 HOME AND EMAILHEALER'S DAUGHTERFRIKKEN JUSTICEPRINCE OF TEXASVIRTUAL BOOKSIGNINGWRITER'S BOOKSHELF |
It’s not often you read a tale where the hero has always been in love with the heroine, a premise most editors won’t even consider because they assume there would be a lack conflict. But Gambrell’s Prince of Texas, about a South Texas ranching woman torn between saving the ranch and marrying an honest to goodness prince has conflict to spare! Thanks Ms Gambrell for breaking the rules! This is a wonderful story with a ‘big sigh’ ending!
At last, a real heroine with a real past and a real dilemma! Prince of Texas has all the elements of a great Texas love story. I laughed and I cried and I didn’t put it down until I turned the last page! How about a sequel?
A realistic tale of a marriage of convenience-did I say that? But honest, it’s really believable. Prince of Texas is the story of two people that must be together-he knows it and she doesn’t. Beautifully written, with just the right amount of humor and danger tossed in, Prince of Texas is a love story I heartily recommend!
"Si, I heard you on the phone to the barn. It's a beautiful day now that the storm has passed but we'll have more rain later I think, so be careful." "I'm not riding far, I'll be back before dark." Devon's departure had left Shliegh feeling listless and bored. Her intention had been to take El Rey for his daily exercise but when she arrived at the horse barn Nicholas, one of Antonio's young assistants had already done that. Now he was vigorously wiping him down with a damp cloth as the old horse contentedly munched his daily allotment of oats. Antonio appeared leading El Nino, saddled and stepping sprightly behind him. Shliegh gave El Rey a scratch behind the ear then running her hand down the smooth length of his glistening hide she turned to Antonio. "I've been forgetting to ask Antonio-did you take the man into town? The hitchhiker? He was lost on the ranch road. I gave him directions to the barn and told him to ask you for a ride." "No, Shell. He came up and asked directions but didn't ask for a ride. He washed up in the leather shop and I gave him a couple of sandwiches from the cafeteria. That was all he wanted. Martin took him up to the road." Antonio pushed against El Nino then held him steady for Shliegh to mount. "Changed his mind, I guess." She put her foot in the stirrup and swung easily up into the saddle and took the reins. El Nino lifted his feet in place, anxious for a run. "Keep him off the road." Antonio raised his hand in a warning. Shliegh nodded then turned the horse and trotted across the paddock. She knew he was concerned about the caliche roads still wet from the rain. Several years ago a vaquero had been severely injured when a big quarter horse had slipped on the slick ranch road then fallen on him. The stormy morning had turned into a golden afternoon. The light was a surreal yellowish-green that seemed to hang suspended in a soft haze. Meadow larks were calling out to each other staking claims on bug discoveries while overhead dragonflies darted about sucking up airborne mosquitoes by the dozens. Shliegh took the bridal path that made a circle around the compound scaring up a jack rabbit at the first turn. He took several flying leaps then turned to sit in the high grass, his long ears held erect he watched the horse and rider pass by. On a sudden whim she decided to turn off the path and ride around the lake up to the stand of scrub oak where Antonio had buried Arapaho. She'd intended to go before, the day she'd gone to the lake but Trace had changed her plans. She pushed away his unwelcome intrusion and wondered if Devon was by now coming into Houston where he'd make his connecting flight to Paris. She let El Nino have his head and he took off in a strong running gallop. His hooves pounded into the soft earth as he raced up the hill and cut first right then left in a tight zigzag coming down the other side. At the bottom he took off again, racing across the fields, jumping shallow gullies and not slowing until they reached the scrub oaks. Shliegh pulled in the reins and El Nino slowed to walk slowly through the trees to a clearing at the center of the grove. Sure enough, there was a stone. It read simply, Arapaho. How many times had she and Jason ridden the little Indian pony up here? After a swim or before. Now they were both gone, she thought. She was lost in a sea of childhood memories and scraping leaves away from the grave with a stick when she heard the first warning rumble. "We'd better get back pretty quick, Nino." Reluctant to leave but knowing they'd have a wet ride home if they didn't go now she swung up into the saddle and they headed for home. She nudged the big quarter horse down into a wide arroyo that led around the opposite side of the lake. It's the long way home but better to be wet then to be caught in lightening out in the open, she thought. The valley vibrated with the sound of thunder and overhead the clouds rolled and boiled as if contained in an invisible cauldron. No time to count between the sound of thunder and the flash on the horizon she knew they needed to get back and quick. In half a heartbeat a jagged lightening bolt streaked a saw-toothed path to the earth then exploded into the ground. She felt the hair on her arms prickle almost like a chill as a wave of electricity passed over her. Suddenly El Nino reared then bolted. With a gut-wrenching lurch he left her bottom-up in the arroyo before she'd even known she'd been thrown. Feeling more shamed than hurt she was trying to scramble up the bank when the clouds lost their grip and opened up with a maddening deluge. She stood in the gully and watched as the frightened young stallion ran away, the empty stirrups flapping against his sides. The darkness quickly rolled in on the shirttails of the first thunder. Now, what to do . . . she began to examine the possibilities. Stay in the arroyo? Just hunker down and wait or strike out and walk back, hoping to find El Nino along the way. No, he wouldn't have stopped running until he'd reached the barn. Or . . . the cabin! Yes, of course, the cabin! It was just over the ridge, she could make it there but she'd be in the open all the way. Another warning rumble, a deafening crack and the lightening flashed so brightly that she was able to watch a huge oak as it split and slowly came down, wrenching itself up and out of the ground as it fell. Run! She told herself! Now! She scrambled up and over the edge of the arroyo, unmindful of the slimy caliche she began to run. Her heart beating like a drum in her chest she ran as fast as she could. She kept to the caliche road, afraid she'd lose her way if she tried to cut through the trees. At the top of the ridge she stopped to catch her breath, the scent of ozone hung in the air like a blanket of fog. Another crash and she dropped to the ground just as the flash split the darkness. The sky was suddenly illuminated as if lit by Fourth of July fireworks. In the distance she could see the tin roof of the cabin. Relief flooded her senses. She ran, ran as she'd never run before. Her lungs feeling as if they would burst, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, she ran. Sure of her bearings now she cut off the road and across the field, then into the stand of pines that banked the North side of the cabin. She ran a zigzag course through the pine needles and underbrush until she broke through to the clearing. She ran and didn't stop until she reached the cabin. With barely enough strength to climb the steps she collapsed on the porch. The darkness was tight around her now. The storm clouds obliterated what little moonlight would have shown through the shadows of the tall pines. She couldn't wait to get inside and turn on a light. She felt along the top of the door frame until she found the key. Shaking now, as much from exhaustion as from fear, she fumbled trying to get the key into the lock. The moonlight offered little illumination but finally the key hit the slot, she turned it and opened the door. The smell of stale air and unused space met her nostrils. She pushed the door open wide and felt in the darkness for the switch plate. She flicked the switch . . . nothing. Up and down, she flicked again. No power. She felt her fear of the darkness put it's hand into her heart and squeeze. She hesitated at the threshold, peering into the cabin . . . afraid to enter, knowing she had no other choice. Leaving the door ajar, she slowly began to feel her way into the room. Her heart raced again as she stumbled in the darkness. She slid her hand along the back of the couch, to the tall chest at the kitchen doorway. She stepped through the doorway into the pitch blackness, darker here than the front room, she felt along the cabinet top to the kitchen drawer that held the matches and candles always kept there for just such emergencies. A flood of relief washed over her so strongly that her knees buckled and she leaned into the cabinet when her hand closed first around the match box then the cellophane package of candles. She shook as she lit all four of the candles one by one and sat them in the center of a saucer. Taking the time to drip a dribble of wax to seat each one. Now is not the time to worry about candle holders, she thought. As she was lighting the candles she tried to remember where the oil lamp was kept. In the bedroom on top of the armoire, she thought. Or had she last seen it in one of the cabinets? She shivered in the cold chill that the storm had brought and took the saucer of candles back into the front room to close the door. The candlelight cast an eerie glow, it's light did little to stave off the darkness still clinging to the corners of the room. She closed the door against the storm that raged outside then turned and walked back across the floor to the fireplace. She sat down on the stone hearth and held the dish of flickering candles in her lap. Soaked to the skin and covered with gray caliche mud, she felt more thoroughly disheartened than she ever had in her entire life. Too exhausted to move she sat trembling on the hearth and listened as the thunder boomed across the valley and reverberated against the walls of the little cabin, the rain now pelting hard on the tin roof. The metal pail of pine kindling at the side of the fireplace and the three logs on the grate were an open invitation for a fire Shliegh thought. She made an Indian teepee of the kindling beneath the logs and held a candle to it. The dry tinder blazed and caught immediately. A burst of light filled the room and Shliegh's spirits lifted immediately. But her burst of enthusiasm was quickly distinguished as she sat helplessly and watched the dry kindling burn itself up and out before the logs had caught. She shivered as she watched the last piece of kindling being consumed. She was left once again with only the dim glow of the four small candles. It was more than she could bear. She felt the pain in her stomach grow and swell then the tears welled up and quickly rolled down her cheeks. Suddenly, with a crash of thunder, the cabin door was thrown open and slammed against the wall. A flash of lightening lit the sky and the large figure standing in the doorway. Shliegh held her breath, her heart in her throat. "What do you want . . . who are you?" She struggled to stand and reached for the fireplace poker. "You okay?" The voice seemed familiar, yet . . . "Wh . . . who are you?" She trembled. A stark, paralyzing fear stayed her hand on the poker. The thunder rolled a constant booming rumble. "Shliegh . . . " "How do you know my name?" She gasped and staggered backwards, her fingers tightened around the poker.
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