funny yourself. She’s also a classic one-liner artist. One of my favorites (which we all still quote): upon practicing a group song to be performed at an assisted living place and asked to sing alto, Barbara said, “You have to have a chest hair to sing that low!” I’m certain it’s one of those you had to be there to appreciate it things, but I promise, it was hysterical! Barbara—the rattlesnake-cooking, one-liner dropping, “sheepishly jogging” (that’s a long story), contagious-laugh laugher Groovy Chick.

  And then there’s Sheri. Oh my heck, Sheri! Sheri is not only the professional photographer of the group but the comedy relief! Sheri lightens my heavy heart and can add a glimmer of spark to my soul when things seem darkest. Sheri’s my crazy-silly-fun friend! The adventures we’ve had where betta fish, tulip festivals, funny videos, and “The Twelve Days of Christmas” are concerned are literally indescribable. Sheri can grow anything; any plant loves her and thrives for her. She’s an incredible photographer and totally would’ve captured the meeting of Breck and the Highwayman of Tanglewood with her camera. Most of all, she’s hilarious! For example, she sent me a copy of the cover for my one of my books, The Windswept Flame, wherein she had computer-manipulated a photo of herself into the image to appear as if she were riding on the back of the horse with the silhouetted cowboy, changed the title to The Windswept Friend, and inserted back cover text that titled another book as Sheri and The Caballero. Sheri—the photographing, green-thumbed, adventuring, comedic Groovy Chick.

  My friendships with Barbara, Dixie, Karen, and Sheri have been absolutely life-changing! Each of these four friends has enriched my life in ways they probably will never know or understand. I’m thankful for them—know that I am blessed to have them—and I’m grateful for the inspiration they offered for this book.

  An Old-Fashioned Romance Trivia Snippets

  Snippet #1—Reese really did get his name because my favorite candy is miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups!

  Snippet #2—In 1985 I babysat two little boys every day for a time—brothers, ages five and three. Just after the youngest was born, the older brother asked his mom if she would have some kittens for him next!

  Snippet #3—One of the Groovy Chicks had a real-life experience that inspired the rotten, hoochie character Jamie in An Old-Fashioned Romance.

  Snippet #4—As a child, one of the Groovy Chicks actually experienced “finding the perfect angel costume in the back of her mother’s closet”—which, of course, inspired the entire “sexy angel” thread in my book Love Me.

  Snippet #5—One of the Groovy Chicks is an incredible grammarian and owns an awe-inspiring vocabulary! I first heard the word monosyllabic (used in this book) drop from her lips, and long ago she challenged me to use the word emasculate in a book—which I did, in Indebted Deliverance.

  Snippet #6—One of the Groovy Chicks loves rain—thus, the inspiration for the “kissing in the rain” scene in Sudden Storms.

  Snippet #7—Each of the Groovy Chicks has at least one Marcia Lynn McClure book dedicated to her. In each of those books, there are hidden, personal tributes to that particular Groovy Chick.

  Snippet #8—In Shackles of Honor the swans that are ever-floating over the surface of the lake whenever Cassidy is there are representations of the Groovy Chicks, as are the four elderly widows in The Touch of Sage.

  As usual, I’ve babbled on too long. But before I go, please allow me to thank you for wandering through An Old-Fashioned Romance with me. I’ll leave you now to run off and whip up a pumpkin pie and enjoy it all over again!

  ~Marcia Lynn McClure

  Breck’s Pumpkin Pie

  2 nine-inch (uncooked) pie crusts (already placed in a pie plate, edges fluted, and set aside)

  3 eggs

  1 large can (29 oz.) of pumpkin

  1 cup sugar

  ½ cup brown sugar

  1 teaspoon salt

  5 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice

  2 ¼ cups evaporated milk

  4 tablespoons flour

  Combine all ingredients, and pour into crust in pie plate.

  Place in oven, lightly covering with a sheet of aluminum foil. Bake at 425ºF for 15 minutes, and then reduce oven heat to 350ºF and cook for 60 to 75 minutes more—or until knife inserted into the center of pie comes out clean.

  Cool before serving with fresh whipped cream!

  And now, enjoy the first chapter of

  the first book in The McCall Trilogy,

  Desert Fire

  by Marcia Lynn McClure.

  CHAPTER ONE

  She felt something on her face. It was cool, soothing, moist. Her throat burned and constricted and when she tried to swallow, she couldn’t.

  “Ma’am?” She heard the voice, but it seemed so far away. “Ma’am?” It came again, closer this time. “Can you hear me, ma’am?” A man’s voice, deep and stern.

  She attempted to speak, but found it impossible. She tried to nod in response, but her head was pounding like a drum was pinned up inside it.

  “Open your eyes if you can. Open ‘em,” the voice insisted.

  She opened her eyes just a slit and quickly clenched them shut again as searing rays of sunlight burned through her. She sensed movement and the demanding voice came once more.

  “Now...try again.”

  It was a voice not to be ignored. She tried to lift her hand to shade her face, but her own body would not obey her mind’s command. She opened her eyes slightly and when the sun didn’t blind her painfully again, she was able to open them completely. Everything was blurry for several seconds but she could make out a dark figure bending over her.

  “Can you see?” the voice asked firmly.

  She blinked several times clearing her vision slightly.

  “Yes,” she m
outhed, though no sound escaped her blistered lips. A hand slipped beneath her head and lifted it.

  “Here...keep still and let this stay on your tongue for a minute,” the voice said, and she felt the first cool, life giving drops of water moisten her mouth. She couldn’t move her tongue at first, but the second time the stranger offered the water from the canteen, she was able to swallow it.

  After several mouthfuls of water she felt more alert and realized her face, arms and shoulders felt tight and hot.

  “Now...what’s your name, girl? And how’d ya’ end up out here?” the man asked.

  She could see clearly then and for the first time she looked up into the face that belonged to the voice.

  “I don’t know,” she answered in a forced whisper.

  The man let out a sigh, tipped his hat back on his head and looked around with an expression of both bewilderment and annoyance.

  “You don’t know how you ended up lyin’ out in the middle of nowhere, with nothin’ or no one with you?” he asked, still looking around.

  “No,” she whispered, feeling suddenly terrified at the realization.

  The stranger stood up and pulled his hat down into place again.

  “Well...I guess I’ll just haul ya’ on home and we’ll think on it from there.” He walked over to a nearby tree and untied a horse. “Come on Bill. Ma will love this,” he muttered.

  The man led the horse to where she was lying and she sat up more terrified still.

  “I can’t possibly go with you, sir!” she whispered as loud as possible.

  He smiled and chuckled. “Well, sweetheart...what do you plan on doin’? Feedin’ the coyotes?” He hunkered down looking directly into her face. “Or...there are all kinds of worse things you could feed...” Then his smile turned into a frown as he looked at the ground around her. “Do you feel anything crawlin’ on you anywhere, girl?”

  She thought it an odd question but answered, “No.”

  He pulled her up until she was sitting straight and began running his hand over her back and through her hair. She realized that her shirtwaist was torn because she could feel his hands on the exposed skin of her shoulders. She gasped as she looked down and saw that it was also torn in front and gaped open exposing her entire collarbone.

  As the frown on his face intensified the man quickly ran his hand over her back once more then moved to her waist. She instinctively moved to slap him, but he caught her hand and looked angrily into her face.

  “I ain’t out for a good time, sweetheart,” he growled through clenched teeth. He pushed her back down and she wanted to weep when he lifted up her skirts and began feeling her right leg. But her state of severe dehydration prevented any tears from even developing.

  “Well, you certainly ain’t from around here,” the man stated as he unfastened her bustle throwing it aside. “Women don’t bother too much with these contraptions ‘round these parts.” Then he stopped. “Don’t move,” he commanded and she obeyed as she felt something crawling on her flesh under the left leg of her pantaloons.

  She watched with utter mortification as the stranger’s hand slowly slid beneath the cloth of her pantaloons and toward her knee. His hand clamped around something and he quickly withdrew it.

  “Sorry little cuss!” he mumbled as he threw something to the ground and drew a large knife from his boot.

  She then witnessed him smashing a large, sandy colored scorpion into the dirt with his well-worn boot. When she looked up again it was in time to see him cut the palm of his hand with the knife and begin sucking on the wound. He did this several times, spitting his own blood from his mouth each time.

  “That sorry little cuss stung me,” he mumbled. “They don’t usually kill you, unless you’re allergic or somethin’. But they make you awful sick and the sting gets terrible sore.” He looked at her oddly for a moment. “You feel like you’re gonna faint or somethin’?” he asked.

  She swallowed hard and shook her head to dispel the awful dizziness in it. The man slipped the knife back into his boot and pulled her up to a sitting position again.

  “Well, least you had sense enough to nearly drop dead ‘round here,” he muttered.

  She watched as he pulled an odd shaped plant from the ground and broke open a few of the strange looking leaves. He squeezed out a slimy substance and began to apply it to her face. It smelled unpleasant, but felt very cool and soothing.

  When he finished, he wiped his hand on his dusty trousers and said, “Now, let’s see if you can sit a horse.”

  He pulled her to her feet, but her knees buckled and her mind began swimming. He caught her and sat her down again.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing she could cry.

  “Hang on there a minute,” he said, with a hint more of kindness in his voice.

  She watched, perfectly alarmed, as he actually proceeded to remove his shirt and wet it with water from the canteen. Even more disgraceful was the fact that he wore no form of undergarment beneath! None whatsoever! He was standing there bare from the waist up! And judging from the bronze color of his torso, he paraded around in such a state often.

  When he looked at her again she covered her eyes with her sore hands.

  He chuckled. “I believe you’re blushin’ under that sunburn, girl. You’re definitely from somewhere else.”

  He draped the wet shirt over her head and shoulders and pulled her to her feet yet again. She still needed a great deal of support to stand. She tried to push herself away when her hands touched his bare chest as they searched for support.

  “Tarnation, girl,” he grumbled, taking her hands in his. “This is no time for propriety.” She thought the word sounded a little out of character with his odd, rather Southern sounding accent.

  He proceeded to run her hands from his shoulders slowly down and over his solid stomach. “See don’t feel any different than your baby brother. You must be an unmarried one as well.” He steadied her again. “Now, let’s get you home to Mama so she can see the damage.” He then lifted her onto the horse which sneezed and stomped his foreleg several times.

  “Settle down, Bill. She’s with me.” He mounted behind her and pulled her tightly against his body. “Try not to fall off...it ain’t far.”

  She was still too shocked by her recent lesson in anatomy to take much notice of the shameful way she sat astride the horse. But, somehow she knew, that until that moment, she had always ridden sidesaddle. A great wave of fatigue was overtaking her and she couldn’t help but let her head fall back against his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to faint.” She felt his arm tighten around her waist and the heat of his breath on her face as he spoke in her ear.

  “It ain’t far, girl. Now listen here, I’m Jackson McCall. This here feller you’re on is Bill. He don’t care much for nobody but me...so you sit real still and hang on tight.”

  She could smell leather, bacon, and perspiration...but it was somehow a pleasant and comforting combination. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, trying to keep her eyes open.

  “Yes, sir?” he repeated in an astonished whisper. “Where are you from, girl?”

  She tried and tried to pull an answer from her fevered brain. But she truly couldn’t.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, just before she gave into the need to be unconscious.

  My everlasting admiration, gratitude, and love…

  To my husband, Kevin…

  Proof that heroes really do exist!

  I Love You!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marcia Lynn McClure’s intoxicating succession of novels, novellas, and e-books—including The Visions of Ransom Lake, A Crimson Frost, The Pirate Ruse, and most recently The Chimney Sweep Charm—has established her as one of the most favored and engaging authors of true romance. Her unprecedented forte in weaving captivating stories of western, medieval, regency, and contemporary amour void of brusque intimacy has earned her the title “The Queen of Kissin
g.”

  Marcia, who was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, has spent her life intrigued with people, history, love, and romance. A wife, mother, grandmother, family historian, poet, and author, Marcia Lynn McClure spins her tales of splendor for the sake of offering respite through the beauty, mirth, and delight of a worthwhile and wonderful story.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

  A Better Reason to Fall in Love

  Born for Thorton’s Sake

  The Chimney Sweep Charm

  A Crimson Frost

  Daydreams

  Desert Fire

  Divine Deception

  Dusty Britches

  The Fragrance of her Name

  The Haunting of Autumn Lake

  The Heavenly Surrender

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood

  Kiss in the Dark

  Kissing Cousins

  The Light of the Lovers’ Moon

  Love Me

  The McCall Trilogy

  An Old-Fashioned Romance

  The Pirate Ruse

  The Prairie Prince

  The Rogue Knight

  Romantic Vignettes-The Anthology of Premiere Novellas

  Saphyre Snow

  Shackles of Honor

  Sudden Storms

  Sweet Cherry Ray

  Take a Walk With Me

  The Tide of the Mermaid Tears

  The Time of Aspen Falls

  To Echo the Past

  The Touch of Sage

  The Trove of the Passion Room