Monday, June 30, 2025

#NewBlogPost #BookBlitz...The Brothers Brown... #NativeAmerican #Literature #FamilySagaFiction #Western @RABTBookTours

Native American Literature, Family Saga Fiction, Western, Biographical Fiction, Western

Date Published: 06-01-2025

You can almost feel the red dust clinging to your skin and catch the faint scent of jasmine in the air. This is Indian Territory at the edge of everything—law and lawlessness, hope and heartbreak, where the lines between right and wrong blur with every sunset.

Told with vivid detail, this is the story of a man caught between loyalty and his past, between a brother’s shadow and the light of his own becoming. A tale of love, betrayal, and the quiet courage it takes to change your fate.

From a stagecoach town in Tennessee to the first railroad towns of the Indian Territory, we delve into the lives of the charismatic and flawed brothers, Matt and Robert. Their sibling dynamic shapes the lives of the entire Brown family, steering them down a road of familial struggles and cultural clashes.

Matt always idolized his oldest brother, Robert – a smooth-talking charmer who taught him at a young age to live hard and win big. Following Robert’s footsteps, Matt is drawn into a life of high-stakes games and deception. Then he meets Milla. Sharp-eyed, brave, and unafraid to speak the truth, Milla is a woman rooted in her Choctaw heritage, carrying both strength and sorrow in equal measure. For the first time, Matt imagines a different future. But the past doesn’t let go easily and buried secrets never stay buried for long, clawing their way back to the surface when you least expect it. Now, Matt must choose between what consumes him and the life he wants to build.

Set against the raw beauty of the Choctaw Nation, this is a powerful story of blood ties and hard choices, of the people we love and the ones we betray. Gritty, tender, and unforgettable—this is where redemption begins.

Excerpt

Albert kicked the door once, twice.

The window lit up with the light of a lamp. Through the window he saw Milla jump out of bed. He kicked the door harder.

Milla wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and stood at the bedroom door. “I told you I don’t want you here anymore,” she yelled. “You can just go...”

“Milla, open the door! It’s Albert!” He kicked again, struggling to hold Matt upright. “Matt’s hurt bad!”

She dashed to the door and let her brother-in-law in.

Albert held Matt tight around the waist and draped Matt’s left arm over his shoulder as the pair stumbled across the threshold. “Help me get him to the bed. I’m going for Doc Poor.”

Milla lifted Matt’s other arm over her shoulder and sat him on the bed, holding him steady. “Hurry,” she gasped.

Albert grabbed the coat hanging by the front door and ran out of the house.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Matt?” Milla pulled his coat off and unbuckled his holster, laying it on the nightstand. The sight of his shirt and pants covered in blood and dried mud sent a chill through her veins. He fell sideways on the bed and then she saw it—the cut on the back of his shirt.

“Owww!” Matt cupped his hand protectively over his wound, but the pain was too intense. He cried out again.

“You hold on, Matt. Albert went to find Doctor Poor. You just hold on now.” It was an order.

Matt gasped for air, then spoke in fits of agony. “They... got... Robert.” He strained to sit up and failed. His body fell limp, then he fell silent.

“Who got him?” Milla tried to roll Matt over, but he wouldn’t budge. Gasping at the sight of the blood on the bed, she backed away, hands trembling.

Is he dead?

Did he die?

Albert bolted straight up in bed and strained to listen. What was that? He thought he heard a horse neigh, but all he heard now was the creaking of the loose shutter and his own breath. But there it was again, the sound of a horse.

He stretched to look out the window. And there it was, the shape of a horse in the front yard.

Throwing off the blanket, Albert fumbled for his pocket watch on the nightstand and held it to the window. In the moon’s light, he saw it was near two in the morning. The horse was neighing again, louder and longer this time.

Albert glanced out the window as he slipped on his pants; it was Matt’s horse, Girl. The moon lit the corner of the yard where she stood, stomping her front right hoof on the frosted ground in distress.

In his bare feet, he flung open the door and rushed to the panicked horse. Matt sat slumped in the saddle, unconscious or dead. He couldn’t tell.

“Matt?” Albert touched Matt’s leg, but he nearly slid from the saddle at Albert’s touch. “Matt?”

The blood on his coat and shirt told Albert all he needed to know. It was bad, and it looked like he’d been bleeding for a while.

Without thinking, Albert mounted the horse, wrapping his arms around Matt to hold him steady, and rode as fast as he could to Matt’s house. Doc Poor lived on the back side of the field behind Matt’s place. He would take Matt home, then go wake the doctor at once.

About the Author. . .


Raised on the beaches of South Texas, R.G. Stanford has always been drawn to stories that transcend time. That passion was ignited in 1976 with the discovery of Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, and deepened with The Feast of All Saints just a few years later. Though historical fiction wasn’t an immediate calling, a personal journey into genealogy changed everything.

With no close relatives nearby, R.G. Stanford turned to online resources in search of extended family. That search became a twenty-year journey through genealogy websites, Federal Census records, the National Archives, and old newspapers. Along the way, R.G. Stanford uncovered incredible stories about her family and the people who once lived in the Choctaw Nation, Indian Territory.

Compelled to record the truth of her family in the lore, sprinkled with imagination, R.G. Stanford is a history lover, a research buff, and a passionate genealogy enthusiast. She is also a mother, a grandmother, and a teller of stories, now living near Orlando.

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Sunday, June 22, 2025

#NewBlogPost #BookReview...Presumed Guilty #RachelSinclair #Legal #Thriller #Suspense #MurderAndMayhem


A wealthy family with DARK secrets. A SHOCKING reveal that you guaranteed won't see coming...Avery Collins is an attorney with the tender heart of a warrior for the wrongfully accused, for one simple reason. She was once wrongfully accused, and spent 7 years in prison for a murder she didn't commit.

Now sworn to protect the indigent accused, she's persuaded to represent Esme Guitierrez, an El Salvadoran refugee who is accused of killing 21-year-old Aria Whitmore. Aria was the daughter of the prominent billionaire hotelier Jacob Whitmore, and was also an aspiring concert pianist and music composer.

As Avery digs further into the case, she realizes that there were some sick games taking place behind the closed doors of the Whitmore mansion, and Avery ends up with more questions than answers.

What happened to Aria's birth mother?

How did Julian Rodriguez, a young schizophrenic man, come to befriend Aria?

And who is sending threatening emails that are filled with facts that are not widely known to the public?

When Avery finds out the answers to these questions, she's shocked. But she also realizes that the big reveal opens up more questions than answers, and the case takes an unexpected turn.

As time runs out to find the true culprit, Avery faces the trial of her life. Amidst an intense media glare, death threats, protestors and stalkers breaking into her home, Avery nonetheless gives this case her all.

Because if she doesn't, her client will end up on death row.

With the lightning speed, twists and turns you've come to expect from a Rachel Sinclair novel, Presumption of Guilt is a legal thriller that is not to be missed! Come and meet your newest favorite badass attorney, Avery Collins, today!

The Sexy Nerd's Review. . .


Oook! So, I decided I wanted to take a break from my memoirs, fantasies and murder mysteries and delve into some legalese. I haven’t read a good legal thriller in a long while. I just so happened to be perusing through Kindle Unlimited and up pops this novel, Presumed Guilty. I loved the premise of the story and couldn’t wait to jump right on in.

Unfortunately, I knew early on I was ready to jump out of this story and read the countless others I must read for various publishers. But as my readers know, once I commit to a story, regardless as to how bad it is, I always give every author the respect of their time and this story wasn’t any different.

Avery Collins is a criminal defense attorney looking for her next case. She so happens to stumble across a real beast of a case with the Esme Guitierrez. Ms. Guitierrez is an immigrant from El Salvador seeking a better life in America, only to wind up working for the wealthy Whitmores as their maid. Aria Whitmore, the young 21-year-old musician and the daughter of the billionaire is murdered and the Whitmores, quite naturally, blame Esme because she’s the one who found the young woman. Esme did what any person should do when you find a body is to report it to the police. Apparently, all that ended up doing was causing more suspicion (which made no sense to me) and the obvious person who murdered this young woman had to be Esme, right?

Avery was looking for a case to take on because she enjoyed working cases pro bono. The reason she could afford to do this is because she won a huge settlement with the state for being falsely accused of murdering her best friend, Becky, many years ago and she served seven years in prison due to it. Avery knew all too well how horrible it felt to be accused of something you didn’t commit. She was all too eager to get started with Esme’s defense.

Sounds good so far, right? Here’s where the story went left. What I just relayed to you is about fifty percent of the book. Avery was so hell bent on finding out who falsely accused her of murder that she didn’t put that same energy into helping her so-called client. I understand she was incarcerated for seven years, and I can only imagine how horrible that must have been, but the rest of the story seemed to lean toward finding out who did that and not much with Esme Guitierrez’s case. I wanted so badly to get to the legal part of the story and that never came.

The author continued to berate the reader with stupid mundane things that had absolutely nothing to do with legal proceedings. She glossed over key evidence and great courtroom drama. This is why I love legal thrillers when the author takes the reader through the process. It’s all a part of the lore for me. Do you think the popular show, Law & Order, would still be on the air if Dick Wolf didn’t put the courtroom drama in it? How can you call a book a “legal thriller” when there isn’t any “legal” aspects to the story? This story had so much potential, and I was rooting for the author, Avery and Esme Guitierrez, but unfortunately, I didn’t get much of anything. And, I shouldn’t have been surprised that the ending cliffed the reader, so you must go to book two to find out more about Avery’s false imprisonment. Now the question becomes is it worth my time to go and read it…suffice it to say, most likely not. I’m done with this story.

The Sexy Nerd gives Presumed Guilty two stars. I should have given this story one star, but I give the author credit for having written it, no matter how poorly written (story line wise) it was. Luckily, this was a very short read and put me out of my misery quickly.  This was not for me and I will not waste any more of my time trying to understand these characters. With that, until next time, Nerds, you know how we do!

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Friday, June 20, 2025

#OnTheBlogToday #BookBlitz...The Weight of Loyalty... @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #TheWeightofLoyalty #MikeHMizrahi #HistoricalFiction

Historical Fiction

Date Published: May 25, 2025

 

“My long-term survival is doubtful under any scenario. Yet, I already defied the impossible by escaping from a watery tomb and swimming to this very spot. But luck is finite—it always peters out.”

As the island of Kefalonia falls under the harsh occupation of Italian soldiers in 1941, British sailor Oliver Graham washes ashore, desperate to evade capture. Rescued by the fierce and determined Natalía Giannatos, he becomes entangled in a web of love, loyalty, and betrayal.

With her brother and fiancé lost to the conflict, Natalía is driven by vengeance against the occupiers and a deepening bond with Oliver. But when an Italian colonel fixates on her, she must navigate a dangerous game of deception to protect her family and village. As Oliver struggles with his hidden heritage and his growing feelings for Natalía, they are thrust into the heart of the resistance, where every choice could lead to freedom or devastation.

In a story that intertwines love and sacrifice against the backdrop of war, The Weight of Loyalty explores the resilience of the human spirit and the lengths one will go to for love. Will Oliver and Natalía’s connection survive the trials of conflict, or will the brutal realities of war tear them apart forever?

 About the Author

 

Mike H. Mizrahi and his wife, Karen, reside in Poulsbo, WA. He is a winner of the (indie Reader Discovery Award and a Laramie Finalist in the Chanticleer Book Awards. His other historical novels include The Unnamed Girl, Tattered Coat, and the Great Chattanooga Bicycle Race.

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Sunday, June 15, 2025

#NewBlogPost #BookReview #HappyReading...This Time Tomorrow...#EmmaStraub #SciFi #TimeTravel #Mystery #Fantasy

 

With her celebrated humor, insight, and heart, beloved New York Times bestseller Emma Straub offers her own twist on traditional time travel tropes, and a different kind of love story.

On the eve of her 40th birthday, Alice's life isn't terrible. She likes her job, even if it isn't exactly the one she expected. She's happy with her apartment, her romantic status, her independence, and she adores her lifelong best friend. But her father is ailing, and it feels to her as if something is missing. When she wakes up the next morning she finds herself back in 1996, reliving her 16th birthday. But it isn't just her adolescent body that shocks her, or seeing her high school crush, it's her dad: the vital, charming, 40-something version of her father with whom she is reunited. Now armed with a new perspective on her own life and his, some past events take on new meaning. Is there anything that she would change if she could?


The  Sexy Nerd's Review. . .


I came to read this book by way of my office book club and one of the reasons I enjoy being a part of a book club is because you read books that you might otherwise have passed by. In other words, it opens your horizons to new stories and authors.

In so many ways, I wish I could be Alice. The older I get, the more I find myself reflecting. For the most part, I’m happy with the way my life turned out, but if I could go back and redo some things, would I?

Alice was about to turn forty, which is a huge milestone for the forty-somethings. She’s lived in her hometown for most of her life and has a decent job working with gifted students of famous or well-off parents. It’s Alice’s job to ensure the right students get selected. So, Alice was a big deal to the parents wanting their children to get in. Her father has been in the hospital, so she was splitting her time between the job and seeing him.

Alice could relate to children being born to well-off or famous parents because her father was a well-known author of time travel books. She knew all too well living in the shadow of a famous parent, but Leonard, wasn’t exactly that type of father. In fact, Leonard cared a great deal about Alice and her well-being.

As she’s about to turn forty, her bestie, Samantha, is excited about hooking up and hanging out like they’ve done for most of Alice’s birthdays. Problem is with Sam’s hectic schedule, kids and husband, it’s hard to fit “girlfriend time” in there. But no matter what, Sam would never miss Alice’s fortieth birthday.

After leaving her get together, Alice heads on home and when she wakes up the next morning, she’s living with her father and about to have her sixteenth birthday. Wait, what? She just turned forty, so how is it she ends up being sixteen and reliving her high school years. The more confused Alice became, the more bizarre her life appeared. She was talking with her forty-year-old father and hanging out with her bestie, Sam, who obviously wasn’t a mother nor a wife. She just saw her friend the night before in the future.

When Alice finally realizes what is happening to her, with the help of someone she loves dearly, she’s left with wondering where she should be placed in time. And, as she embarks on new adventures, she quickly discovers that some things in the past should be changed, and others, not so much. But her biggest hurdle is what should be changed and if she does, how does that impact her future?

This was a very interesting read. Again, I most likely would have never read a book like this, but I’m very glad I did. I enjoyed following Alice around on her time travel.

The Sexy Nerd gives This Time Tomorrow four stars for future reading. 😊 I’ve never read this author before and I enjoyed her writing style. This was a good story, and I enjoyed my time within it. I highly recommend if you’re into science fiction reading. And if you’ve never read a Sci-Fi, this would be a great book to start with. Until next time, Nerds, you know how we do!

Open a Book and Get Mind Blown!



Friday, June 6, 2025

#OnTheBlogToday #BookBlitz...Ophia's Sister-Soul... #EpicFantasy #Visionary #Fiction #MagicalRealism @RABTBookTours

Parting the Veils, Book One

 Epic Fantasy / Visionary Fiction / Magical Realism

Date Published: 04-19-2025

 

Colleen Addison fears that the messages she receives from a place called Ophia prove she’s losing her mind. As she grieves for her lost twin sister, Earth’s civilizations, divorced from magic and wonder, crumble.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Partition, Esperidi Mon-Sequana discovers she’s the last surviving Sophryne, a Wakeful Dreamer cast adrift as Ophia convulses beneath the weight of atrocities done to Her, spilling Her anguish in fire and floods.

With naught but dreams and waking omens to guide her, Esperidi ventures across a ravaged land where marauders are a law unto themselves, and the Shetain priesthood demands that Ophia’s children appease the Rupture with penance and blood.

Lost and bereaved, Colleen and Esperidi reach for hope and salvation beyond the camouflage Veils, unsuspecting of the ties that bind them across lifetimes and worlds…

Excerpt

The sum of our dreams can be strung into a prop circle, casting our life journeys in the light of a stage production. Within such a play, we may see aspects of the plot that eluded us while we were identified with our roles within that drama. How many times have I witnessed this? The audience yells at the speaker on the stage, trying to awaken him or her to some crucial fact, despite knowing that such a ruckus can never alter the story’s trajectory.

The spectators can't help themselves.

I hope you’ll forgive me for all this dramatist’s jargon. I was—am—a man of the stage, and I speak as my nature and training lean. And I’ve been conditioned by my tenure as a Sophryne, a Wakeful Dreamer. There are times—particularly during historical moments of great unrest, tension, and change—when the dreams of a multitude coincide, creating an even larger, overarching narrative.

I call that narrative living theater. Many others refer to it as myth.

And perhaps (partly) because I'm accustomed to blurring the distinctions between "dream" and "reality," I've been asked to narrate—as concisely as possible—my people’s most beloved myth: "The Twin Souls and the Parting of the Veils."

Within the context of this tale, the lines between dreams and reality are sometimes in stark contrast and sometimes scarcely discernible. On occasion, I daresay, they even seem to trade places. I've heard this is often a characteristic of twins. Who could resist the temptation to at least try it, to explore—to borrow a phrase from Colleen Addison's world—"how the other half lives"?

For art and dreams are life's twin blessings.

Those not native to my home world of Ophia, who share Colleen's points of reference more intimately than mine, might feel that some information about my people, the Shaini, and the origins of our most revered teachers, the Sophryne, might be in order.

Ah, but I ought rather try and catch a golden mahseer with my bare hands, were I currently possessed of fleshy hands, than try to satisfy this demand. You see, little history survives from our earliest ages. Only the most nebulous clues, clothed in symbolism, are preserved in oral traditions. That's because time itself was (is) malleable. Many possible paths were explored. Each of these, in turn, thrust roots into their own “pasts” and “futures.”

During those earliest epochs, the Shaini tangibly felt and participated in Sorsajna, the fire of Creation. Later, when we no longer felt Sorsajna in the pit of our being, our Speakers, the Sophryne, were obliged to find more demonstrable ways to evoke its essence. They had to almost confound and beguile the minds of their kindred in the hopes of awakening them to old inner knowledge.

They reminded us of magical inner movements we felt divorced from in waking. This was the birth of art and drama—and language itself—arising alongside the dreaming life of humankind. Primitive peoples, like the Oskwai tribes you'll hear about, could gesture towards objects in their physical world. But for those more intangible feelings of possibility, magic, and wonder that dreams awaken in us, words were needed.

How else could that wonder be shared when it couldn't be related to anything in one’s surroundings?

And so we early humans tried to convey what we'd experienced in our sleep-time excursions using sounds, gestures, and pantomime. Once upon a time, we'd inhabited a living dream. Then, suddenly, we were Ophia-bound, entrenched in material bodies, and subjected to the laws of Space and Time. We clothed ourselves in flesh as Ophia clothed itself in ground.

And now we had to survive, to pluck Her fruits to sustain ourselves. Might humankind (Shaini or Oskwai) forget that the world's manifest beauty was a reflection, albeit a fractured one, of luminous Sorsajna, from which all existence flows? Could we retain the memory of our origins? These questions led to the birth of all the Sophryne arts, which reminded us of that boundless and nameless realm from which we emerged.

Thus, you’ll find little “hard history” here. We can only approach any version of truth by chasing the wind trails of our most venerated myths. But it’s empowering, methinks, to recall that we all participate in Creation. From the raw stuff of life, we bring forth forms that can be seen, heard, felt, smelt, and tasted. And sometimes, to our eternal enrichment, souls clothe themselves and walk among us to remind us of the dimensions from which we are (seemingly) sundered. The twins I spoke of were—are—two of the most renowned.

Such beings are naturally drawn to Sophrynism, to Wakeful Dreaming, a practice that straddles the lines between life and death, here and hereafter, time and eternity. Powerful Sophrynes can work such an effect upon the minds and souls of those with whom they come into contact that the recipients begin to break through the barriers of the world they know. They begin to perceive and respond to other realms of being. Such epiphanies can also penetrate the sense of separation that we often experience with one another.

A seemingly insurmountable gulf divided the sisters' respective worlds. They needed to experience, in their blessed, fragile bodies, that more pervasive separation I spoke of. Both worlds had lost their sense of magic, and our heroines, Colleen Addison and Esperidi Mon-Sequana, healers at heart for all eternity, instinctively looked for ways to patch the resulting rift. That search carried them through the heart of their mutual bereavement.

In the line of Ophia's tapestry, into which Esperidi became a vital thread, the Sophryne arts were perfected out of necessity. I know because I lived during that cruel and repressive era. It was perilous for any of us to speak our minds. We writhed within a spider's web, our every movement, word, and emotion sending tremors through its strands. To criticize the ruling body with even a whisper... One might as well trumpet protests to a lynch mob.

Such was life under the Cordonne and its Weaving.

Imagine the living conditions of the thousands of Shaini inhabiting Ophia during that age. I, Sanyori, spent my formative years beneath the Weaving's eyes. I knew my community’s quiet desperation. Our security came at too steep a price. But who among us would dare raise voices of dissent? The Weaving would expose us. Even plotting rebellion would alert the Cordonne. One could not even get aroused by the prospect of freedom.

What recourse had we?

Ah, but the Weaving, the chief instrument of the Cordonne’s control, was still a physical construct within a physical world. It could never reach its fingers into the dreaming dimension. And so it was there that we learned to awaken, congregate, and communicate freely.

We who escaped Old Ophia during its last days, its decaying days, planned our emancipation while we slept. Shadowy omens and premonitions illuminated our way, foreshadowing possible perils and treasures. Abandoning the social compass, we oriented ourselves around inner whispers and nudges. They helped us to regain our bearings when we'd lost sight of all shores.

That's how we came to etch the essential structure of this Sentient Library, where I now inscribe these words and struggle not to feel overwhelmed by the responsibility bequeathed upon me. I must remind myself that a living myth is created by all who partake in it. This relieves some of the burden. It soothes my stage jitters, so to speak.

The drama we call "Parting the Veils" touched upon many worlds, altering their mental landscape and changing their historical trajectory. Those reading this testimony with at least a partial knowledge of its underlying myth may grow restless at this juncture. "Yes: We know what the twins achieved in the end. They forged a pathway between the worlds, allowing each to recapture its sense of possibility and wonder. But what did they actually do?"

With that question, the road grows nebulous indeed. How does one recount the travels of two heroines who walked as much in their dreams as in waking? How does one do justice to the supporting cast—again, forgive my theater training—when many of them aspired towards the same thing?

Despite such daunting challenges, I've done my best to limn the journey of Esperidi Mon-Sequana and Colleen Addison and the forgotten art that united them, finally—at least, for long enough to alter the destinies of their respective worlds.

It isn't always comfortable reading. For many beings on both sides of the Partition, existence had grown unmistakably dark. Both worlds were purged in fire, floods, cyclones, and upheavals, whether one might interpret these in psychological or physical terms. And in the depths of their suffering, each world began to long, more and more, for the other.

Sarpienta’s fangs! If I persist like this, I'll likely be out of breath before I begin! But perhaps you can better understand my attachment to this story’s emotional sweep if you consider—and as you'll discover—that I participated in some of its unfolding events. By which I mean I lived them in a physical body.

Remember, always, that the distance between the worlds is, to awakened eyes, akin to the distance between our twins: no more than the breadth of a thought. Or, as my teacher once said, "Naught but a wisp of gossamer gown."

And here I shall sign off for now, consigning myself to an “omniscient narrator” role until more personal commentary might bring clarity. Enjoy this tale as it unfolds. Recognize yourself within its tapestry. If you did not partake in the epic described herein, to some extent or another, on Earth or Ophia, you would not be reading these words.

 Sanyori Mon-Sequestra 

In the Hereness and Nowness 

The Sentient Library

About the Author. . .



Throughout my life's myriad twists and turns, one desire has always stayed strong in me: to write epic tales that illuminate the inner world of our souls. I write fiction that depicts the journey of self-discovery in a dramatic and emotionally cathartic way. I'm inspired by methods of inner exploration like dream-work and shamanism, wherein one takes an inward plunge and then shares the fruits of that deep descent with the wider community. That, to me, is the essence of what any art form is really about.

I think the artistic impulse takes it for granted that the universe is forever unfinished; we all have unique gifts that bring something to Creation that would not otherwise ever exist.

My inspirations/influences include writers like Jane Roberts, L. Frank Baum, Barbara Marciniak, Stephen R. Donaldson, Frank Herbert, Lewis Carroll, Jack Kerouac, and Robert E. Howard. Though I've enjoyed writing in many genres and styles, speculative fiction remains my biggest passion.

 

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#NewBlogPost #BookBlitz...The Apache Kid: Army Apache Scout...#HistoricalFiction #NativeAmerican #Fiction #Indigenous @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours

ARMY APACHE SCOUT (The Apache Kid Chronicles-Volume 1)

 Fiction / Indigenous / Historical Fiction / Native American

Date Published: 06-03-2015

Publisher: Hat Creek

 From Army Scout to Outlaw, from Hero to Legend.

He survived the embers of the fires and murders at the Camp Grant Massacre of the Apache. Young Has-kay-bay-nay-ntayl ("brave and tall and will come to a mysterious end"), a child known by many names but later feared and revered as the Apache Kid-grows up in two cultures where survival means choosing between loyalty and betrayal, his people and their overseers. Trained by the legendary Al Sieber and other former military officers, the Kid makes a meteoric rise to prominence as a First Sergeant of scouts, a warrior whose skill and leadership helps win the U.S. Army's fight against renegades and maintain peace between Apache bands at San Carlos Reservation.

But neither war nor peace are ever simple. When forced to make an impossible choice between his own People or the Army, he chooses his People. His choice leads the Army to imprison him at Alcatraz. Released early by the Army, Arizona Territory tries to imprison him again but he, with seven other Apache on the way to Yuma Penitentiary, escape and become the object of the greatest manhunt in Arizona history. The only one to survive the manhunt, Kid becomes both a ghost and a legend, the most feared border outlaw for the next ten years before vanishing into Mexico.

Seen through Kid's eyes, The Apache Kid: Army Apache Scout brings to life the thrilling and tragic journey of Apache Kid as a young man and the best of the Army's Apache scouts.
Excerpt

Redmond nodded down the arroyo. “I’ve already put some bottles out for targets. They’re about fifty paces apart. You can just barely see the glint off the one at three hundred yards. Which one would you like Kid to use for a target, Al?”

Sieber leaned against the corral fence post and stared down the arroyo at the little berms. He scratched the whiskers on his cheeks and made a face as though deep in thought. “I can barely see that last bottle in this light. Why don’t you just shoot the most distant one you think you can hit. That ’73 Winchester you’re carrying would have to shoot like the bullet was following a rainbow to hit anything at three hundred yards. I don’t think that would be a fair test of your shootin’ ability. Go ahead and take a shot.”

I wasn’t sure what Sieber was talking about when he mentioned bullets and rainbows, but I was sure I could hit the most distant bottle. I flipped up the ladder sight and set the notch piece for three hundred yards. Sieber watched me with one raised eyebrow that said I was going to make a fool of myself. Redmond had a little smile. He’d heard enough stories about my shooting from others that he believed he knew what I could do.

I levered a round into my rifle’s chamber, sighted at the distant glint and, at half breath, squeezed off a shot. There was a short delay, and then the bottle at three hundred yards exploded into many shattered pieces. Sieber’s jaw dropped. He looked at me and then back where the bottle was and shook his head. “Kid, that was one great shot. Can you do that for the bottles at one and two hundred yards?”

I nodded, set the ladder notch to two hundred yards, levered a new round and, taking aim, shattered that bottle. I flipped the ladder sight down since the rifle was accurate without it at one hundred yards, levered another round into the firing chamber, and quickly blew that bottle into many sparkling pieces of glass.

Sieber looked at me and grinned. “You don’t miss, do you? What’s your longest shot?”

I grinned back at him. “I no miss. Use Father’s buffalo gun. Shoot deer on edge of clearing in Galiuro Mountains canyon. Father say best shot he ever see with his buffalo gun.”

Sieber laughed. “I expect that it was. You must have exceptional eyesight. Did you use a telescopic sight on the rifle?”

“Hmmph, I see far. Nothing on rifle. What is telescopic sight?”

Sieber smiled and shook his head. Redmond said, “It’s a big eye like those used in soldier glasses and another little eye attached to the ends of a long brass tube. That combination makes things easier to see and hit at a long range. Your People call this big eye in a tube a ‘Shináá Cho.’”

About the Author. . .


W. MICHAEL FARMER blends over fifteen years of research into 19th-century Apache history and Southwest living to create richly authentic stories. A retired PhD physicist, his scientific work included laser-based measurements of atmospheric aerosols, and he authored a two-volume reference on atmospheric effects.

His fiction and essays have earned numerous honors, including three Will Rogers Gold and six Silver Medallions, multiple New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards, and a Spur Finalist Award. His novels include The Life and Times of Yellow Boy, Legends of the Desert, and the award-winning Geronimo duology. His latest novels include Trini! Come! and the Chato Duology, featuring Desperate Warrior and Proud Outcast.

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