The day Talmadge Hammond drifts into the ramshackle Idaho mining camp and back into Noletta Kittridge’s life is the one she begins covered in another man’s blood, accused of his murder. Once, they vowed to love each other until… Will brushing off his dusty law degree be enough to save Letty since she refuses to name the true killer?
The noose
is her reward for sinning to stay alive. She believes redemption can only come
from saving the person who accidentally killed the man. They have the will to
live, which even Tal’s reappearance in her life can’t supply. Death is the
price she will remit, but it is a debt he is determined to keep her from
paying. To do so, Tal must solve the mystery of who did kill the victim.
If he
fails, he and Letty will reach that unvoiced destination beyond until...
Good
morning, Nolette. Let’s start with where you’re from. Boston, Massachusetts
What
did you think the first time you saw Tal Hammond? I was pleasantly surprised that he was so personable
considering I’d decided sight unseen that even if he was a short, fat toad,
that because my parents were set against him because he was making waves in the
legal field but also that he wasn’t of our class or from Boston, I intended to
meet the man I thought sounded far from dull. He was quite the opposite of a
toad, being tall, well turned out, charming and quite amused that his name was
already on my dance card for a waltz.
Works
for us. What was your second thought? That
it didn’t matter what my parents and society at large considered proper, he was
the man of my choice.
Again,
works for us. Was it love at first sight for you? Love, no, but attraction, most definitely.
What
do you like most about Tal? That he
is a man who lives by his principles. While the firm he works with is unhappy
about the number of pro bono cases he takes on for the lower class, and
frequently gets them reprieves, that doesn’t stop him from standing up for those
unfortunates. There are very few in the upper class I was born into that feel for
these people or who even care what happens to them. Sadly, his strong feelings
took him away, avoiding the conflagration of the war between the Union and the
newly formed Confederacy. He believes the differences should have been settled
through compromise, not open warfare. As he cannot condone the actions of
either side, and I lack the courage to follow him, two years ago he stole from
the city, though not without giving me the love token of a pearl and emerald
ring that I dare not wear.
How
would you describe Tal? Handsome,
without a doubt. He is tall, his hair dark. His eyes are a shade that has made the
sapphires in my jewel box my favorite accessories because they remind me of him.
In Boston he affected nicely trimmed muttonchop whiskers but in the wilderness
of Idaho Territory, he is as ungroomed as the other miners. The once well-tailored
suits of the city have been replaced with rougher clothing. Spurs ring at his
heels. A pistol is holstered on his belt and a knife strapped to his thigh. His
hat is no longer that of a gentleman but of a man living in and off the
wilderness as the rain and sweat mars on it show.
How
would he describe you? No doubt as a
coward. I have, after all fallen far from the pedestal I was expected to stay
safely upon. No longer the debutante with a tempting dowry, I am now a woman
forced by circumstances to inhabit the lowest possible profession, though also
the oldest. A woman whose only talents are being charming and pouring tea for
her elders, has no other option in the western wilderness when stranded among
men who have only one use for women with no household habits. I should have
followed Tal. Instead, I am now accused of murder and due to be hanged. Though
he is insistent that he can prove my innocence, it is not something that will
come to pass. Because I plan to accept death rather than name the person who
did kill the man whose blood I wore, Tal no doubt also sees me as stubborn and
foolish. The willowy blonde socialite he fell in love with ceased to exist
months ago.
What
made you choose prostitution for a career? I did not choose to become a prostitute but was forced by
circumstances – the loss of the family fortune, the death of my brother who was
also my protector – to accept this life and the protection of the brute who kept
me safe but sold me.
What
is your biggest fear? My biggest fear
is actually two-fold. I fear I will break and name the person I vowed to
protect, in whose place I will go to the gallows. But I also fear that losing
this case – a case that is impossible to see to any conclusion other than that
of my being found guilty – will break Tal. We lost each other once. This time
will truly be the final time.
How
do you relax? I am accused of murder
in a small mining camp and will be hanged for the entertainment of those who
live here when the verdict of guilty is leveled. There is nothing that I find
relaxing about the hours of my life dripping away.
Who
is your favorite fictional character? Young
ladies of society are not encouraged to read fiction. Only poetry is
promoted as proper for women of my class, and frankly, even that is tedious.
From things I’ve overheard other women mention of the fiction they have read,
it sounds like the worst melodramatic foolishness.
What
is the best piece of advice you ever received? Every piece of advice I’ve ever been given has proved
to be false in this wilderness, so I must confess that I doubt there is a best
piece of advice that exists.
Thank you
for spending what little time you have left on this earth to chat with us. Now
we’d like to spend time with Beth Daniels, your creator.
What
movies or books have had an impact on your career as a writer? Weirdly, I’m inclined to say comedy although Until
. . . is not a comedy, as you could probably tell from Letty’s comments
above. History class was always my favorite class. I would love to say creative
writing followed that, but as we didn’t have creative writing classes back in
the Jurassic age (before computers), I can’t say that they had an impact on my career
as a writer. I learned to write by reading voraciously. I love movies where
things blow up and snarky dialogue is common. I read historical adventure,
romantic comedy, romantic suspense, urban fantasy (though not paranormal shifter
romance), Steampunk, Gaslamp fantasy, and mysteries of all sorts (except for serial
killers, whom I have no truck with). However, I write American West historicals
with romance, partly because I grew up watching westerns with my dad, and I
love a 19th century man with a gun on his hip and a slouch hat
tilted low over his eyes. They probably all look a lot like Tom Selleck in Quigley
Downunder though they probably sound more like Sam Elliott.
What
event in your private life were you able to bring to this story and how do you
feel it impacted the novel? I don’t
put things from my private life in my character’s lives usually, though I have
given a heroine my emergency appendectomy, and the hero in the current WIP was
in a car accident that gave him a limp, though his injuries were much worse
than mine when a lady ran a red light and killed my car. The only thing I might
have in common with the characters in Until . . . is Tal’s playing with
the way he phrases things occasionally. Otherwise, nothing of a personal nature
contributed to this story. Actually, I’ve never even been to Idaho either!
Tell
us a bit about your publisher: how did you hear about them and what influenced
your decision to submit to them? While
Until . . . is my 8th historical, it is the first that will
be with The Wild Rose Press. For awhile it was difficult to find publishers
interested in Old West adventures with romance, the trend being more toward
inspirational and prairie, which was not my “scene” in the least, so I shifted
to Weird West Steampunk. That didn’t mean I didn’t still have some story ideas
that weren’t speculative based fantasy though. Because I loved Tal and Letty’s
story, I kept looking for somewhere willing to do a historical romance that had
a lot of mystery in it. I confess, it was not always easy to work the romance
in considering my heroine spends nearly the whole book confined in a jail cell.
What
book[s] currently rest on your TBR pile? Basically a wide variety, though the latest Veronica Speedwell
adventure from Deanna Raybourn was consumed not long ago and I’m looking forward
to time with C.S. Harris’ latest title in her wonderful Sebastian St. Cyr Regency
mystery series. Keeping an eye out for another Ravenwood Mystery from Sabrina
Flynn. Otherwise, there’s some romantic comedy and lots of urban fantasy with
male lead characters – but then, that’s the sort of urban fantasy I write under
a different name, the type where snark and magic rule the day.
Lastly, what's up next and
when can we expect to see it on the shelves? Actually, I have a short story set in 1881 Tombstone,
Arizona Territory in an anthology that releases July 1st from Dark
Owl, Something This Way Wicked Rides. My story is a “The Tombstone
Affair.” It’s sort of a historical fantasy fall back to my North Pole Security
urban fantasy (without a city) short stories about Santa Corp, which I write as
J.B. Dane. I’m also working on a 4-book paranormal mystery comedy set that I
plan to do a rapid release on as an Indie series as Beth Henderson beginning
(hopefully) later this summer. Otherwise, who knows what will surface yet in
2021. The 3rd book in my Raven Tales urban fantasy series is set for
a 2022 release (also written as J.B. Dane).
Beth brought an excerpt from Until . . .
Although
the men dragged the half-clad woman along, their grips tight and threatening,
she wasn’t fighting or resisting them physically or verbally. She looked
beaten, not in body but in spirit. And yet, when she stumbled, the toe of her
wear-marred but neatly laced-up boot catching in the cloying mud, pitching her
forward out of the men’s custody, the crowd gasped. Some stepped farther back to
avoid physical contact. The carrion seekers in the mob pressed nearer, set to
rend her vulnerability.
They
hurled insults at her. She suffered the name calling, if it could be called
such. The style of her clothing—or lack of it—and the building itself proclaimed
the truth of her profession. She was the whore they called her.
Then
he heard the new word, the word that was at first only whispered before it
gained a more daring voice: murderess.
One
of the men yanked her upright, uncaring whether he hurt her or not. It was only
then, when she raised her head, her chin, in a manner any grand dame reared in
the top tier of Eastern society would recognize, that he knew her.
It
couldn’t be.
And
yet, when she swept the gathered crowd, the gaze she turned on them was the one
she had learned at her mother’s knee. At her grandmother’s table and at enumerable
dinners, balls, and afternoon teas in Boston.
Tal
watched in stunned amazement as the once Honorable Miss Noletta Kittridge
shrugged free of the man’s hand and with a back straightened by years of
deportment, stepped from the meager shelter of the porch, moved beyond the
hungry, insult-hurling crowd, and strode on her own toward the camp jail.
She
looked at no one, met no eye, taking comfort in the inborn dignity of the class
into which she had been born.
Her class,
Tal thought, heart sore. He’d never been a true part of it, merely a hanger-on,
a climber. A friend to her brother.
And
that friend had called him a traitor to his country.
But
Letty… What was she doing in Idaho Territory? She should be enjoying the
comforts of Boston, being fêted by the officers who managed to make it home and
the wealthy industrialists who paid other men to take their place in the
infantry lines.
If
she hadn’t stridden down the sorry muddy excuse of a street with her blueblood
holding her above the rabble, he might have doubted his eyes. Even so, it was
difficult to believe Letty Kittridge and the prostitute with blood and mud
drying on her scant clothing were one and the same.
The
show over, the crowd dispersed around him. Before they could all disappear, Tal
tapped a blurry-eyed man in a threadbare suit coat on the shoulder.
“Pardon,
friend,” he said. “Could you tell me what that was all about?”
“Gal
shot her man, from the looks of it,” the fellow said. “Not surprised it
happened, just that it took Pearl this long to do it.”
“Pearl?”
“The
dove they arrested.”
“You
sure she’s the one that did it?” Tal pressed.
“Wearing
Rosser’s blood, isn’t she? Why the interest, mister?”
Tal
gave the man what he hoped passed for a harmless grin. “Just making sure no
other gal or man’s like to shoot my fool head off while I’m here.”
“Gold
brought you, then?”
“Brought
everyone else in town, too, I’d say,” Tal observed, his smile widening.
“You’re
right,” the man agreed and chuckled. He offered his hand. “Ebner Melton, mayor
of this little burg.”
“Adam
Cain,” Tal said easily and pumped the mayor’s paw. He’d been using the alias
for too long now to ever stumble over offering it. It was more difficult to
remember his life as Talmadge Hammond back in Boston.
Did
Letty feel the same?
“Where
do you hail from, Mr. Cain?” the mayor asked.
“Anymore,
the last gold field that called to me,” Tal admitted. “’Fore that, Canada and points
beyond.”
“And
might I ask what you did before you came down with gold fever?’
The
mayor was treading on dangerous ground now, wanting to know what sort of man
he’d been back East. But considering events at this gold strike, Tal decided
the truth needed to be let out at least one last time.
“I
was a lawyer, Mr. Mayor. One with a knack for defending the innocent.”
Oh wow, this is a great interview!
ReplyDeleteOoooh, what an intriguing excerpt. Love the interview.
ReplyDeleteLetty sounds like a fascinating hero. Best of luck on the book!
ReplyDelete