A Cordial Christmas

Enjoy the magic of the season and find romance....

Cordial, Texas is a small town founded by Dobson Winters and his wife Miranda. When fate deals Dobson with a bitter hand, his heart grows cold until Curtis Watson on his death bed demands him to listen or be condemned for all eternity...

Read an excerpt here...

The doctor placed a guiding hand on his shoulder and together they moved to the room where his patient lay. Dobson pulled his hat from his head as they entered. The small room contained a single bed pushed the wall from beneath the covers, a frail old man lay quiet. The only sign of life, a ragged breath with a deep rattle that echoed in the stillness. His eyes stared at some unseen point in the ceiling.
The cold fingers of death crawled up Dobson's spine. He watched the face, with its sunken eyes turn as Doc stepped up and spoke. "Curtis. Curtis, can you hear me?"
"I can."
The two words spoken seemed to take great effort. Dobson wondered if this was a mistake. It was clear, old man Watson needed to conserve his strength.
"Dobson Winters is here."
The corner of the man's mouth curled with satisfaction. His gaze moved from the doctor to stare straight at him. He couldn't turn away. The frail hand lifted from the blanket it clutched. A gnarled finger curled, beckoning him forward. His boots shuffled against the wood as he made his way to the bedside. "Hello, Watson," he said.
A flicker of amusement flashed in the old man's eyes. "Bet you wonder why I want you to hear my last confession."
He admired a man who went straight to the point. "It crossed my mind."
Curtis Watson drew a heavy breath. "As it should. There are a lot of things betwixt us. Some that should be aired afford I go."
"You are too mean to die, Watson. Like me, you know the good Lord only takes the best."
The old man's eyes moved back to his face and for a moment. There was a unique clarity in his eyes. "You are so right. Draw up a chair and listen to what I have to say."
Stunned, Dobson turned and found a chair shoved to the back of his knees by the Doc's hands. Lowing himself down, he leaned closer. "All right, I'm here."
"You and me, we're a lot alike," the old man began. "We both lost the love of our life. But, me, I tried to rise above. I tried to make something of me and mine that was left. Not you."
"Hey now," He sat back. "I didn't come here to have you throw it back in my -"
"Hush," came the command followed by a wheeze. "I don't have much time." The old man's eyes narrowed on him. "Maybe you don't either. Hate is something' that eats at a man. It leaves his soul blacker than the darkest night. A soul like that is damned forever. Now, my life ain't been no bed of roses, but I did my best. My boy went wrong and you were in your right to send him away, even though it killed my Mary. I might have forgiven you, however, she lost her heart and no amount of coaxing brought her back.
I watched you and your Miranda. Every day I prayed the good Lord would hurt you just like you hurt me. Then when they died, I watched you suffer. I thought, good, an eye for an eye, since you took my boy, my wife," he swallowed. "But there twernt no satisfaction in it only thing it did was make the hole bigger."
As he listened to the words, Dobson felt the wash of cold water washed over him. Anger made his body tremble with rage. He should get up and leave. He should let the door slam as he walked out. Yet, he couldn't.
"I watched you, a strong man, curl and wither like a crop with blight. Now, the only thing I got for you is pity. You've become a bitter excuse for a man, Dobson Winters and I thought more of you than that."
He tried to find words to say, yet what Curtis said was closer to the truth than any man wanted to admit.
"Now, I'm dying. There won't be no more tomorrows, no spring sunshine, or marvels of first snow. I ain't got much to leave, but I got me a pearl of great worth. Somethin' few men have and I'm gonna leave it to you."
"I don't need your parting gifts," he snapped.
Curtis Watson had the audacity to chuckle. "No damn you, you don't, but I'm gonna give you a choice." In a flash, his hand snaked out. Cold fingers akin to the grim reaper grabbed his.

To buy your copy of A Cordial Christmas follow these links...

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

A Cordial Christmas

Dobson Winters is a miserable man. After his wife's death, he shut himself off from the rest of the world, but a deathbed ultimatum changes that. Now, he must find Holly Watson and marry her to save his soul. Redemption comes in an unexpected package and it takes the gift of a child's unconditional love to change a man heart.

When a man thinks he has nothing to live for, life has a way of coming full circle...


Excerpt...

Lucy tugged on Holly's arm. She turned and looked down to her concerned face. Lucy bent a finger and begged her to bend down. Holly tilted her body closer. Her niece glanced over at Dobson, then cupped a hand against her mouth. "He's very grumpy."

Holly's mouth twitched, but she had to agree. The child was right. Dobson Winters cornered the market on being less than civil. Odd considering he was the founder of the town of Cordial. She supposed he had a right. A quick glance to her left and she could see the firm set of his strong jaw. He certainly appeared angry.

She looked back at the trail. The grade evened out in the past hour. Shortly, they would hit the big meadow. Holly recalled racing across the flat lands hoping to best her brother, Michael, just once. That had never happened. The big meadow had also been where they caught him changing brands. Even then, she knew rustling had been a hanging offense. Winters had stepped in and kept the drovers from taking the law into their own hands. Yes, her brother had gone to prison, but it had all been legal.

"We'll be at the house in an hour."

Holly glanced over at him.

"You can have a hot bath and rest. I'll get Joe to ride ahead and have cook prepare you a hot meal."

Lucy's ears must have perked up. Holly felt her lean over and give him the child's equivalent of an evil eye. "I like apple pie."

"Lucy," Holly quieted her.

The harsh tone of Dobson's voice faded. "I do too."

Lucy's brows arched and she glanced at Holly. "Humph," she replied as if she didn't quite believe him.

"Lucy Watson, you apologize this instant."

A pout formed on Lucy's bottom lip. It jutted out, forming a shadow on her chin.

"Lucy." Holly's voice sent a quiet command

The child cut her eyes to the woman on her right then looked back at him. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you."

"None taken," he answered.

"You can crawl in the back and wrap up in those blankets," Holly ordered.

Lucy gave him one last uncertain glance. With Holly's hands to steady her, she slipped through the opening and into the back, behind the canvas. Holly took hold of her shawl and pulled it upon her shoulders. Felling the need to echo her niece's apology, she plastered a pleasant smile upon her lips and turned to the man sitting beside her. "I'm sorry. Lucy can be a bit forward."

"Am not," came a voice from the back of the wagon. "You said I was pre- precocious."

Holly's cheeks filled with heat. Mortified she turned to see Dobson's cheek twitching with laughter.

"You certainly are," he called back to her.

Holly shook her head. She caught his glance and stared at his eyes. They were a deep shade of green, the same color of grass as it broke through the ground in early spring. It made Holly yearn for the turn of the season so she could compare the two.

"Nothing wrong with being honest."

Holly wondered if he was reminded of her brother's indiscretion. "No," she agreed.
"There isn't." She focused her eyes on the trail ahead and tried not to think about the man sitting so close to her. A wheel hit a rut; she lost her grip, and fell forward. It happened so quick, Holly had little time to do anything, but gasp. Dobson's fingers grabbed her arm and held on tight.

"You all right?" he questioned, dividing his glance between the trail and her regaining her seat.

Her head bobbed. "Fine."

He removed his hand and a part of her seemed disappointed. She caught his glance to the drover. Holly watched him lift a finger and the cowboy loped up.

"Yes sir?"

"Joe, go tell Chow Ming we have company. Have him get the kettles boiling for the tub and freshen the guest rooms."

"Will do, boss."

"Oh!"

The cowboy waited.

"Have him warm up that apple pie. I've a hankering for a slice."

"Yes, sir," Joe nodded and raced off.

For a few moments, silence surrounded them. She was well aware of the man sitting beside her. His very presence seemed to fill space between them, using up all the air until Holly felt light headed. She took a deep breath and his scent surrounded her. The smell of warm leather and woods left her senses sharpened.


To purchase your copy of A Cordial Christmas for $0.99 follow the links below.

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Are you thinking PINK?

Its October and with the change of leaves comes the reminder for the women in your family to check their tattas. Yes, October is Pink for the Susan G. Komen for the cure.

As you are moving through the day, on the bus, commuter train, or even driving in your car, look at the women around you. How many do you see? Probably more than you thought. Now couple it with the statistic that One in Six of all those women you see will at some point in their life hear those horrible words, "It's cancer."

Nothing stops a heart more or creates more anxiety for those that love you. October is Breast Cancer Month. (Yes, I've said it more than once) Grab a sticky note. Write these words down. GET A MAMMOGRAM. See your doctor for that physical we all dread. Let's stop cancer in its tracks.

On October 24th, I'll be over at Donna Alward's blog talking about how Breast Cancer effects family members. Won't you join me. Help stand up for the Cure. If not for you, for someone you love.

Remember October 24th www.donnaalward.blogspot.com . One lucky commenter will win a copy of Stormy Weather.



Nancy

Dear Readers

Those who went to Amazon and purchased a copy of A Cordial Christmas.. I thank you. I didn't know it was live until someone called me. Thank you I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it.. MUCHA!!

Nan

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

Putting my toes in the water...

I did it. I stuck my toes in the water and tried this self publishing idea or indie. I did agonize and worry my friends to death over the grammar, story lines, and characters. In fact, I still am. Its the thought of standing there alone sharing a story that you feel so strongly for.

A Cordial Christmas is that kind of story. I think of it as Scrooge meets Bonanza sprinkled with Its A Wonderful Life. In this story Dobson Winters is as cold as his name implies. He lost his wife around the holidays and refuses to celebrate the holidays. But, in comes Curtis Watson and with his dying breath he tells Dob that the only way he can save his black soul is to find his daughter and get her to marry him.

Little Lucy and her antics with his Chinese cook steal the show for me. However its her adoration of Dobson that begins to thaw the ranchers frozen heart. I hope you'll zip over to Smashwords and soon to Amazon to pick up a copy of this novella.

Here's an excerpt below.

Chow Ming pushed the sweet dough out with the rolling pin. He paused and eyed the little girl standing on the wooden shoebox across from him, her apron covered in the same flour that kept the dough from sticking to his work surface of the small table in the center of the kitchen. She glanced up, her blue eyes twinkling and shimmering with delight. Lucy eyed his efforts with a smile.
"Yes, yes just thick enough," she said with a nod.
"So why we bake cookies again?" Chow Ming asked.
"Cause," Lucy began, dipping her biscuit cutter in flour before pressing it into the dough. "On Christmas Eve, Santa will come down the chimney and expect to find them."
"Why dis man not use front door?"
"Cause you aren't supposed to see him."
A rash of Chinese followed. "Sound like fat man in red suit a thief. Chow Ming take care of him." He reached behind and pulled his meat clever, brandishing it in the air.
Lucy's hands went to her hips. "Now see here Chow Ming, you do something like that and he won't leave you anything in your stocking."
"He take clothes too! Chow Ming think Christmas not good time of year. Prefer Chinese New Year. Then only contend with dragon."

Follow the links on my books webpage or copy this link for your browser.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

Six sentence Sunday....

What would you do, If the love you wanted seemed so unattainable? Born on the wrong side of two races, Charity has made her way to the top of the parlor ladies at Sweetbrier Academy only to find rejection...

From Giving in to Charity

“And Washington?”
“I can’t take you there. Charity, what we have here is real, it’s now. It’s a treasured memory I can take back,” Aaron pleaded. His right hand closed over hers, drawing her against his front, while his left encircled her waist, holding her close. “Let me come upstairs with you one last time before I have to go back to that hell hole of the nation’s capital?”
The heaviness of his erection nudged against her skirts, and his fingers dug into her corset, undoubtedly branding her skin. Torn between Hell and Heaven, Charity closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to control her heart.


Check my website and click on the book cover for information on how to purchase this book.
www.nancyoberry.com

I was not cast off the island

I did survive the big blow. I have to tell you that I love writing about historical settings, but being thrust into the 18th century in such a cruel was was not fun. I spent the better part of the week before preparing for the arrival of Irene.

I took all the vegetables that we'd frozen over to my daughters big chest freezer. I cooked the meat in the freezer and we dined well. I bought some cans of ravioli, beefaroni, even the dreaded potted meat. I filled up the small pool for flushing. I was ready. Then came the storm. Not a mere 6 to 8 hours but all in all a total of 26 hours of wind and rain.

Our power went off at 10:30 Saturday morning just when things were beginning to wind up. I should have known something was wrong because they had predicted no loss of power until 3 p.m. So we armed ourselves with the weather band and moved to the garage to watch the storm's fury. The rain lashed the pine trees out front and each pine cone that feel was like its own guided missile. I believe we cringed as each one fell on the roof banging, thumping, and creating mischief. In my mind I pictured a creature similar to Pan sitting in the boughs of the tree gleefully laughing as he lobbed each one toward the house.

As night fell it did get dark. Our home is surrounded by trees blocking the setting sun - had there been one. Storms at night have their own terror. The inky darkness cloaks them, taking away your ability to create a defense. Armed with only a flashlight, you do feel like that gothic heroine poised to open the door and be confronted by the boogie man. But by noon the next day, the clouds were finally lifting, leaving behind the mist of humidity so thick it hung in low level clouds just above our heads.

But we were all alive, no damage to the house, and all safe. By the afternoon, the children ventured on the roof to help with clean up. Here is where things got interesting. My dear son who shall for the sake of his life remain nameless swept off the roof. Not bad you say. Oh, I agree, however he swept all the dirt and the oily residue from the roof into the pool I'd filled for flushing. My once clear water was now loaded with dark black sludge, rotting pine needles, and other gunk. The trash floating would stop up the commodes. I tried not to get angry. I really just took a deep sigh and walked away.

Instead of enjoying the peace and writing, sigh... I made two trips a day to get water from my daughter in order to flush the commode twice a day. Those of you with male children understand the plight. Rarely do they flush anyway but without water they do love to remind you every five minutes, you should do something about that mom, its gonna smell. Well, duh.

Finally on Monday afternoon, I went to my daughters to hide. I showered. Blessed water. I washed clothes and cooked a hot meal. Best of all I heard another woman's voice. I thought about all those women on the plains, the endless days of loneliness while their men folk were rounding cattle, following the trail up to the rail heads and back. Doing all the work plus tending to their children. Then in the lamplight, with only the comfort of their bible, they waited.

I understand them better now. I can hear their voices calling to me telling me how lucky I am that it was only 40 long hours not months and months of darkness. I marvel at how they held body and soul together and did not kill their young. I am humbled from my beginnings and I do love a flushable commode.

Nan