Wickedly Yours
Erotic Romance Fiction Magazine
 THE
REWARD
Beth Williamson
Genre: Erotic Western
Format: eBook
ISBN: 1-59578-156-0
BUY THE BOOK
This book is available at the following location(s):
Liquid
Silver Books
From The Back Cover:
Hermano is not just the bandito you met in
The Bounty. He's Malcolm Ross y Zarza, half-Spanish, half-Scottish bastard
son of a Texas hacienda owner who has hidden in the guise of a Mexican
bandito for half his life. Malcolm left home at 18 fueled by rage at his
half-brother Damasco and the treatment he received at the hands of Damasco's
mother, Isabella.
He decides to return fifteen years later to find his mother, the Scottish
cook that fell under the spell of Don Alejandro Zarza. When Malcolm returns
to Texas, he finds his childhood friend, Leigh Wynne, a widow and owner of
the neighboring ranch. Unable to believe his gut-wrenching attraction to the
girl he thought of as a little sister, he tries to fight his own instincts
to make her his woman.
Inevitably, he fails in his struggle, because together they set their world
on fire. They forge a bond to find out the truth behind his dying father,
his vicious half-brother, the murderous Isabella, and the passionate grab
for the land held weakly by a man past his prime. Bullets will fly, and
Malcolm and Leigh must stand and fight, for their lives and their future.
The Buzz...
"If you
haven’t been reading Beth Williamson’s MALLOY FAMILY series, you’ve been
missing out... The characters are larger than life, bold as brass, and women
included-fight for what they believe in..."
Reviewer:
Chrissy, Romance Junkies, 4 1/2 blue ribbons
"The
passion between the hero and heroine will light you on fire, the
danger from the bad guys is palpable, and the emotional rollercoaster
the characters traverse isn't ridden alone...."The Reward" is a love
story and thriller rolled into one glorious tale!"
4 1/2 Stars - Lynn Lowe, eCataromance
 Meet The Author:
Beth Williamson lives just outside of Raleigh, North Carolina, with her
husband and two sons. Born and raised in New York, she holds a B.F.A. in
writing from New York University. Beth has worked as a newspaper reporter, a
poet, a novelist, and a technical writer.
Beth discovered the world of romance novels at the age of 11, and has been
writing them since she was 25. She loves cowboys and the Old West as you
will find out from reading her work.
Book Excerpt ~ Part One:
He had lived most of his life in the
shadows. Being cloaked in semi-darkness suited him, matched his
opinion of the world in general. Very few exceptions ever
penetrated the gloom. Most people thought he was an outlaw, that
a reward for his capture or death existed for him somewhere.
Being thought of as a vicious outlaw had its perks, not the
least of which people left him alone in his shadows. However, it
also had its drawbacks, and the worst was loneliness. He
couldn’t remember not being lonely, not being alone with no one
by his side or at his back since he became Hermano.
Dressed in his standard dark clothes and
battered brown duster, he stood with his saddlebags slung over
his shoulder in the pre-dawn darkness of the kitchen and looked
around slowly. He saw echoes of the love, laughter, and play
that marked the Calhoun family’s house. A house he had no
business staying at. Because he couldn’t play, laugh, or love.
Those luxuries had long since been abandoned. It was time to go.
He reached into the pocket of his pants and
pulled out a folded piece of paper with “Roja” written on it.
Roja was Nicky Calhoun, the sister of his heart for four years,
ever since she saved him from men that wanted to geld him and
leave him for the buzzards. He in turn had helped her hide from
the law when she was on the run from false murder charges, until
Tyler Calhoun, an extraordinary bounty hunter, had found her and
married her.
He laid the note on the kitchen table, then
turned and strode swiftly out the door without a sound. The note
sort of explained why he was leaving, but it was cryptic enough
that she wouldn’t be able to follow him. He headed to the barn
to get his horse, Demon, a roan that was even meaner than he
was, and ride the hell out of Wyoming. It was just too frigging
cold in this territory. Texas beckoned him back like a grasping
mistress.
He entered the barn and went to Demon’s
stall, careful to stay out of reach of his sharp teeth. He
saddled the stallion, careful not to make any noise. He didn’t
want anyone to know he was leaving yet. Tyler was just too
damned smart and Nicky was too nosy by half.
Living amongst the dregs of humanity for so
long had given him the skills to be as quiet as the night. He
never wore spurs, or anything that was shiny or jingly. When he
led the horse out of the barn, not even a mouse stirred behind
him. He secured his saddlebags on the back of his saddle with
his bedroll, then swung up with a small creak of leather.
He winced at the noise. Damn, he was
getting old.
Hermano turned and headed back into the
shadows of his hellish existence.
* * * *
Two days later, Tyler caught up with him.
In a small copse of trees, Hermano was eating his breakfast of
jerky and water in front of a pitifully small fire due to a lack
of dry wood in this snowy terrain. Unhappily gnawing on his
jerky, he saw the horse approaching. After cursing loudly, he
got himself mentally ready to meet the ex-bounty hunter head on.
Hell, he was definitely getting old if it only took two days for
him to be tracked. Used to be two years.
It was colder than a well digger’s ass that
morning. If Tyler had been riding all night, he was going to be
in a worse mood than usual. His horse churned up the snow as he
galloped toward him, great plumes of hot breath shooting from
the black horse’s snout with each exhalation. He looked like a
demon straight out of hell. Hermano stood and watched him
approach, lightly resting his hands on his pistols.
Tyler was a big man, well over six feet and
200 pounds, with hair like a crow’s wing and piercing blue eyes
that could freeze lesser men in their tracks. Hermano wasn’t
quite as big, but they were similar in build and he had dark
hair as well, although his was wavy. His eyes were more black
than anything, absent of color.
It seemed that married life had its
compromises, ones that got Tyler’s back up something good. He
glared quite convincingly at Hermano as he dismounted from his
big black gelding. No doubt Nicky had coerced him into
following. Fortunately, his hands were nowhere near the Colts
tucked neatly in their holsters. Hermano relaxed his stance and
sat back down on the hard rock that served as his seat.
“Buenos dias, gringo,” he greeted Tyler.
“Yeah, whatever, Hermano. You know you left
tracks a five-year-old child could follow.”
“Did Roja get my note?”
Tyler grunted. “Yeah, fat lot of good that
did her. She was worried about you. Send me to find you and give
you this.”
He thrust a pair of saddlebags at him,
stuffed, it seemed, with supplies.
Hermano felt a grin playing around his lips
and tried to stop it. He didn’t feel like getting pounded to a
pulp today by the mountain of a man several years his junior.
“Gracias.” He stood and took the
saddlebags. Looking inside, he saw biscuits, bread, canned
fruit, coffee beans, other trail supplies, and even a clean
neckerchief. Embarrassingly, he felt a lump forming in his
throat. It was the first time in many, many years that someone
had cared enough to make sure he had what he needed. Plus a
little more. So many years since someone loved him, had been
worried about him. So long.
“Your wife is a generous person,” he
finally got out. His voice was husky with emotion, dammit.
Tyler was staring at him hard. “Your
accent’s gone again, amigo.”
Hermano stared down into the saddlebags and
tried to ignore the other man. Ignore the fact that he’d made
yet another mistake in forgetting his borrowed accent, the
second time in a few weeks, in front of him. He was tired of
living behind a mask, tired of being someone else.
Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Not gonna say
anything, huh?”
Hermano didn’t answer, which was, of
course, his answer. When he finally met Tyler’s eyes, he’d made
a decision.
“Tell Roja I said gracias,” he said.
“I promised her I wouldn’t ask you and I
didn’t. Just pointed something out. At least let’s make some
coffee and have some chow. My ass is numb from riding so hard to
catch you.”
Hermano nodded. They would have breakfast
and then go their separate ways. They were silent as they ate
the biscuits stuffed with bacon Nicky had sent and drank the
awful coffee Hermano made from the leftover water in his
canteen. There wasn’t much they had in common, other than Nicky.
Hermano wisely decided not to discuss her with Tyler. He looked
pissed off enough as it was.
Book Excerpt ~ Part Two:
“Going south?” Tyler asked as he stood, brushing
the snow from the back of his pants.
“Yup. Going home.” He tossed out the coffee dregs,
then wiped out the pot with some snow. He stuffed the pot and cups into
his own saddlebags and picked up the blanket to start saddling Demon.
“You want to tell me where home is, or does she
already know?” Tyler pulled out a bag of oats from his saddlebags and
gave each horse a treat for breakfast.
Hermano nodded his thanks. “She doesn’t know, but
she knows how to reach me.”
He picked up his saddle off another rock and
sidestepped Demon’s nip to put it on his back. He pushed his knee into
the stallion’s belly to force him to expel air. Son of a bitch horse
tried that trick on him once in a while, and he usually ended up on his
head when the saddle slipped. Cinching the saddle, he hooked both sets
of saddlebags and his bedroll on the back. He glanced up at Tyler to
find him watching with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What if I need to find you?”
He stared into Tyler’s blue eyes. They both loved
the same woman, shared in their concern for her and her children. There
might come a time when Nicky couldn’t, or wouldn’t say, what was in the
note. Could he live with the consequences?
Probably not.
“Texas. About an hour northeast of Houston, little
town named Millerton.”
Tyler nodded. “I know where it is. I’m from outside
Austin myself. You know, it really chaps my ass that we’re both from
Texas.”
Hermano swung up into the saddle. Tyler had not
moved. “Do you have a name?”
He hesitated for a full minute before answering,
Demon dancing beneath him. “Malcolm. Malcolm Ross y Zarza.”
He swung Demon around and rode away before Tyler
could pepper him with any more questions. He’d already said too much,
more than he’d told anyone in too many years. The cold wind nipped at
his face as he galloped.
He was going home. Going home to find the mother he
left behind fifteen years ago. Going home to face Malcolm Ross again.
The man he could never be, that he thought he’d never have to be again.
Malcolm. God, how he hated the sound of that name.
It just didn’t fit, like a jacket that was too small and pinched at the
shoulders. He had once asked his mother why she had named him Malcolm.
With her brogue rolling like a swollen river, she said great kings of
Scotland had borne the name Malcolm. He had looked as great as a king
when he was born. He stifled a snort at the memory. King, my ass.
Peasant is more like it.
Home. More like the seven layers of hell.
* * * *
Tyler stared after the bandito as he rode off into
the morning sun. He’d gotten some answers from the elusive man.
Surprising ones. Malcolm Ross? Damn, that’s a Scottish name. He sure as
hell didn’t look Scottish. And the y Zarza was an old fashioned Spanish
custom for bastards. So Malcolm’s Spanish daddy wasn’t married to his
Scottish mama. There was a hell of a lot more to this story. Nicky was
bound to nag him until he found out more, too. He sighed and looked at
his horse.
“She’s got me wrapped around her little finger.
I’ll be in trouble when my daughter starts taking after her mother.”
He would wire a friend, a U.S. Marshall, in Houston
and find out a bit more about Malcolm Ross. And about Zarza.
* * * *
Malcolm Ross had a lot of time to think. Way too
much time. He thought about his mother a lot. How wonderful she had been
to him growing up. How hard his life would have been without her. That
just drove the guilt to new heights, poured salt in the wound, and
generally made him feel like the shitty bandito he had become. She would
be ashamed of him. That cut even deeper.
He tried to remember all the other people from the
hacienda he grew up on, Rancho Zarza. Like Diego and Lorena, the foreman
and the housekeeper who had treated him like a favorite nephew. And
Leigh. Oh, how could he have ever forgotten Leigh? She was as much a
part of growing up as anything on the ranch.
A tomboy who was constantly at his side from the
time she toddled up on her two feet and started following him. She was
three years younger than he, and they had been as tight as ticks on a
dog’s ass. Wherever Malcolm went, Leigh was sure to follow. When he’d
left at eighteen, she had been a very awkward fifteen. Malcolm
remembered giving her a kiss in their tree house--how she’d trembled,
then pressed her hands to her lips and looked at him with her bright
hazel eyes shining behind her glasses. He’d left her behind, too. Never
looked back. He found himself wondering who she had married and where
she lived now. He didn’t suspect she was still at Rancho Zarza, but
perhaps if her father was still the blacksmith, and if she’d never
married.… Impossible. Leigh was tall, but she was strong, healthy, and
smarter than most men put together. There’s no way she wouldn’t be
married with a passel of kids at her feet.
That thought was disturbing in some strange way. He
frowned at his bacon as he cooked it over the fire. It was time to stop
thinking so much. There were too many memories crowding his brain, so he
shut them off. He concentrated on staying alive, staying in the shadows,
and reaching Texas in one piece.
He didn’t
want to think about what was or wasn’t there waiting for him.
Interview:
You have three books already published, Beth. Tell us a little about each
and how you chose the setting for each one. Well, The Prize and The Bounty are both set in Wyoming
territory, 1880s. They are the first two in a series of four (not saying if
there is a number five, but it's a possiblity ;). I started writing The
Bounty, which is about a female outlaw by the way named Nicky Malloy and her
bounty hunter Tyler Calhoun, and I thought about how much I love to read a
series. Following the publication (finally!) of The Bounty, I started
writing The Prize, the story of Jack Malloy. Book 3, The Reward is about
Hermano, the super sexy, mysterious bandito you met in The Bounty. Book 4,
The Treasure, is submitted for publication. I picked Wyoming because not
only is it beautiful, but it was the first state to grand women the right to
vote - more than 20 years before the Constitution was amended to do just
that!
How long have you been writing and have you always wanted
to write?
Oh, probably since I was about
eight. My third grade teacher told my parents that I wrote “lovely poetry”
and that was all it took. I already had an incredibly vivid imagination, so
putting it to paper was the next logical step. To date, I’ve worked as a
newspaper reporter and a technical writer, as well as written poetry, plays,
screenplays, novels, and short stories.
What appeals to you most about writing western romances?
Well, anyone that knows me knows I have a “thing” for
cowboys. They have always been my heroes. Some women like a man in uniform,
others sweaty men in white t-shirts. I happen to love a man on a horse, with
a Stetson and a pair of chaps. Yowza! My husband teases me and yells
“yeehaw” when he’s feeling frisky. ;)
Seriously though I love historicals. Anything
historical really, from Medieval era to Regency England, and everything in
between. What appeals to me most about westerns is the strength of the
western man.
What
is about cowboys that rope you into writing them as your heroes?
I think it has to do with how a cowboy was the ultimate
gentlemen, by word of mouth of course. Helping stranded women, damsels in
distress, being a hard man that lived and worked hard. I like a man that
puts everything he has into what he does. And it doesn't hurt that their
asses look so fine up on those horses. Woo-doggie!
You
are a member of the Behind the Muse Writers Group. What does being a muse
with this group mean to you? Ultimately, what do you get out of it?
Being a muse is great fun. The rest of the muses are
writers, like me, but they all have different likes, dislikes, styles,
genres, whatever. You name it, we are as different as we can be. It's what
we have in common that bonds us together. Sisterhood and the creativity of a
goddess. What I get out of it is support, camaraderie, and a whole lotta
fun. :)
What
do you do when you aren’t writing?
Oh, geez, I knew you were going to ask that. Um, I work
full-time for a software company as a technical writer (split personality
ahoy!). I also have two boys, ages 9 and 13, a husband, a house, and all the
normal everyday things that most people have. I am a voracious reader and I
love movies - those are probably my two favorite fun things to do.
Which authors are must-reads for you?
Oh, must reads… there are so many! I read all kinds of
genres. My absolute favorite writer is Stephen King. In terms of romance…
let's see Lynn Kurland, Amanda Scott, Johanna Lindsey, Stephanie Laurens,
and Mary Balogh for historicals in general. For Westerns, Jodi Thomas, Joan
Johnston, Elizabeth Lowell, Leigh Greenwood, Jo Goodman, and Lorraine Heath.
What appeals to you as a reader?
If a story can elicit emotions from
me, whether it be laughter, tears, or *looking around to make sure my
kids aren’t watching* sexual excitement, the story captures me. There
are some stories that you can feel what the characters are going through.
When I wrote THE PRIZE, there is one scene in a cave (hint: look at the
cover) that actually made me cry it was so intense. That’s what I want from
a story. Transport me, make me laugh, cry, or wiggle ;) Make me feel.
Does
reading inspire your own writing?
Yes, I can be inspired by reading others. I think
Elizabeth Lowell’s Only series had some pretty “hard” western men. I knew
that’s what I wanted to write about. And although they aren’t your typical
men to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings, they feel everything deeply. Nothing
is done unless it’s done right. I also love stories with strong heroines. No
wimpy, whining girls for me – I’ll close a book if I find one.
What is the one thing you want your readers to remember
about your work?
I’d like them to remember that I
never write characters that are perfect. Mine have flaws and personality
quirks just like regular people. They’re not the all-consuming hero who
never had an unkind thought or the holier-than-thou heroine who does
part-time work at the church and orphanage. They are like you and me, and
they face adversity and challenges and just plain life, be it crappy or
wonderful. In the end, we can all imagine ourselves there, in that happily
ever after.
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