I have another lesbian romance novella going live on Amazon in December. “Book’s Pass” shares the story of Emmeline Soule and Reina Suarez, two women who meet in the 19th century American West.
With one hand easy and steady on the reins, her eyes darting this way and that, Emmeline slid her hand down over her leggins and fingered off the leather strap off her holstered gun. She was definitely gettin’ the feelin’ it was gonna be needed.
She slid her left boot from its stirrup and glided off Bug’s back landing soundlessly on the ground. Slapping his rump, her signal to find a safe place to hole out, she watched him lift his nose before trotting off down a side street. That was likely the direction of the town livery.
They’d traveled a long road together, she and Bug, and he’d never failed to reappear or find himself a clean water trough and sweet hay bale given out by an even sweeter hand. Emmeline smiled. She’d often had a touches from those sweet hands herself, tending a wound, or tending other needs. Silently she wished Bug luck and then focused her mind on handling whatever this was coming up ahead.
She strode around the corner and found herself on the outskirts of a milling crowd, looking toward a two-story home set wide on the lane. A raised wall separated the property from the street. A mob milled before it, some people shaking fists, others barking at their neighbors. Disagreement was thick as thieves in the air, but she saw no one lifting any weapons.
There still seemed to be a goodly amount of shovin’ and hollerin’ and, now that she was at ground level with ’em, Emmeline was again hard pressed to separate one voice from another. No one had noticed her yet, so she circled around, seeking a clear line of sight to identify the central characters in the conflict.
She found them on the house stoop. A woman with her hands on her hips wearing a tightly bodiced gown with Spanish styling at the wrists and shoulders stared down upon a burly man in broad-brimmed beaver felt hat who stood at the bottom of her short set of steps. He was covered in the typical trail threads of a cattleman. The dark brown hair piled artfully atop the woman’s head added to a general “don’t mess with me” attitude flowing off the woman’s ramrod straight posture.
Emmeline smiled at the sight of another woman who clearly, like herself, didn’t take shit from nobody.
“Bring her out here right now!” the man shouted. He put his hands on the step railing, looking about to haul himself up. He even put his booted right foot on the lowest of the steps. Emmeline leaned forward, fingering her pistol, already gauging distance. But the brunette took one step forward to the edge of her porch and he released the railing. Emmeline smirked.
Then the woman spoke and Emmeline could have sworn there was laughter in her tone. She knew her movement had had the desired effect on her opponent. “The young miss doesn’t want to come to the likes of you.”