{"id":1451,"date":"2014-09-27T00:47:53","date_gmt":"2014-09-27T00:47:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/?p=1451"},"modified":"2014-10-31T21:28:24","modified_gmt":"2014-10-31T21:28:24","slug":"halloween-contest-the-ballad-of-annie-sullivan-excerpt-and-cover","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/?p=1451","title":{"rendered":"THE BALLAD OF ANNIE SULLIVAN EXCERPT AND COVER!!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Ballad_of_Annie_Sullivan\"<\/a><\/div>\n
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EXCERPT<\/div>\n
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Little Creek Cow Camp, Bighorn Mountains, October, 1916<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0A slow shiver ran up Hank\u2019s spine causing cold sweat to chill his neck and forehead. His gaze held tight to the spot where he saw the woman. She was real. She had to be real. He jerked his gaze down the rough, uneven terrain he climbed after jumping from his horse and tearing after a blur of red hair and blue dress. He closed in on his quarry until, in a thick copse of pine, she vanished quicker than a plate of his mother\u2019s doughnuts.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Hank tugged up the collar on his wool plaid coat and tipped his hat down. Not even a damn track. He\u2019d pawed the ground like a bull searching for tracks, but his efforts failed to reveal a toe print. He turned on his boot heel to run his gaze over the mountainside before he reached his mount. The buckskin gelding gave him the skunk eye, the brown gaze following Hank. His horse, questioning his sanity, itched Hank\u2019s hide.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Stepping across leather, Hank settled into the saddle and patted the buckskin\u2019s neck.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cSorry there, boy. But didn’t you see her?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Chap whinnied and shook his head.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mrs. Baka, an elderly lady Hank helped out a bit who still held to a few of the gypsy ways of her people, once told him animals sensed spirits and things unseen by human eyes.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cEither you missed that special trait, boy, or I\u2019ve been up here too long with only you and cattle for company.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank reined Chap back to cow camp. The peace he usually found in these mountains eluded him as he made his way back to the small cabin serving as his summer home. The crunch of Chap\u2019s hooves on dried leaves, pine needles and branches set his jaw to grinding as the noise he normally wouldn\u2019t notice boomed inside him until he was sure his folks down in the valley heard them.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Since Cal and Josie Renner adopted him thirteen years ago, Hank volunteered to be the rider left on the mountain to secure the cattle and make sure the bulls scattered to breed those heifers ready. Every June like clockwork Hank, Cal, Josie and his brothers, except the littlest one at only five, gathered the herd and moved \u2019em up a narrow trail to cow camp on a grazing allotment the J Bar A shared with other ranches.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Then come September, Cal and the boys returned for the beef roundup. Pairs were separated from the yearling steers as ranchers worked together to earmark their beef. Hank breathed a bit better when they took the yearling steers down and headed for Parkman and he was alone again. He never begrudged his brothers and father the train ride to Omaha or Chicago to see the stock sold. As the only single Renner, Hank stayed put on the mountain while the others rotated which lucky couple got to head to the city\u2014and which wife got a shopping trip and a few fancy dinners.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0He glanced back. Thank the good Lord, the family would be back in two weeks to help take the rest of the herd down before the October fifteenth cutoff to be off the mountain. All this being alone was causing him to create red\u2013headed women in blue dresses.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Aspen trees, dressed in gold leaves just a week ago, now stood bare and black against a sun fading into the west. Hank scrubbed a hand over his face and scratched the rough whiskers, more the start of a beard. How did a woman disappear quicker than summer in Wyoming? She was real. She had to be real.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank shook his head and released thoughts of the woman into the frigid air. Real or not, she was gone and he had cows to check. Accustomed to the routine, the buckskin made his way to the herd. The chill in the air drove the cattle to huddle together and Hank made quick work of counting the pairs. When he came up three short, he reined his mount toward the tree line where black shadows shifted between the white trunks.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0He swung his gaze left and right. Even after confirming the shadows were his missing cows, he couldn\u2019t unhook the feeling that eyes were on him. He\u2019d felt eyes on him every summer, but had tossed it off to a rider from another ranch. This year, he couldn\u2019t brush it off\u2014 because an alternative option had presented itself just an hour ago. Urging the three stragglers down to join their herd, Hank clicked his tongue and reined Chap toward a warm fire and some supper.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0A mule rummaged around in the corral next to his sorrel. Hank rode past the holding traps and sent his eyes toward heaven. A groan rumbled from deep in his gut. Smoke curled from the stovepipe of the small cabin he and Cal had built the previous summer. For the first time, it didn\u2019t invite him to settle in for the night with a belly full of beans and a good book. He no more than got Chap combed and oats, and fresh hay to the horses kept at camp, when a rough voice had his head ducking farther into the collar of his coat.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHowdy, Hank boy. I took the liberty of gettin\u2019 the beans on the fire.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank wavered between being grateful the fire was already burning and irritation that he\u2019d have to share it. He wasn\u2019t much on people. Oh, he loved his family and missed them right now, but give him a couple of weeks down at the ranch and he\u2019d be riding off alone first chance he got. About the only person he could stand longer than most was his twin, Jerry; but for being born a few minutes apart, they couldn\u2019t be more different. Jerry was a man about town and never met a stranger; where, it seemed a person remained a stranger to Hank for years after they met.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0His brothers all found girls the minute his stepmother Josie married Cal Renner, and Cal saw to it the family went to socials and the boys all went to school. Like dominos, each brother married\u2014with the youngest, Mitch, being the first to marry. Each brother built a home on the ranch, and the brothers and their wives started having children almost as soon as the roof was put on the house.<\/div>\n
Hank chose to go to the university in Laramie. After earning his degree, Hank wandered a bit, always finding his way back to the J Bar A. Two years ago, he planned to follow a family friend, Will Connor, to Europe and help the Brits fight against the Kaiser, but his Ma had raised the roof\u2014so Hank stayed, but spent his time away from town and the busybodies asking why he wasn\u2019t married and starting his family. His family respected his need to be alone. People like Walter Sorenson did not.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cAre ya comin\u2019 in, or starin\u2019 at the sky \u2019til it turns blue again?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank kicked at the dirt, then started toward cabin. \u201cWhat brings you up this far, Walter?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cA little huntin\u2019. And checkin\u2019 on the ol\u2019 place.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank gave a nod. He ducked a bit to get through the door without knocking his head off. How two men well over six feet could build a place and not make the door passable for anyone over five foot ten, Hank couldn\u2019t say. Could have been the few nips they had of the French wine Will Connor sent while they were measuring. Cal tried to tell Josie they\u2019d been celebrating hearing from Will after a year of nothing when she found them propping up a wall singing God Save the King and toasting George V.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0His mouth twitched with the memory as he toed off his boots and hooked his hat and coat on the wooden pegs by the door. The humor turned to a scowl at Walter\u2019s hat and coat taking up room. He stomped over to the fireplace and sat on his heels, rubbed his hands together in an attempt to shake the cold and his sour attitude. The gas light over the table hissed, casting a dim light over the room. The Little Creek cow camp\u2019s abode wasn\u2019t a mansion, but it was spacious compared to most. Though one room, a kitchen area occupied one corner, complete with a Monarch iron stove and icebox, and even a few cupboards above the sink with a pump, so when Josie was there she didn\u2019t have to haul water.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Memories warmed Hank and thawed his mind. He\u2019d never call Walt a friend, but he couldn\u2019t slot him as an enemy, either. It wouldn\u2019t hurt him to be hospitable. Once he gained his manners, he unfolded to his full height. Walter stood dishing up beans from the Monarch stove onto an enamelware plate.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYou know most people up in these mountains?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Walter flopped on the cedar bench, taking up one side of the table and swallowed a spoonful of beans. His dark eyes sparked with flames from the fire and curiosity.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cNot many left up here. Why?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAny have a daughter, or maybe a younger woman?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank couldn\u2019t say why he thought it was a young woman other than the fact she moved with the speed and grace of a deer. If truth be told, at twenty\u2013eight he might not be as spry as he used to be, but he sure as hell didn\u2019t want to hear a woman of eighty outran and outfoxed him.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0If he hadn\u2019t been staring holes into him, Hank would have missed the way Walter shifted in his chair and raked his fingers through what little was left of his gray hair. After a deep draw of coffee, the man wore a mask of innocence.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cA woman, ya say?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cYeah, you know\u2026\u201d Hank waved his hands drawing a curvaceous figure in the air, \u201ca woman. Remember how they look?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Walter\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cVaguely. But there hasn\u2019t been a woman up here in\u2026\u201d he swallowed hard; like emotion clogged his throat and smoke filled the eyes that just seconds before held fire. He pushed the plate away from him. \u201cTen years\u2026ten years to the day next Sunday.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank slid into the rickety ladder\u2013back chair opposite Walter, his own hunger forgotten. Something rode him hard to find out about the woman who lived in the Bighorns. It was ten years ago, but something as intangible as air told him she held the key to the day\u2019s insanity.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat happened October 10, 1906?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Walter\u2019s eyes turned to black ice. \u201cI\u2019m not much on ghost stories, boy, so if you\u2019re lookin\u2019 for entertainment, look to someone else.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank leaned back in his chair and could only stare at a man who lived to gossip, tell wild stories and entertain. Hell, even among the chatty hens of Sheridan, a man couldn\u2019t find half the juice to a story as Walter Sorenson could give. And damn if what the man didn\u2019t know, he could weave a wild tale around until a person didn\u2019t care what was fact or fiction anymore.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Walter pushed off the bench and scraped the leftover beans into the pot before dumping his plate into a sink of soapy water. Hank watched the man shift his short stature from fire to water. He smoothed his mustache.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI saw a woman today.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0A blue and white enamel mug hit the floor and Hank winced as the last mug was chipped. Then he turned his attention back to Walter. The man was white as the frosting on his brother Howard\u2019s birthday cake. The buzz of the gas light hummed like a swarm of bees in the awkward silence.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cA woman?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank shrugged, \u201cYeah, well at least from what I saw, which wasn\u2019t more than a flash of red hair and her blue dress.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cAnnie,\u201d the man choked out the name.<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Hank hitched a brow. \u201cAnnie? You know her?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0A tremble shook Walt\u2019s shoulders and his face darkened. \u201cUsed to.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cUsed to?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cAnnie Sullivan was raped and murdered ten years ago.\u201d<\/div>\n
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Thanks for stopping by!!<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

EXCERPT Little Creek Cow Camp, Bighorn Mountains, October, 1916 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0A slow shiver ran up Hank\u2019s spine causing cold sweat to chill his neck and forehead. His gaze held tight to the spot where he saw the woman. She … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1451","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books-and-more"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1451","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1451"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1451\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1459,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1451\/revisions\/1459"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1451"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1451"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1451"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}