Welcome to The Sons of Johnny Hastings Blog Tour. Leave a comment for the chance to win some awesome prizes! I’ve got Patricia Green on my blog today. Before we dive in and drool over Abel Armstrong, let’s get her to answer this question.
Patricia, if you could be transported back in time to the nineteenth century, what is the most appealing thing about it? The least appealing thing?
If I could be transported back, I think the thing I would like the most would be the formal manners of the time. I’d like to be called “Miss” or “Mrs.” regularly and until I gave permission otherwise and took a step toward a deeper friendship. It’s a signal we don’t have anymore and I think we’ve lost something in being so free with people’s first names.
The thing I would like the least would be the way clothes were washed. I can’t imagine using lye soap and a washboard.
I think I’d feel awkward calling someone I just met by their first name too and I know for sure that I wouldn’t like to wash clothes bent over a washboard. Okay, let’s get to the good stuff!
The Blacksmith’s Bride by Patricia Green
Sunny Winslow knows exactly what she wants in a man. When she meets the blacksmith, Abel Armstrong, in her new home she’s immediately hooked. Unfortunately, her mother has other plans for her that do not include a blacksmith. She is determined to tie Sunny to a rich town counselor. Sunny is desperate to escape the counselor, so she embarks on a series of schemes to get the man she wants.
Abel Armstrong has some skeletons in his closet. In the late 1800s, it’s quite the scandal to be a divorced man. Over the course of the last ten years, he’s had to work very hard to get his reputation back. Meeting Sunny is like a breath of fresh air, but he can’t afford to throw caution to the wind and force their joining by doing something disreputable.
Can spankings teach Sunny to have some patience and trust that Abel’s way is the right way? And, can Abel deal with Sunny’s impulsive scheming and keep his standing in the community intact?
As he put on his hat against the afternoon sun, he observed a game of blind-man’s-bluff a group of young women, somewhere between seventeen and twenty-one years old, were playing. They were laughing and giggling, flitting around each other and trying to confuse the one with the blindfold over her eyes. She was laughing as hard as the others and her attempts to tag one of them were vigorous but fruitless. Her hair was dark blonde with sunlit streaks, and her mouth was a rosebud, pink and tender. The girl’s laugh trilled in the air like the crystal bells the ladies played at church concerts. She had a fine figure, too, petite and perfectly proportioned. A woman that size would make Abel feel like a giant among men.
Eventually, the woman tagged someone, and then fell to the ground with breathless giggles, pulling off her blindfold as she fell. Her eyes were as blue as cornflowers, glowing with youth and vitality. Abel pegged her age at nineteen or twenty. And, best of all, she was new around here. He’d never seen her before. It seemed unlikely that anyone was already courting her…unless she was maybe already married. It was common enough for women of such an age to be married, some with children already. She probably wouldn’t know about his societal scar.
He tried to make out if she had a ring on her finger, but he couldn’t quite tell.
His friend Bruce sauntered up, offering him a glass of lemonade, which Abel took and absentmindedly sipped at. “Now that’s a pretty sight,” Bruce said with a smile, as they watched the girls playing.
“A single man like you could have his pick, Abel. I don’t know why you haven’t settled down yet. It’s been nearly ten years.”
Looking at the new girl, he was wondering the same thing, but it didn’t take him long to remind himself that a giggly girl barely out of the schoolroom was hardly the right mate for man of his age. He needed a widow, maybe. It wasn’t as exciting as having a young woman, of course.