Gifford MacShane

@authorgmacshane.bsky.social

2683 Followers 3115 Following

PwME Cat herder, gardener, & author of Historical Western Romance that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit. https://Books2Read.com/GiffordMacshane #Ally #EqualRights #AdoptDontShop No bees=no food=no humans #ClimateChange #SlavaUkraini 🚫AI

Tommy pushed the trunk along the street until it sat next to the piles of baggage and hat boxes. “Who belongs t’ all this stuff?” Sam gestured toward a tall woman in a tan duster who stood a few yards away, peering up and down the wide street into the darkness. “All hers. But I gotta get this mail sack down the Trading Post.” “Nobody awake there now,” Tommy told him. “Be s’prised if there ain’t. Can you get ’er settled? I gotta take care o’ the hosses after this.” “I’ll take care of ’em,” Young Jim volunteered. “I can do that. Be happy to.” “All right, son,” said Sam, and waved his hand gracefully from Tommy to the woman, as if inviting them to dance. Tommy stared at him for a moment, shook his head, then gave Sam a mocking salute and headed for the passenger. “You lookin’ for someone, Miss?” he asked as he neared her. She turned to face him, then stumbled back screaming.
"A powerful narrative rooted in truth & history."
Book shown against a lake-scape with an eagle flying. Text: Some legacies are written in silence. Some destinies are forged without thunder.
Grayscale picture of a young woman wrapped in a shawl or blanket. Text: Penned with transparency, the characters' secrets, hopes, thoughts, silent pleas, and even fear-ridden nightmares are exposed. Their growth is only realized, however, through the haunting, relentless foreboding of the antagonist. Jesse's life cannot be truly settled unless she comes to terms with the repercussions of her brother's despicable acts.
Book Cover (an eagle flying over a lake with mountains in the background). Text: An outcast Society belle. The Navajo man she loves. The woman who craves their downfall.
“By the way," Adam said, "Mother told me Tommy’s bringing Alicia to dinner tomorrow. Are things getting serious between them?” “They’ve been serious for him for quite a while now. She’s a bit harder to read.” Alec motioned to the chairs by the fireplace. “Come sit down. Maybe you can tell me how to handle this.” Adam had a way of understanding people that Alec didn’t comprehend but admired; he was seldom wrong in his perceptions. “As long as I can remember, he’s never acted this way.” Alec sat on the arm of a chair upholstered in a subtle green and cream floral. “You know how my parents were—laughing one minute and shouting at each other the next. I don’t know quite how to deal with all this… chivalry, I guess. He treats her like she’s made of glass. With gentleness and… and patience. He’s never loud around her except when he laughs. It’s… I guess disconcerting is the word.” “The people who come into our lives always change it,” Adam said. “Most of the time it’s a small change. Incremental, you might say. But every once in a while, one will hit us like a lightning bolt and create an unimaginable difference.” “Like lightning,” the silversmith repeated. “That’s accurate. It hit him, I think, the first moment he saw her face. She was lying there on the couch, and we didn’t know what was wrong, whether she would live or die.” Alec’s lips twitched. “At any rate, it seems to have chased the thunder away.”
Irene let her red mare choose a pace, and they slowed to a walk at the edge of the woods. She dismounted slowly and sank down against an oak tree at the edge of a glade. Red wandered in search of grazing, Blue sat quietly at her feet. Pulling her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly, she bit her lip as the tears started again. She fell over to one side, still curled into a ball, still weeping silently. From the deep forest he watched her. For four days, he’d waited for her, expected her, haunted the woods in search of her. Yet he should have known her family wouldn’t let her out to wander through the rain. Alec chided himself for his own foolishness and approached her silently. He knelt by her side and knew she didn’t realize he was there. “Querida,” he murmured. Beloved. She gazed up slowly. He held his arms out and after a long, silent moment, she reached for him. Pulling her up into his arms and across his lap, he leaned back against the oak. She pressed her face against his neck, clinging to the sleeves of his shirt. The silent tears frightened him. Despair could lead men to unconscionable deeds―and to madness. He began to chant Blue Deer’s healing song, singing all the verses he could remember, then starting over again. When he heard her sobs begin, he gave thanks to the old gods.
Black cat in a blue collar staring right at you.
Alicia sat alone on a bench under an apple tree in her aunt’s front yard. Eyes closed, hands clenched together, she concentrated on both relaxing her muscles and controlling her temper. With neither effort was she having much success. Her aunt June’s voice still rang in her ears. The confidence she’d felt on the journey here had suffered a definite check when she found out her aunt hadn’t known of her imminent arrival. And she didn’t recognize the person that June had become. Maybe she was angry that she hadn’t been consulted about Alicia’s arrival, but that didn’t explain the curtness June showed to the people she’d been living with in this town for years. The downright nastiness she’d displayed toward the man who’d helped her. Or the constant, unrelenting criticism she’d subjected Alicia to.
“I gots present for Lissie.” Sturdy little Kevin marched forward, his bright blue eyes serious, his dark hair mussed, a gravy stain on his shirt. He looked up at Tommy and said, “It jus’ for Lissie. She my friend.” “Awright,” Tommy said. “That’s fine.” He was rewarded with a gigantic smile. “Mama gonna help,” Kevin said. “But it my present. OK, Lissie?” “Of course.” Jesse knelt beside him. “Are you ready?” “Yeah.” Very softly, Jesse began to sing. “I’ll follow you over the river…” Kevin’s voice grew louder as he gained confidence before the crowd and, by the third line, Jesse let her own voice fade away. Lissie, Lissie, you are a good friend to me, to me. Lissie, oh Lissie, you are a good friend to me.
Underneath the gay and beautiful exterior admired by the world, there was a creature of uncertainty. Irene displayed confidence because it was expected of her, hid her insecurities because her family laughed at them. But Jesse knew she constantly worried―about being too tall, too big. About being more of a burden than a help to her family. She accepted their compliments, their praise of her beauty, yet the more they spoiled her, the more she reflected the behavior she hated, because it seemed to be what they wanted.
As they turned into an alley, Irene realized how dark it was. “Let’s go back,” she suggested, glancing around the empty street. “I feel like dancing.” “We can dance here. Can’t you hear the music?” “But, Ben...” She was in his arms, being waltzed around the alley. “Let’s go back.” She tried to break away from him. “Please let go. You’re hurting me.” “What’s the matter? Ain’t I good enough for you? You spent all afternoon with that Injun in Carolyn’s bedroom, but you won’t even dance with me!” “How dare you!” She tried to slap him, struggled to break free. “Get your hands off me!” “I don’t think so, darlin’. Not ’til I get me some of your lovin’, too. Wouldn’t want you to waste it all on that Injun.” “You filthy... let go!” His hands were like vises, his mouth wet and hard on her cheek, her throat. “No, stop it! Let me go!” She struggled violently against him, but she wasn’t strong enough to fend him off. Her heart raced, her head spun. Then she heard a low voice behind her. “Seems t’ me I heard the lady say ‘no’.”
The way had been long and hard. He was exhausted and his feet were cold. He whined in the man’s ear. But the man didn’t move. The first day had not been so difficult. The sun shone fitfully; they could see their way around obstacles. He knew they had to head down the mountain, and the man had followed him without hesitation. But some time in the night, the stars had flickered out one by one. The wind gained strength and its blasts had frozen them. Then came the snow. Roaring around them, enveloping them in a chill vapor of white. Blinding them. The man had stumbled―fallen over a short, steep, rocky ledge. Fallen on his head. It had been a long time before he could nudge the man into movement again. The man had struggled to his feet, groaned with pain and, reaching up to touch his face, found the blood frozen on it. The man had staggered on, letting himself be led, and hadn’t stopped, even when the blanket slipped from beneath his coat. Day came again, bringing some lightening of the gray mists around them, some slight increase in temperature. Then a strap on one of the man’s snowshoes snapped, and their way was slow. Very slow. The man had stumbled time and again, clawed his way back to his feet, and gone on just to stumble again. The last time he fell, he began to cry. “Niña,” he called brokenly. “Querida! I’m sorry.” His eyes had closed against the enveloping cold. Darkness came again, but the man would not respond. There was a scent on the air―the scent of fire. He knew that where there was fire, there would be men. Friend or foe, it did not matter now. He needed them. But he couldn’t leave the man. His mistress had commanded him to stay―to lead, to take him home. The fire meant safety for both of them―but he could not leave the man. Blue dropped the blanket he’d dragged along all day, sank slowly down on his haunches in the snow and howled.
The Arizona winter brought rain, cold and incessant. When the stream could hold no more, it spewed out rivulets between the cabin and the barn, turning the yard into a pitted, rutted moonscape. Swiftly the rains were followed by sleet, hail, and a thin watery snow that chilled to the bone. Temperatures dropped. The yard froze into a single sheet of ice, making each step more treacherous than the last. Ice glittered on the trees, on every branch and twig, until they sparkled like jewels in the weak sunlight. In the canyon known as Rocking Chair Ranch, Jesse struggled to hang on to life.
The hound ran to the door, eager for her to come. Unable to stand, she found it easiest to slide along the floor on one hip, dragging the injured leg behind her, repeating her instructions to Blue with every breath she took. “Take him home. Take Alec home. Don’t leave him. Take him home.” The hound was dancing in anticipation when she finally gained the door. The latch was too high for her to reach from the floor―she had to pull herself up, using the wall for support. She fell once, landed heavily on her elbow and cried out with the pain. She tried again and got the door open. The wind blew it wide, almost toppling her. But Blue flew out into the storm. It took every ounce of strength she had to close the door against the wind. She sank to the cold floor, bowed her head into her hands and cried.
“Thet’s a mighty big noise yu’re makin’, Mr. Fieldstone," Ray Benson said. "Oh, but it ain’t Fieldstone after all, is it, Blandings? I got yur identification right heah.” And the constable pulled the wallet out of the gray tweed jacket Blandings hadn’t noticed hanging on a peg in the corner of the jail house. “So I lied.” It was belligerently said. “Man has a right in this country to use any name he wants. It’s no reason to lock me up.” “Wal, some o’ thet’s true an’ some o’ it ain’t,” Ray said. “Man has a right t’ hide ’is name, ’cept if ’e’s doin’ it fer nefarious reasons. I like thet word, don’ yu? Ne-far-i-ous. Like escapin’ a warrant issued fer ’is arrest.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything wrong here. I demand that you let me go.” The bluster, Ray noticed, wasn’t quite as strong as it had been. “Yu know what an extradition pact is, Blandings? Thet’s another nice word.” “I have no idea, and I don’t particularly care.” “Wal, yu might wanna know, seein’ as how it affects yu. It’s an agreement ’tween two cities. Basically, if a man’s wanted in… say New York City, an’ he wanders inta this heah town, then I can hold onto ’im ’til New York sends somebody t’ get ’im.” Ray watched his prisoner’s face blanch, then continued, “O’ course, if someone who’s wanted fer a crime heah in White’s Station happens to wander inta New York, they’d contact me so I could send somebody back East t’ pick ’em up.” The constable scratched his cheek. “Don’ know how likely thet is but... well... there yu have it. “An’ it so happens we got us an extradition pact with New York City thet started… oh, long ’bout noon t’day. An’ when they get done with yu, I hear Philadelphia is wantin’ t’ see yu, too. Somethin’ ’bout stealin’ some money. Now, we don’ have no extradition pact with Philadelphia.” Blandings’ face brightened a bit. “An’ thet’s awright, ’cause New York City does."
He’d noticed Irene’s excitement when she first walked in, her eager search of the crowds. She seemed to be bubbling over with some inner joy, but it was a while before he’d had the opportunity to dance with her. “You’re very happy tonight,” he’d said. “Oh, Alec, guess what!” “What?” “Mother says there’s someone who might ask for my hand!” “Ah. Did she say who?” “No. She won’t even let me guess! Oh, Alec, who could it be?” “Any single man in the Territory. Or I should say every single man.” “Don’t tease me.” Tears sparkled on her lashes, her red lips drew up in a pout. They were so close he could scarcely keep from kissing them. “I wouldn’t tease you, niña. A man with one eye and half a brain could see how wonderful you are.” Her face screwed itself up as she blinked rapidly. “Who has one eye?”
“Sir.” It was Johnny’s voice piping up, interrupting him. He turned to the lad and saw a chunk of bread already in his hand. The boy smiled bashfully at him, “Sir… I’m sorry, sir, but… I’ve forgotten yer name.” “John Patrick.” “That’s a mouthful, ain’t it? I don’t suppose there’s anything shorter-like...?” He looked at the lad for a moment with no expression, saw that Johnny was afraid he’d gone too far. Then John Patrick gave a snort of laughter. He saw the charming, lop-sided smile appear again on the boy’s face as he answered, “The nieces call me ‘Uncle Pat’. Seems they haven’t many brains, either.”
Text: “That man of God is preaching a sermon every day at the workhouse. They get preaching with their evening meal. As if their lives weren’t hard enough!” “Why is it wrong?” “What’s wrong is that he’s telling the dear Catholics that this blight—this famine—is their own fault! That they’re paying for their sins with hunger!” He deliberately lowered his voice. “He tells them that if they repent of their evil Papism and become good Anglicans that their souls will be saved, even if their bodies rot!” “Good Lord!” Molly’s hand flew to her lips as if to repudiate the profanity. John Patrick uttered a short, humorless bark of laughter. “Just so. He calls himself a man of God. And the priest here is just as bad. A fat, greasy pig like your publican. And no charity from him—while his flock is starving, he collects his own tithes and eats like a prince! "Men of God…” He shook his head. “What have we come to?”
A kitten plays with a clock that's set at 1 minute before midnight.
Displaying the covers of all the books. Text: The kind of storytelling that sneaks up on you, sits quietly beside your heart, and then refuses to leave. Available now at many fine retailers & library services.
Review excerpt: A touching historical novel that will capture your attention from the very first words and hold you until the last.
Even with all the care Brian’s getting, the doctors still can’t say if he’ll walk again. Or even definitely that he’ll survive. But they seemed to be pleased with the way the operation went. Tommy told me he had to help them with it, as the screws wouldn’t go into the bones at first. I was shocked, but he said he sometimes has to operate on horses or cows, then shrugged & said “critters are critters”. Brian's mother was weeping silently all the while they were operating. I don’t know how she wasn’t screaming or tearing her hair. Molly had a rosary—a really beautiful one with irregular beads that shone pink—perhaps a shell of some type(?) She held it in her hand the whole time. My heart aches for her. For all of them. Then the Navajo boy—Tommy called him a medicine man—he went into Brian’s room when it was all done. He began to chant a healing song & Alec translated bits of it for us. It seems everyone else was familiar with it—Tommy said the lad helped Annie after her pregnancy, but he looked so tired by then, I didn’t ask any questions. It was lovely in an eerie way, & part of it kept repeating “All is beautiful, indeed.”
Nausea burned Alicia's throat. She hated riding backwards—it made her sick and dizzy. But as the last passenger to board the stagecoach, she’d had no choice of seats. Another bump and she slid forward, would have landed on the floor if a strong hand had not gripped her arm. She smiled grimly at her benefactor. “Thank you.” She tried hard to sound sincere as she jerked free. For the past two days that man had been touching her at every opportunity, and she was heartily sick of him. Turning back toward the window, she muttered, “I know your type.” Safe in the knowledge that the noise of the wheels and the flapping canvas would mask her words, she added, “You smarmy, happy-handed bastard.”
Santa in the forest with critters.
A black cat plays with ornaments he stole from the Christmas tree. Santa says "Naughty!"
“Wanna sing.” The little boy nodded his head several times, a gesture that told his father and uncle that he wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Whatcha wanna sing?” In his deep bass, Brian began his nephew’s favorite song. “From this valley they say…” But Kevin’s head was shaking. “No. Wanna sing Lissie.” “But Lissie’s sick, acushlah,” Adam repeated. “We have to wait until she’s better.” The boy let out a huge sigh. “Lissie get married,” he said in no uncertain terms. “Oh,” Adam said. “You want to sing a song at her wedding?”
Smiling Santa offering you THE WOODSMAN'S ROSE (Donovan Family Saga Book 2)
“How did he get so wet?” Carolyn let out one small giggle. “I shouldn’t laugh. But they were a sight. Ray Benson came to get Tommy when Alec started breaking things up in the saloon. Tommy got there in time to hear... Anyway, Tommy grabbed him and hauled him out to the street and dunked his head in the horse-trough. For a minute, I didn’t think he’d let him up again. And then... but you saw the rest.” She was serious again. “I wonder what will happen between them now?” Owen had no answer as he escorted her to the stable doors. He’d been careful to let her stay for only a few minutes; the sodden youth in the stall wouldn’t pass muster as a chaperon. But he did kiss her cheek again as she left, then settled himself into the one chair available, glad for the warmth of the blankets and coffee she'd brought him, wondering how long his vigil might be.
Historical fiction with romance, folklore, cultural history & a dash of Celtic Mysticism.
She could see two loaves of bread in the sack he carried, but dared not hope they were both for her. It was all she could do to keep from asking, from begging. Nor could she tell him that the smell of his pipe—the heavenly smell of tobacco—was making her stomach ache from hunger. She pointed out the way, then trotted along beside him saying anything that came to mind to keep from begging for that second loaf.
An e-reader displays the book cover against a close-up of a Christmas tree with candles, gold garland, and a gold ornament. Text: A wonderful gift for fans of realistic, emotionally accomplished fiction.
An arctic fox contemplating the cover of The Woodsman's Rose (a small cabin overlooking a field of flowers). Text: A solemn oath. A broken friendship. The gift that might heal.
A ginger cat looking up, maybe deciding if he wants to climb the Christmas tree. Text: OverDrive Library Service End of Year Spectacular! Now through 12/31/2025.
A blurred image of a woman with a shawl over her head. Text: Penned with transparency, the characters' secrets, hopes, thoughts, silent pleas, and even fear-ridden nightmares are exposed. Their growth is only realized, however, through the haunting, relentless foreboding of the antagonist. Jesse's life cannot be truly settled unless she comes to terms with the repercussions of her brother's despicable acts.
Paperback book (Cover shows a girl with a red braid and brown cloak looking out to the sunrise). Text: Now available in print. Can a young woman save her family from starvation? She's their only hope and desperate enough for anything. Beyond prayer, beyond despair, Molly makes a decision that will change her life in ways she can't begin to imagine. This remarkable book is filled with characters you'll never forget & historical events you'll wish you could. 3 awards: Author Shout Reader Ready Awards Top Pick; The Incipere Awards 2022, Honorable Mention in Historical Fiction; Readers Favorite 5-star Award.
A black cat sits on the top of a Christmas tree.
Text: A brook babbled somewhere close by and crickets had begun to chirp. The birdsong was bright and happy—they did not know the trials of man—while the last vestiges of wild red and orange faded to pink and then to lavender in the western sky. It was a time of day that always thrilled him, when the earth threw off her garments of green and gold and brown, and faded into shades of gray and sepia. It was then he felt closest to his God. And as the darkness encroached, Toby caught himself humming softly.
Book cover displayed on a cellphone next to a pinto horse in a field. Text: A wonderfully descriptive & well-researched period novel with a gorgeous hero & a frustratingly naive & clueless heroine.
Everyone worried. Even the garrulous Frank and his flighty Patricia were quiet. But it was Jake that Adam worried most about. Nothing he could say made the youth reveal his feelings—his face seemed carved from granite, his usually radiant eyes lifeless. His voice, on the rare times he used it, had lost its cheerful timbre, and his movements were suddenly awkward and disjointed. To Adam it seemed that his younger brother had been spirited away and an automaton had taken his place.