Phoenix Heat by Patti Sherry-Crews

Patty Sherry-Crew is here to talk about her story in A Cowboy to Keep Anthology.

 

What do you get when you combine a cowboy with a fireman? One hot hero, that’s what.

I come from two generations of firefighters so when I was invited to be part of a contemporary western anthology, it was suggested I make my cowboy a firefighter. And so Desert Heat was born. Boone Donovan and his brothers, working the family ranch some days and fighting fires on others.

My story in a Cowboy to Keep is the sequel to Desert Heat. I took my new story, Phoenix Heat, to the next generation at the Donovan Brother’s ranch. Boone and Angel’s daughter, Harper, comes home from NYC with her tail between her legs after a broken engagement and failed business venture. When she sees handsome firefighter and cowboy, Frank Flynn, she decides to get back in the saddle--except he snubs her. 

In constructing these stories, I drew on my experience of growing up in a firefighter's family. It’s not uncommon for a fireman to have a second job. Not all cities are the same but typically a shift at the station is 24 hours on, 48 hours off.  Many of the men my father worked with had businesses they ran in their time off from the station. Even now I see a roofing company and a landscaper around town that were started by firemen back in my father and grandfather’s day. 

And, if heroes who run into burning buildings isn’t enough to make you swoon, in my experience firemen are good in the kitchen too. In my father’s day, the department had a nice budget and the men took turns shopping and cooking. My father developed such a love of food, that he’d read cookbooks before bed the same as others read novels. When he was home, he was the cook and we rarely had the same thing twice. Today I smile when I see the firemen in their big coats shopping at the grocery store--even if their fire truck takes up four spaces. 

In Desert Heat the hero, Boone Donovan, goes into rapture over food. In Phoenix Heat firefighter/cowboy, Frank Flynn, is hampered by his lack of talent in the kitchen. Lucky for him Harper Donovan is her father’s daughter, and loves food so much she’s become a chef, and like her mother Angel, she knows how to use Rosa’s recipe for cinnamon rolls to bring in her man.

Another aspect of growing up in a family of firefighters is the undercurrent of danger. My grandfather had the police scanner going in the background all day to find out what trouble was brewing. If there was a fire and my father was on duty, My mother would often take us in the car to watch my father and his crew in action (which I now think was weird of her to do).

I tried to imbue Phoenix Heat with that same sense of impending disaster. There is an emergency situation--in fact there are two--but it might not involve the person you expect.

PHOENIX HEAT by Patti Sherry-Crews

Harper Donovan thought she had it all when she turned her dream into a reality--opening a restaurant in New York City. But when the venture fails and her fiancé leaves her, Harper has little choice but to return to her family in Arizona.

When she meets handsome firefighter and cowboy Frank Flynn,she decides it's time to get in the dating game again. Except Flynn shows no interest and dodges her, but not before claiming they've met before. Solving the mystery of the complicated Flynn gets under Harper's skin, making her even more determined to seduce him.

When the two finally come together, the smoldering passion ignites into a heat that rivals the Phoenix desert. Now that Flynn has opened his heart, can Harper handle this wounded cowboy who's playing for keeps? 

Patti Sherry-Crews lives in Evanston, IL with her husband, two children, a tabby cat, and a puggle dog. She writes historical western and medieval romances for Prairie Rose Publications. She also writes contemporary women’s fiction.

Catch a cowboy … Keep a cowboy …

Don’t miss this great collection from USA Today, Amazon Bestselling, and Award-Winning authors!!

Available at Amazon   

 

THE LEGEND OF BAD MOON RISING by Carra Copelin

Sheriff Ben Hammond is finally over the woman who shattered his heart, but when Dinah Horne suddenly returns, can he ignore the passion still burning bright between them?

CITY BOY, COUNTRY HEART by Andrea Downing

Trading horses for subways for two years seemed like a good idea to cowboy Chay Ridgway, but can city girl K.C. Daniels keep a rein on his country heart?

BLUE SAGE by Kristy McCaffrey

Archaeologist Audrey Driggs rolls off a mountain and lands at the feet of rugged cowboy Braden Delaney. Together, they’ll uncover a long-lost secret.

THE DRIFTER’S KISS by Devon McKay

Determined to take back what belongs to her, Addison Reed will do anything. Even trust a complete stranger.

HER MAN by Hildie McQueen

Deputy Mark Hunter falls for Eliza Brock during a murder investigation. Is it fate or bad luck, especially when she may be involved?

BORDER ROMANCE by Hebby Roman

Widow Leticia Villarreal wants to establish a horse-racing stable and old acquaintance John Clay Laidlaw offers to help. But can she trust him with her business and her heart?

PHOENIX HEAT by Patti Sherry-Crews

After losing her fiancé and her New York City business, Harper Donovan returns to Arizona and meets cowboy Frank Flynn. Will his past and their differences extinguish the heat between them?

Available at Amazon   

Wednesday Western - Clothes do Make a Cowboy

My historical westerns are set in the late 1800's. Because of this, I've spent hours reading books on proper clothing for the time and the area. People who lived in large cities tended to dress differently than those who were eking out a living in the untamed land of the west.

I like to dress my male characters in flannel. It's soft feeling when the heroine can't resist any longer and puts her hands on him. ;) It was also warm in the winter and made of cotton so it wicked away perspiration. But contrary to what many think the pants were not all denim. In fact, they wore mostly duck, wool, corduroy or cotton jeaning, when is now called denim. And Cowboys mostly wore wool. No wonder they wore long flannels underneath! I can't imagine riding for hours on end with your body encased in wool. I'd have to have a barrier between my skin and the rough, itchy fabric.

Depending on what part of the West a cowboy worked determined how he dressed. The common clothing items were a hat, coat or slicker, two shirts and  two pairs of pants and boots.

Boots for the time period had stovepipe uppers, square toes, and low heels. While "Cowboy" boots were being made at this time, most bought standard work boots sold from the Montgomery Ward and Company catalog for $2.75. A pair made with hardwood pegs holding the upper to the sole cost more. They ranged from $7 to $15 a pair and were measured to fit the person foot. In the 1870's the higher heel and narrower boot was made to fit in the new narrower stirrup. The higher heel was needed to keep the foot from sliding through the stirrup. This is also when the V cut appeared and the leather loops o the side to pull the boots on. The boots were mostly black. IN the 1880's the fancy stitching started appearing on cowboy boots.

Coats were made of canvas, duck, or jeaning and often had blanket liners. Coats were sold through Montgomery Ward or Carhartt.  Canvas and buckskin waist or hip length coats were worn by Southwestern cowboys. This material worked best at protecting them from mesquite thorns and brush. Northern cowboys wore a long wool coat that resembled a suit coat.  In 1881 rain gear for cowboys was developed by Abner J. Tower. It was a slicker in black or yellow that had a long slit in the back to fit over a horse and saddle. Cowboys would waterproof the slickers with linseed oil. The slickers had red flannel liners and cost $3.50.

Vest were worn under the slickers or coats for an added layer of warmth. But mostly they were worn because they had four small pockets to hold personal items like: a watch, tobaccos and cigarette makings, a tally book or other small items the cowboy needed. They liked the warmth of the vest with the missing sleeves to allow more movement of their arms.

Gloves were worn to protect their hands from the rough work and the weather.'

Scarves or bandannas were worn around their necks. They could be pulled over their noses to keep out dust when following a herd, tied around their hat to keep the hat on and their ears warm and wrapped around their necks to keep them warm. They also made wash rags, bandages, and tourniquets

This is just a brief glimpse at some of the clothing a cowboy wore. Is there a piece of clothing you've wondered about? Why they
wore it or what it was made of?

Western Wednesday- Cowboy Cussin'

       Don’t hide your eyes! It’s not a blog about four letter words. While trying to come up with some different curse words for my heroes to use in sticky situations, I turned to my faithful Cowboy Lingo by Ramon F. Adams.  Much to my surprise, cowboys rarely used curse words. Anyway that was what the book said. Being a non-believer (mainly because I don’t believe a rough, tough, macho cowboy wouldn’t curse with the best of them) I started web browsing and lo and behold- everywhere I looked it said the same thing.

     Cowboys didn’t use the usual curse words, except for on occasions where one word would do; they cussed. You’re saying what’s the difference? To curse is to use profane language. To cuss is a term of abuse or a derogatory term.

     Cowboys took huge delight in coming up with the best cussin’ they could think of. They spent hours in the saddle chasing obnoxious, flea-ridden, scour-covered, ornery critters. The more colorful and picturesque they could make the cuss the happier they were with getting the problem off their chests.

     They were right proud of themselves when “airing their lungs” not only did it get the cattle movin’ but stopped the person they were cussin’ in their tracks to think about what they’d said. It was felt by many a cow puncher that the only way to get the cattle movin’ was to cuss up a storm. They didn’t limit their string of blasphemy to simple words either. They’d throw in a Spanish word and some sophisticated word they heard at one time or another. Anything to give the rant a good sting to the person or animal they were cussin’.

     He used language most people understood and painted a picture that could be seen, heard, and smelled. His cussin’ and story tellin’ was the beginning of today’s cowboy poets.

Below is a poem by Terry Henderson, cowboy poet. It shows the lyrical quality the cowboys strived for and the vastness of their imaginations. You can find more of Terry’s poems at: http://www.cowboypoetry.com/terryhenderson.htm

Cursin' the Yearlin's
We began the trail quite early. We were out before the dawn.
The group saddled up the horses, headed out with several yawns.

We spread around the pasture to encircle that young herd.
It was time to move the yearlin's. Of a run, we were assured.

The yearlin’s are like human teens, more energy than sense.
The smallest noise, the slightest move will make them scared and tense.

We made it through the first run and kept them in control.
We settled into trailin’. I rode forward on patrol.

I was lookin’ for stray cattle that might be in the way.
We didn’t want no mixin’ or we’d not get done today.

A couple miles later, the herd headed up a hill.
Quakies grew on either side. The lead began to mill.

Comin’ up before us was a canyon, long and steep.
Just before we got there, in a fog began to creep.

I was ridin’ up on point when I saw the lead steer go.
He headed into aspens and the canyon down below.

My horse responded quickly to head them back uphill.
But the thickened fog around me made my vision nearly nil.

I began to yell my loudest, to scare them to the trail.
They must be turned around or we will lose them in this vale.

“You chigger-headed flea spit! You ig’norant snake-eyed hog.
Turn your rattle headed rock brains ‘round here in this stiflin’ fog.

Git back you scrawny horn fly hosts. Ya’d better find that trail,
‘cause runnin’ down this canyon will come to no avail.

You wand’rin’ sons of Satan. You nightmare’s blackest dream,”
were only some of things I said, to yearlin’s that I screamed.

“You’ll not live to make the mountain top, you crusty leather hides.”
My threatening spread eerily, echoed in from several sides.

The steers slowed their run, more frightened from the noises all unseen,
and the ghostly shapes a movin’ in that pea-soup foggy sheen.

We finally got them headed back and strung along the trail.
An hour later, sun appeared, though misty and still pale.

When we finally reached the cow camp, an old neighbor said to me:
“I don’t believe I ever heard you cuss so angrily.

I don’t believe I’ve ever heard another cowboy say
quite like you did, the things I heard, while trailin’ cows today.

It must’a worked, those things you said, cause we got here with the herd.
Though I admit I felt right creepy when my eyes, by fog, were blurred.

I hope I never have to hear you curse another cow.
I felt real bad a learnin’ I just thought that I knew how.