Some of you know Gwynn Morgan is the “sweeter” alter ego of Deirdre O’Dare. Anyway, the same animal love lives in both of us. One of my favorite books as Gwynn is very much based on my time as a horse trainer and adventures I had years ago on the family ranch in Arizona. I did not have things nearly as hard as Mari, the heroine of my novel Relative Dangers but I did have some of those horsey adventures and the hero, Dustin Layne,  is a tribute to an early hero of mine. This story gave us the happy ending we did not get in real life.  So it is definitely a book of the heart for me. By the way, I love the cover done by a friend, Delle Jacobs, who is herself a great writer of regency and historical romances! Sorry I do not have her website URL handy right now.

I’m all out of paperback copies right now but will give away a free download to one commenter today, okay?

Relative Dangers by Gwynn Morgan,  www.gwynnmorgan.com 

Blurb:  Mari’s life centers around remote Red Canyon, AZ and her horse training. Her secondary goal is to earn her high school diploma after being out of school for a time. When a controversial construction project starts nearby, her ordered life is shaken by changes. Horse training is dangerous work but danger is relative. Mari learns that some relatives can be dangerous indeed.

As superintendent of his first big construction job, Dusty Layne has to prove his capabilities. A chance meeting with a young woman leads to an unlikely friendship. When that converges with environmental protests, he confronts a major challenge. How can he reconcile these issues while he saves Mari from the danger created by her loyalty to him? Can he even save her from himself?

Excerpt:

Marisa McCabe swung the heavy stock saddle up on Lightfoot’s broad back. She frowned as she reached under the bay gelding’s round barrel to snag the cinch. The cords were frayed and ragged. She probably ought to change it. There were bound to be a couple of better ones hanging in the tack shed.

On the other hand, if she intended to be gone before Berne got back from a horse-shoeing job across town, she really didn’t have time to go look. If she wasn’t gone, he’d yell. She decided to risk the cinch, drew the latigo through the buckle and tugged it tight.

Leaving Lightfoot tied to the hitching rack, she grabbed a handful of rope halters with nylon leads. With them she caught the three yearlings she’d lead or “pony” for their daily exercise. Moments later, she headed out the gate. The frisky yearlings pranced beside the older horse, whose pace remained sedate.

Mari sat easily in her saddle with the confidence of long experience. She’d ridden for a good fifteen years. Now the only horse in the McCabe Stable she didn’t ride was Cochise. The Appaloosa stallion was Berne McCabe’s pride and joy. Mari had no doubt she could ride Cochise easily, no matter what Berne said. He insisted girls had no business messing with a stallion, so she stayed off the big Appy.

Today, she rode along the highway east to the Reservation fence. There she turned onto the newly widened and paved road leading to the site where the Canyon Rojo Dam was to be built. The project had become a bone of contention in the community. The Indians and the old timers bitterly resisted any change while the new folks, mostly recent immigrants from Back East, said it would be great for business. Once the dam was in, a resort was the next step, an idea even more hotly debated.

Before all the work was completed, there would probably be fights, protests and all sorts of to-do, more excitement than Red Canyon had seen in over fifty years, since they put the first highway through and across the Reservation. Mari figured the construction would not make much difference in her life, one way or the other.

As Lightfoot trotted along, Mari felt the late March wind kick up. It swirled red dust off the raw patches of earth along the road side. The wind picked up a piece of paper and sent it skittering across the new black pavement. At that sight, the yearlings snorted and danced, sharply increasing the pull on the nylon rope to which their leads were attached. Mari had that rope looped over the saddle horn.

She slid to the left, leaning her weight into the left stirrup to try to balance the saddle. “Come on, guys. Settle down. It’s only a piece of paper.” She gave the lead a sharp snap, bringing the colts back in line.

Ahead, the road vanished around the blunt end of a ridge, cut off to shorten the new road. The ridge was topped by a towering formation of the rosy sandstone which gave the area its name. At that moment, with a roar and a backfire like a cannon shot, a motorcycle careened around the corner, headed straight at them. Lightfoot threw his head up and gave one prodigious leap before Mari’s instinctive jerk on the reins checked him. The colts also leaped–in three different directions. The rawhide wrapping on the saddle horn groaned in protest as the nylon bit deeply into the well-oiled leather.

Mari threw her weight hard into the left stirrup, but the saddle continued to slide to the right. She heard a tearing sound, and felt it roll farther and faster, right out from under her. She twisted and scrambled, trying vainly to find a way to land feet-first, but as the colts bolted, one of the leads caught her under the arm and threw her back and down, right under the twelve scrabbling hooves. She hit hard, breath jolting out, leaving her gasping. Silent darkness closed around her.

***

Slipping into thoughts of the past, Dusty was unprepared for the tableau confronting him as he rounded the blind curve in the road where it circumscribed a steep bluff of ruddy stone.

The big bay Quarter Horse gelding stood just off the pavement, saddle askew. Only the breast collar and the rear cinch held it, almost halfway off his back. Three smaller horses, colts by their long-legged appearance, tightened the rope which had apparently dislodged the saddle. Their leads were tangled. One colt even had his halter pulled over one ear. They all fought the dubious restraint, clearly not completely over whatever had spooked them.

He jammed on the brakes, stopping the truck just short of the horses. For the moment, as he scrambled out, he couldn’t see anyone. Moving carefully, he approached the bay’s head and caught the trailing reins.

“Easy there, big guy. Gonna get you untangled quick as I can. Steady now.” The horse was obviously well trained. Even though the rear leather cinch squeezed him painfully and the breast collar had almost cut off his wind, he had not panicked.

Dustin eased around the horse and reached for the rope tied to the saddle horn. The three colts snorted and tugged, but began to quiet as he talked to them in low soothing tones. Then, out of the corners of his eyes, he saw a patch of faded blue. It was the crumpled body of the rider. He hesitated for a second, torn between needs. Then he acknowledged he could help the rider better if he wasn’t distracted by the horses.

It took a few minutes, but he got the colts untangled and tied to stout wooden posts on the Reservation fence which paralleled the road. He righted the saddle to ease the bay’s discomfort before he turned to the rider. Then he saw the thick braid of golden hair. It was a girl. She stirred. He knelt quickly to put a restraining hand on her dusty denim covered shoulder.

Apparently she’d instinctively rolled and curled up when she fell. He’d always heard a horse would not voluntarily step on a body on the ground. Perhaps it was true, for as well as he could see, she hadn’t been trampled. She began to move, starting to uncurl from her defensive posture.

“Take it easy. Don’t try to move until we can assess the damage.”

She opened her eyes for an instant. He could see from her expression that she was disoriented and dizzy. She shut them again fast as she obeyed his warning caution.

“Take it real slow, a little bit at a time. Stop if anything hurts. Don’t try to get up yet, anyway.”

She did as he suggested, slowly straightening first her arms and then her legs. Although she moved as if everything hurt, apparently none of the pain was unbearable. With her left arm, she cautiously levered up into a sitting position and opened her eyes again.

“The horses,” she gasped. “Are they all right?”

When she started up again, he restrained her. “I think so. None of ’em seemed to be hurt. Got ’em all tied up over yonder. They’ll be fine there for now. Let’s make sure you are too before we try to do anything else.”

She accepted his reassurance, nodded and relaxed into the curve of his supporting arm.

“No hurry. Get your bearings before you try to get up. From the looks of it, you took a bad spill.”

A knot formed on her forehead, already turning purple. He probed with gentle fingers, knowing it would hurt, but anxious to be sure the bone was not damaged beneath the bruise. Apparently it wasn’t. She gave a little gasp at his first touch but then did not wince or flinch. He let out a sigh of relief. If a hoof had caught her in the head, she could have a serious injury, but it looked like she’d been lucky.

“What happened?” he asked, after a moment.

“The wind blew a piece of paper across the road and then, before I could get them all settled down, a motorcycle came around the corner, a real noisy one. They went by awfully close. Lightfoot never liked motorcycles, but he only jumped once. The colts went ballistic, though. That’s when my cinch broke. I knew I should have changed it. It’s my own dumb fault. Berne will have my hide.” She spoke in a rueful tone.

Dustin huffed out a sharp breath. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. He ought to be grateful for that.” Whoever “Berne” was Dustin disliked him already.

Somehow, the notion of this girl lying stiff and cold seemed particularly unnerving as he knelt there, his arm supporting her slender body. The idea she would be punished further than the distress the accident had already caused was equally unpalatable. Somebody had to be crazy to let her out like that with three spooky colts! She was just a kid, probably not much older than Pam. Hard to believe his daughter would soon be thirteen.

“I think I can get up,” she said. “I really want to check on the horses.”

After she gained her feet, she leaned against him another moment. He could see she fought dizziness and the wobble in her knees. Then, abruptly, is if she’d realized she was leaning intimately against a stranger, her face went pink and she pulled away.