Fireblossom (49 page)

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Afterword

Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed reading Fireblossom – not just the story of Fox & Maddie, but also the history of the Black Hills in 1876.

I was living in South Dakota when I wrote this novel and historical accuracy was especially important to me. I made several trips to the Black Hills and cross-checked the often dubious sources that I unearthed. Although I enjoyed reading personal accounts (often derived from oral histories) of life in 1876 Deadwood, Custer's last stand, or tales from those who knew Crazy Horse or Wild Bill Hickok, I had to take them with a grain of salt.

It's important to me to make my characters live, but I'm also passionate about placing them on the factual canvas of history. The events of the summer of 1876 were almost beyond fiction: Custer at Little Bighorn, the arrival of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane in Deadwood, Hickok's murder, the August visit of Crazy Horse and his people to Bear Butte, the death of Preacher Smith, and the "starvation march" of General Crook's troops—which included the Battle of Slim Buttes and ended in (where else?) Deadwood! I followed authentic dates as closely as I could make them match among sources. For example, word of the Battle of Little Bighorn really didn't reach Deadwood until July 20.

The Lakota people did not fare well in the months following the end of this book. The Black Hills were signed away to the whites in October, and the treaty was ratified in February 1877. That spring, Crazy Horse arrived in Camp Robinson, Nebraska with the last thousand Indians who had continued to hold out against agency life. He had run out of choices, for his people were starving and being hunted much like the buffalo that had once provided for all their needs. Soon after his arrival at the white fort, Crazy Horse was stabbed to death in a scuffle with soldiers who tried to arrest him. The Lakota nation's age of glory on the Great Plains was at an end.

If you enjoyed
Fireblossom
, I hope you'll also read the story of Shelby, Fox and Maddie's daughter, and her involvement in Buffalo Bill's own town of Cody, Wyoming. Our hero, Geoffrey Weston, the fifteenth Marquess of Sandhurst, heads to the American West for one last adventure before succumbing to an arranged marriage.
Wildblossom
is filled with great fun and adventure, and I had a ball writing it!

Thank you so much for your continued support over the years. I appreciate every one of you.

Warm regards,

Cynthia Wright

Page forward for an excerpt from

Wildblossom

and discover Shelby Matthews's story

Excerpt from

Wildblossom

Matthews Novel #2

by

Cynthia Wright

Shelby Matthews, daughter of Fox & Maddie from Fireblossom, sets out for Cody, Wyoming, where she will manage her parents' cattle ranch with the help of her Uncle Ben and Cornishman Titus Pym. She has big plans for the ranch and decides to raise money on her own by playing poker in Cody. Meanwhile, Geoffrey Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst, has traveled from England to Wyoming for a last adventure before succumbing to an arranged marriage...

When the buckboard gained the last crest of the valley road and Cody came into sight, Shelby, Titus, and Ben all sat up a little straighter. It was a particularly fine late-April afternoon, although still clear and cold. The sky was keenly blue, decorated with puffy clouds, and the trees were thick with leaf buds. Skylarks and robins sang to herald the greening of the land, and prairie roses were opening everywhere. It was a difficult time to be downcast, but Ben Avery managed.

"For Pete's sake, Shel, I think you've lost your mind!" he grumbled, squinting into the distance.

"So you've told me about a hundred times," she said. "You're just upset that I didn't abandon my plan when you announced that no proper female would be seen gambling in one of Cody's saloons. As usual, dear uncle, you underestimated me!"

Sitting between Ben and Titus on the splintery seat, she was clad in the cowboy getup she'd worn to shock her parents that last morning in Deadwood. This time, however, she carried the costume one step further, pinning her hair securely out of sight under the Stetson, thickening her eyebrows with a pencil, and gluing a false handlebar mustache to her delicate upper lip. It looked ludicrous, but Titus had made it for her from the mane of her favorite horse, a pinto pony she called Gadabout.

"I don't get it, Titus," Ben complained. "Why are you helping her? If I ever tried to do somethin' this crazy, you'd be all over me like flies on... sugar."

The old man averted his eyes. "I'm inclined to give Shelby her head for a time. Besides, I suspect that she'd go ahead with her schemes with or without us." He gave Ben a bemused smile. "I'd rather be present."

"You both must admit that this is a splendid adventure!" She giggled. "Look at me! What would Mama say?"

"I shudder to think," Titus remarked.

They drew up in front of Purcell's Saloon on Sheridan Avenue. It was one of many such establishments, but probably the best-known and the place where the most money was likely to be wagered.

"Don't forget, Uncle Ben, that I'm your cousin Matt."

Ben Avery scowled at his niece. She wore angora chaps, a holster, boots, fringed vest, orange kerchief, a ridiculous false mustache that they'd coaxed with wax to curl slightly on either side, and her giant white Stetson hat.

"I can't believe you want me to claim you as a cousin. Not one man in my family ever looked like
that."

"Hush!" Shelby raised a gloved hand to Ben's mouth. "Just say I'm passing through from Iowa. Not that anyone will care. If they think I'm a little odd, they'll be more apt to bet a lot of money." Her shining smile appeared under the horsehair mustache. "Come on!"

Titus walked into the saloon next to Shelby while Ben lagged behind several paces. Weather-beaten cowboys glanced up from their card games, drinks, and smokes; the barest glimmer of disconcertion crossed their faces. When Ben went to the bar to order three beers and Shelby found a table and began shuffling a deck of cards, the glances from the other patrons became more curious.

"New in town, pilgrim?" asked a dusty, red-faced wrangler at the next table.

"Yeah, I'm passin' through from Sioux City," Shelby declared in the lowest, hoarsest voice she could muster. "Lookin' for a little entertainment."

Muffled laughter rippled through the saloon, and Ben, still standing at the bar, turned crimson. The man who had spoken to Shelby gave her a reptilian smile and leaned over to extend his hand. "My friends 'n' I'll be glad t'oblige you as soon as we're finished with this game. Name's Skinner."

Shelby put her cowhide-gloved hand in his and tried not to wince when he squeezed. "Pleased to meetcha," she growled. "They call me—Coyote Matt."

It took Titus Pym's last ounce of control to remain straight-faced. Amusement began to replace his apprehension and he nodded soberly and clapped Shelby on the back. "Yup, this feller's trapped a passel of coyotes all right!"

"More'n four thousand," Shelby proclaimed recklessly.

His hat pulled low on his brow, Ben sidled up to the table and put down the mugs of beer. One of the other cowboys hailed him, calling, "Hey, Avery, you know this fella?"

Ben stared at the tabletop. "We're... distant cousins," he mumbled.

The trio drank some of their beer as they waited to see who would be the first to bet against Coyote Matt. Soon there were restless noises as bodies shifted in their chairs and heads turned to glance at the odd newcomer. Some of those present at Purcell's Saloon clearly smelled a pigeon.

"Any moment," Shelby whispered gleefully.

Ben sniffed the air, then his gaze settled on his niece's excited face. Beer froth clung to her mustache. Leaning closer, he sniffed again and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Geez, Shel, you smell like Gadabout when she's been rode wet."

* * *

Out on Sheridan Avenue a tumbleweed careened in front of Cody's newest arrivals.

"What's that?" Geoffrey Weston inquired of his gentleman's gentleman.

"A common enough sight in this part of the world, my lord," Manypenny intoned. "I believe they call it a tumbleweed."

"Ah."

The two men were beginning to attract attention. Immaculately dressed, they stood next to an assortment of expensive traveling trunks and pondered the future. It had been disconcerting enough, arriving at a train station located a good distance from town, and then they had suffered the indignity of paying for a ride into town in the most ramshackle wagon imaginable, driven by an equally broken-down fellow who appeared to shun the concept of bathing. The man had left them here, surrounded by their belongings, and Geoff had decided against soliciting advice from the driver regarding their next move.

"I sense that we are overdressed," Geoff remarked. His tailored tweed suit was set off by a vest of Prussian-blue cashmere, a round-collared shirt with charcoal pinstripes, a four-in-hand tie, and polished black oxfords. He wore no topcoat or hat, and the afternoon sun picked up the gleam of his plain gold signet ring and his ruffled dark hair. "Did we forget to pack my boots, chaps, and holster?"