Wildblossom (54 page)

Many of the characters actually lived: Jacob Schwoob, Etta Feeley, and all the Wild West Show performers named and described. The events surrounding the opening of the Irma Hotel were recorded carefully, and I adhered closely to those details.

I should mention that Shelby's family home in Deadwood was inspired by the real Adams house which was restored in 1987 and transformed into an inn. I was able to stay there, in the room that is described as Shelby's own bedroom in
Wildblossom
. What a fascinating showplace! After she was widowed, Mary Adams closed up the house in 1934 and left it completely intact until she sold it in 1987. From the sheet music in the piano bench to the exquisitely embroidered sheets on my bed, the house was a time capsule. In 1992, Adams House was sold to Deadwood's Historic Preservation Committee, and it is now a museum.

As for the English settings, the Wild West Show did tour there during the weeks I placed them at Earl's Court. Also, the train crash that killed Cody's horse and injured Annie Oakley really happened—so the situation I created for Shelby was, theoretically, possible! The new king and queen did attend the Wild West Show, as described, on March 14, 1903.

Buffalo Bill grew older, his debts mounted, and he tried to keep the Wild West Show in business. Annie Oakley never rejoined the show. In 1912, when Cody was sixty-six, everything had to be auctioned to pay his creditors. Later, he organized a film recreating the Indian Wars and toured with other circuses to generate an income. His health deteriorated and he died in January, 1917, in Denver. Although Colonel Cody's wish was to be buried in Cody, Wyoming, he was laid to rest on Lookout Mountain in Colorado.

Consuelo (Vanderbilt), Duchess of Marlborough, was an intriguing historical figure, and the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire were real as well. London at the turn of the century was a fascinating place!

One more note: Yes, Geoff's look-alike ancestor was Andrew Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst, and hero of
Of One Heart,
which was set in 1532.

Adam Raveneau, Viscount Thorncliff, made a brief appearance in
Wildblossom,
and you will meet him again as the hero of his own novel. Tempest is coming (at last) in 2012! It will be my first new release in many years and I'm very excited.

I hope you'll come back and join me for more adventure and heartfelt romance.

Until then, happy reading!

Cynthia Wright

Page forward for an excerpt from

FIREBLOSSOM

Matthews Novel #1

Excerpt from

Fireblossom

Matthews Novel #1

by

Cynthia Wright

July 7, 1876

Daniel Matthews rode into Deadwood from the south, downhill into the crazy zig-zagging gulch. It was hot and the town stank, revealing its character before he could take a visual inventory.

The Black Hills themselves, one hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, were still nearly as enchanting as they had been when he'd first visited them with Lakota people half a dozen years ago. A lush, forested, game-rich island rising miraculously out of an endless sea of grass, the Hills possessed a unique beauty that far surpassed any grander mountains he'd ever seen. Even now, the land was still breathtakingly beautiful... until Deadwood's assault on the eyes.

Most of Main Street was blocked by two newly arrived bull trains. The oxen, mooing plaintively, were slumped in the mud in front of supply wagons now being unloaded by surging crowds of men. People were everywhere, scurrying in and out of tents, shouting at one another in the street, leaning out of windows in various states of undress. The town was pure, unbridled chaos.

Matthews pushed back his brown slouch hat and slowed his roan, whom he'd christened Watson during one particularly endless day in Wyoming. It made him feel sad and frustrated to see what his own people had done to this pristine haven. On the other hand, Deadwood was exactly the kind of town he needed. Disreputable characters of every sort wandered in and out of gold towns virtually unnoticed; scoundrels, outlaws, and others running from something or someone were the rule rather than the exception. Right now, Dan welcomed the prospect of blending in among them, unnoticed and unknown. He was grateful to have planned for an extended stay in the West; he had brought plenty of money.

His emotions had been intense following the final scene with Custer and his departure from the Seventh Cavalry. Now, however, Dan mainly felt fed up. He'd considered returning immediately to Washington, but he didn't much feel like facing the president. Custer had been right on one count—Grant was the person responsible for setting in motion the chain of events that led to the insanity at Little Bighorn.

Lying awake these past nights under the starry Wyoming sky, Dan had gone over the scenes between Custer and himself. He felt faintly sick about the whole business, since it was clear that his arguments had only incited Custer further. Perhaps if he had taken a different tack, less true to his own beliefs but tailored to appeal to Custer, he might have had more success.

The hell with it
,
Dan thought now
.
Deadwood was just the place to lie low for a while and wait for the dust he'd raised with Custer to settle.

Smiling grimly, Dan reflected that he'd be a bit difficult to recognize these days. He was scruffy and much leaner, having barely eaten during much of his ride through the unceded territory, where there were no forts or white settlements. He'd bought some of his clothes off friendly Cheyenne Indians near the border of Wyoming Territory. Snug buckskin trousers were stuffed into well-worn boots, and he wore a shirt of faded blue chambray with a brick red kerchief knotted loosely around his neck to soak up excess sweat. A holster and a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45 single-action revolver completed the picture. It wasn't showy, just extremely effective.

When it became nearly impossible to guide Watson through the dense crowds, Dan tied up the horse in front of a false-fronted building bearing a sign that read "Pioneer Printing Office". As he dismounted he was met by a man wearing a paper collar and a worn brown suit.

"New here, aren't you?" He thrust a newspaper into Dan's hands. "Permit me to introduce myself, pilgrim. I'm C. V. Gardner, publisher of the
Black Hills Pioneer.
We've only been printing a month."

Gardner wore a beard and his deep-set eyes made Dan think of a mournful hound. "Pleased to meet you, Gardner," he said, shaking his hand. "My name's Fox, and I've just ridden in from the southern Hills." Glancing down at the newspaper, Dan saw stories on Deadwood's celebration of the centennial Fourth of July. "Where can I get a bed and a decent meal?"

Gardner winked almost imperceptibly. "Depends on what sort of bed you had in mind. North of Wall Street, you can get yourself plenty of whiskey, a warm little chippie, and probably a bed, too. Try the Gem Theatre first, if you're interested."

Sensing that his eyebrows were about to fly up at this information, Dan nodded soberly and went on his way. He'd encountered his share of hard drinkers and soiled doves over the years, particularly during the war, but such pastimes were indulged in with a measure of discretion. Clearly Deadwood was a different sort of place.

The prospect of a bed warmed by a willing woman was tempting, but first he needed food. Salvation appeared in the form of the Grand Central Hotel, which, with just one story constructed thus far, served only meals. Dan went in and consumed huge quantities of mutton, beans, mashed potatoes, and apple dumplings with cream, all for fifty cents. While he ate, he read most of the
Black Hills Pioneer
and drank three mugs of coffee. Finally, his hunger appeased and many of his questions about Deadwood answered, he found himself dreaming of a whiskey, some leisurely conversation at a bar, and perhaps some female companionship.

He swung into the saddle again, bound for the makeshift livery stable down Main Street. They called this part of Deadwood the "badlands," he'd read in the
Pioneer
and it was wilder than any place he'd ever seen. The freight wagons were unloaded now, and bullwhackers cracked their long whips as they moved the protesting oxen down Main Street. Crates containing everything from store fixtures to caskets were stacked in front of buildings. Now that the excitement was dying down, the gamblers and serious drinkers were wandering back into the saloons.

The Gem Theatre had a balcony that was currently crowded with fancy ladies, rouged and scantily clad. They'd come out to investigate the latest shipments of goods, calling out questions about lace, perfume, and other hoped-for finery. Now, the sight of Dan riding slowly in their direction caused the girls to linger.

"Hey, handsome!" called one. Blessed with long black curls, she wore a flowered silk wrapper sliding off her plump shoulders. "Come on in! Tell Al you want Victoria!"

"No!" countered a slimmer blonde, laughing. "Tell him Bessie! What's
your
name?"

"Fox." It was a pleasure to be in a town where surnames and past histories were cumbersome details easier left unspoken.

Now they all began calling to him at once, leaning over the balcony railing to display their charms. Pushing back his hat, he flashed a grin.