SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (225 page)

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Jack Hoyt. My friends call me Jackson.”

“Well, Jackson, why don’t you come inside and let me check your ankle,” she said, returning his smile. “Maybe we can figure out this déjà vu thing if we try hard enough.”

The End

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading
Forever Rose
as much as I enjoyed researching and writing about his particular time in history. I love to imagine what it might be liker taveling back in time and figuring out how to exist in a different time—picture challenges as well as how different the environment is from our crazy, busy, and complicated world. There are definite pros and cons to the concept, but I have to say that living in a more simple world has its appeal sometimes!

Although this is certainly a work of fiction, I have tried to accurately present the many historical facts:

The setting for Taylor’s adventure back in time is known as the Gaslamp Quarter, which covered a large portion of an area called the Stingaree District. Many claimed the Stingaree was as wild and dangerous as the Barbary Coast in San Francisco. By the late 1880s, the city of San Diego had grown from a dusty Western town to a bustling, exciting city with over 40,000 residents.

Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp had already gained folk hero status (from the 1881 shoot-out with the Clanton gang near the O.K. Corral) when he and his wife, Josie, came to San Diego with plans to capitalize on the land boom of 1887. Over the years, Earp owned or leased at least four saloons and gambling halls, which offered such games as faro, roulette, poker, blackjack, an keno.

Ida Bailey also arrived in San Diego during the big real estate boom of the late 1880s. A
San Diego Union
journalist wrote in February 1888, “In the midst of these low hovels on the corner of Third and ‘I’ looms up the notorious Sherman House, which assumes the proportions and pretensions of a
maison de joie
. Here are thirteen girls presided over by Ida Bailey, ‘Redheaded Ida,’ who is always such a conspicuous figure in the front rows of the Opera House.” She remained a businesswoman until her retirement in 1909.

One of the most enigmatic and creative figures who resided in San Diego during this exciting era was internationally celebrated author, spiritualist, and musician Jesse Shepard. He lived for two years in the Villa Montezuma, a house designed by the architectural firm of Comstock and Trotsche. Painstakingly restored under the leadership of the San Diego Historical Society, this imaginatively designed Victorian still stands at 1925 K Street.

George Hoyt was the first known man Wyatt Earp killed in the line of duty. Though not much is known about him, it was reported by a cowhand that Hoyt was “wanted by Texas police.” Descriptions say that in 1878, Hoyt rode wildly through the streets of Dodge City, recklessly firing a gun. I used that account to base my fictitious account of how and why George Hoyt might have died.

Some researchers claim Pete Spence participated in the murder of Wyatt Earp’s brother, Morgan, and he eventually ended up in jail. Frank and Tom McLaurey were both killed in the famous gun battle near the O.K. Corral. I used these accounts to fabricate how two more brothers might have reacted, also seeking revenge like Jackson.

All other characters depicted throughout the pages of
Forever Rose
, though modeled carefully after the people of this fascinating era, are completely fictitious. I did my best to portray them accurately and honestly.

I love to hear from readers and you can connect with me at my website
www.janetwellington.com
or at my Facebook page:
JanetWellingtonBooks.

All best,

Janet

About the Author

Janet Wellington

Janet Wellington writes award-winning romance, women’s fiction and paranormal romance. Her stories are heart-centered, filled with interesting settings and secondary characters, and a guaranteed transformational happy ending. Publishers Weekly says, “this author proves to be a master of rising above the usual stereotypical romance elements, creating a believable plot and characters readers root for from page one. Enjoyable and fresh."

Connect with Janet on Facebook at
JanetWellingtonBooks

or at her website:
www.janetwellington.com

and on Twitter:
@janetwellington

Additional Books by
Janet Wellington

HOMECOMING
–A Wisconsin Reunion Romance

COWBOY FOR SALE
–A Second Chances Spicy Romance

BECOMING LULU
–a women’s fiction novel

Excerpt from
DREAMQUEST

A paranormal Time Travel Historical Romance

Available early 2015*

Have you ever had that strange feeling when you’re not quite awake, but not really asleep...and you weren’t quite sure what was real? And, what if your dream was one of those perfect dreams where everything is more the way it should be...would you stay if you could? This is the story of Coyote and White Bird....

Prologue

The boy stood at the mouth of the cave, his body trembling from the physical effort required to remain erect.

Háawka, Hattepaa kwa'stik.

He cocked his head and lifted both hands to cup his ears, then stopped his breath. Not breathing came as a relief from the shortened, labored gasps his breath had become over the last few minutes. Was the voice real...or had he just heard it in his mind?  Another cruel hallucination?

“Hello, Little Coyote. I am here.”

The clear sound of his grandfather’s voice dissolved the doubts and unanswered questions he’d battled during the difficult journey. His heart sang. Grandfather was there and waiting for him, just inside the cave. He shuffled forward but paused after only a few steps, fatigue threatened to buckle his knees. He concentrated as he reached deep within to find the strength to continue.

The cool air inside the cave was the first sensation he had allowed himself in days, and the air became a soothing wind against his hot skin. Then the wind seemed to slip under his feet, making it possible to take the dozen more steps he knew he needed to...in order to save his life.

Two days he’d controlled pain, thirst, and hunger as he’d made his way to where he believed his grandfather would be.

Two days of accepting every sign without question.

Two days of taking each path as it was presented.

And on this moonless night, without hesitation he’d approached the rattlesnake and allowed it to strike. And just as Grandfather had foreseen, he’d been like an observer—he’d watched the snake leap toward him, feeling—but not feeling—the fangs sink into his thigh.

Just for that instant, that moment, it was as though he had not been in his own body at all. And though it had seemed like a dream, he’d known even then it was deadly real.

“Tell me, Little Coyote, why you are here.”

“I have met
'ewii taaspiich
and he has sent me here to test you.”

The old man nodded, then his creased, sun-weathered face softened with a broad smile. Bringing his pipe to his lips, he puffed on it until a blue cloud of smoke surrounded his head. He set down his pipe, then lifted one hand and patted the rabbit skin blanket spread on the ground next to the glowing embers of a low fire. “I will show you, grandson, so you will believe.”

As the old man helped him recline, Coyote watched as Grandfather examined his wound. Blood had trickled from the bite and dried, and redness surrounded the snake’s entry into his leg.

“With the bite of the snake, it is done,” Grandfather whispered.

The old man began to sing a slow chant as he added branches to the fire until sparks showered to the ceiling of the cave, and the embers grew into tall flames. From the boy’s waist, he unfastened a small gourd that hung by a braided rope, undid the lid and peered inside.

“When did you drink the
tolvaach
?”

“Before the sun came up today.” He groaned, his body restless with the pain he no longer denied.

Grandfather dipped a bowl into a large storage
olla
, then brought it to Coyote’s parched, cracked lips.

“My
'aaskay
is filled with sweet water for you, my grandson. Drink and tell me what you have seen and heard. Tell me of your dreams.”

“The dream—it was the same, Grandfather. Even after drinking the
tolvaach
. It was the same.”

“And you hoped for something different?”

“Yes.” He’d assumed his quest would change everything. He believed the dreams would finally end, or at least new dreams would come to him. Dreams that were clearer, ones he could understand.

“You cannot control these things.”

“But why is it the same?”

“It isn’t the same.”

He knew Grandfather was right. Nothing was ever the same. He would need to look more closely, and be less impatient. “Will you tell me what these dreams mean?  What is to happen to me?”

“Yes,
Hattepaa kwa'stik
, it is time for you to know.”

The old man picked up a long white feather and began to chant. He brought the tip of the feather next to the boy’s wound, then drew it along his skin in long, gentle strokes.

“Grandfather, will this feather heal me? Is this feather from the white bird of my dreams?”

The old man frowned and renewed his chant. After several minutes, he paused. “The white bird in your dreams is a white woman.”

Coyote moaned and lifted himself onto his elbows. Anger surged through him, and intense pain followed close behind. “No!”

Grandfather pushed his hand firmly against the boy’s chest, and forced him to lie down. “Listen to me, grandson. Soon a white girl will come to you in your dreams, and she will take the white bird’s place.”

“Tell me why.”

The old man nodded his head. “Listen to what I have to say,
Hattepaa kwa'stik
. I rode the wind two suns ago to save this girl. Now, it is you who is destined to keep her safe.”

“But—”

Putting a finger to the boy’s lips, the old man quieted any more questions. The rising monotone of his chanting echoed against the walls of the cave as he continued to stroke the feather along the boy’s entire body.

Finally, Coyote stilled. He drifted away from consciousness, sinking into a state of relaxation far from the pain and fear and poison that threatened his life.

He stared at his grandfather’s face through half-closed eyes and tried to focus on his lips. He could see they were moving, but the words were too soft. With the last of his strength, he strained to hear what the old man was saying. And a moment before he floated away he thought he heard one word, the only word his grandfather’s lips had been forming...
kuseyaay
.

Chapter One

“Robin, are you there?  Please pick up if you’re there...it’s Suzanne....”  She waited, her pulse racing.
Please be there...please be there...
Finally she heard a click that interrupted the proverbial beep at the end of the answering machine message.

“Suz, I’m here—what’s going on?”

“I had the dream, but this time I remember some of the details...you said to call—”

“Indeed, I did. Have you written it down yet?”

“You said to call...”

Robin’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Just a minute, I’ve got....company.”

“Oh, jeez, Robin—why did you pick up?”

“You should have heard the sound of your voice—you would have picked up too.”

“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never remembered this much and—”  Suzanne listened to muffled voices, guessing her friend had put a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. She should have waited. Glancing at the clock, she groaned. No wonder Robin sounded half asleep, it wasn’t even seven yet.

“Okay, I’m back.”

“Robin, I’ll let you go—”

“Forget it, he’s gone for a jog—he’ll be gone at least an hour. I’m all yours now, so start talking.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Say it again and I’m hanging up, my friend.”

“Right. Okay...it started the same, at least I think it did because usually I just don’t really remember the beginning part and—”

“Suzanne Lucas. Just talk it out. Leave your blasted logic in your left brain and let your right brain do the communicating, okay?  Now, breathe...then start. Repeat after me: at the beginning, I was...”

She took a deep breath, grateful for the guidance. “Okay. At the beginning, I’m young—maybe fourteen or so; the young guy wasn’t there in the beginning of the dream. I open a door and then all of a sudden I’m in a cave—but it becomes a tunnel and I follow the old, gray-haired Indian out into the open. He’s showing me some pictographs he’d just painted on a wall.”

“Good. Tell me what they were.”

Suzanne closed her eyes to take herself back to the dream. It was already getting fuzzy, and felt more and more distant as the minutes passed. “I’m losing it, Robin.”

“You have paper and pencil there?  Sketch while you’re talking to me—we can do this,” she encouraged.

Suzanne took a pad of paper from the kitchen counter, found a pencil in a drawer, and began to draw. “A circle, and kind of spiderwebby inside the circle.”  She paused and brought the eraser to her lips. “And lines stuck out all around the circle.”

“Like a sun?”

She stared at the symbol she had drawn on the pad. It was like a sun. “What does it mean?”

“We’ll come back to it later. Any more pictures on the wall of the cave?”

“Two hands; one black and one red.”

“The outline of hands?”

“No—more like you would put paint on your hand and make a handprint. They’re next to the sun-thing—and then two stick people. One’s black and red and white. The other’s red, but with white lines coming out of the head.”

“Like the sun-thing?”