Always
happy to share a new release! Today's book is Always, Montana by Deb Martin-Webster. It's the follow up to her
book Love, Montana. Check out her books here at Shorehouse Books. Here's a little
information about the books, and the first chapter of Always, Montana.
Love, Montana is a story of romance, commitment
and eternal love. Set against the backdrop of the majestic scenery of Montana,
this novel tells the story of western fiction novelist, Montana Joe and the
love of his life, Rose. From their first tempestuous meeting, you will be drawn
into this smart and funny story and will find yourself rooting for these two
lovers as they realize that they are each other’s destiny.
Always, Montana is the sequel to the popular
western romance Love, Montana. In this installment, author Deb Martin-Webster
reacquaints the reader with the characters who weaved the story of Rose and
Joe, an epic love that could not be diminished even by death. She also
introduces us to new characters who come into Rose's world and turn it upside
down. Twists and turns abound in this tale about the famous Joe Montana and his
high-spirited family.
Chapter
1
"Excuse me Ma'am, I don't mean to interrupt your
bitch session; however, you do realize your hair is on fire?"
Joe’s been dead for two years, and he still makes me
laugh. He was so relaxed in front of an
audience. Unlike me, who would panic at
the thought of giving a five-minute PowerPoint presentation, Joe loved
entertaining his fans for not only was he a renowned author and accomplished
writer but a prolific storyteller as well.
The video was from a charity event he attended in Princeton, New
Jersey. Some affluent donors weren’t
very happy about the lack of seating. Joe
was famous for drawing large crowds. He noticed a well-dressed, older woman
sitting by the exit door complaining about the seating arrangement. Joe, being the gentleman that he was, excused
himself and headed toward the back of the room.
She was so engrossed in her own bitching that she failed to notice that he
was standing directly behind her.
Inadvertently, she leaned into the table’s candle centerpiece and set
the front of her hair on fire. Without
blinking an eye, Joe gallantly grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and
doused the flames. Needless to say she
was humiliated, but ever so thankful for his quick action.
Joe flashed his infamous shit-eating grin and said,
“You’re welcome, Darlin’. Now, how about you come up front and sit with me. And
by the way, that’ll cost you another thousand dollar donation for my heroic
firefighting service.”
The audience gave him a roaring round of applause. He informed the guests that his tip jar was
in the back and that it was pathetically empty – nothing her thousand dollar
donation couldn’t fix. Joe knew how to
work a crowd and please his fans. He was
good at what he did, and he knew it.
I turned my computer off and continued to tidy his office. Funny,
I still called it his office. Has it
really been two years since his death – seems like yesterday. I thought if I left the room the way it
was, it would in some way comfort me. Regrettably,
it did just the opposite. It irritated me beyond belief. I’m a neat-freak, and he was an incurable pack
rat. Receipts from gas stations, fast
food restaurants, numerous coffee shops and illegible crib notes on discarded manuscripts
littered his desk.
There was still the matter of scattering his
ashes. I couldn’t bring myself to do it,
but I knew it was time to honor my husband’s last wish which was to scatter his
remains at the place where he proposed.
In my mind, I knew I needed to let go and move on, but in my heart his untimely
death still hurt like hell. I’ve heard
people use the term heartbroken or heartache.
I’d never experienced either – until Joe died. It was an endless, helpless, hopeless
pain. I needed to let go. I needed to move on. No matter how painful the task, Joe’s ashes
had to be spread.
When the time was right, Raymond said he would
accompany me to the spot Joe designated. He was very patient and understanding
when it came to my grieving.
“Joe was a procrastinator in life so why would he
change in death—always needing to be in control,” Raymond would joke. “He still
annoys me from the grave—arrogant son of a mangy coyote!”
I knew it was Raymond’s way of expressing his grief
and how he too missed Joe. To be honest,
in some strange way, it made me feel better.
I missed being referee to their incessant bickering. They had a lot in common. Their inimitable friendship was cherished
more than they were willing to admit.
Charlotte
was now in her terrible-twos and quite skilled at navigating herself around the
house. She was becoming quite a
beautiful little girl. I know all
parents think that their children are beautiful and talented, but Charlotte was
truly a beautiful child. I called her our little golden girl because of her
glowing olive complexion and curly, sandy brown locks. She had my focus and temper and Lash’s (Joe
as his fans knew him) curiosity and smile.
She toddled into the office and climbed onto his
rawhide leather chair. I remembered him
gloating when he finished assembling it.
He wasn’t patient when it came to following directions or handling
tools. He called it his one-and-only
successful IKEA achievement. I didn’t
have the heart to tell him that if I’d given Charlotte an Allen wrench she
could have put it together.
Lord, I miss
him. I miss those final edit nights when I’d come in
with coffee and sit in his lap. It
saddened me to think I’d never see him sitting at that desk again. I picked up Charlotte and gave her a big hug.
I turned away to keep her from seeing my tears. She placed her small hands on my cheeks.
“Happy . . . h-a-p-p-y Mama,” she whispered.
Her attempt to console me brought a smile to my
face. I kissed her tiny palms.
“This one’s from me and this one’s from Daddy.”
Charlotte instinctively knew when I needed her happy
reminder. She was wise beyond her
years. Raymond called her “Nadie”. Blackfoot
and loosely translated, it meant the wisdom of an old soul.
Keough cracked the office door and peeked
inside.
“You gals okay?
Both of ya’ need to get some rest.
It’s long past your bedtimes.”
Charlotte climbed off my lap and ran over to Keough and
latched onto his leg. He picked her up and
swung her onto his shoulders.
“It’s time for this little cowgirl to hit the hay.
Come on let’s get you into your bunk.
Lou and I will tell you a story about the time I tried to lasso and ride
an ornery wild mustang. Would you like that?”
She bounced up and down on his shoulders squealing,
“Pap-Pap, horsey!”
“Don’t worry, Rose.
It’s a very short story. It took
me three seconds to lose that man-versus-beast battle.”
I chuckled at Keough’s honesty and said goodnight.
“Okay, Baby Girl –a quick story then bedtime. That goes for you too Mama.” He paused for a moment and whispered, “And
don’t think I haven't notice you sneaking into this office in the middle of the
night. It ain’t healthy for you to
deprive yourself of sleep. And it ain’t
good for this baby to see you so dang sad all the time. Now, don’t make me tie you up and drag your
ass to bed.”
“I promise I’ll go to bed. Just a few more minutes, okay? Thank you Keough.”
“You’re
welcome, Darlin’ and goodnight.”
I was leaving the office when I noticed something on
the side of the door jam. Funny, I’d
never noticed it before. There were two
perfectly shaped hearts carved into the trim with the initials MJ loves R. I rubbed my finger over them. When
did he do this? What other little treasures has he left behind
for me to discover. I went back to
his desk, picked up some paper and a pencil and rubbed it over the carving and
then tucked it into my shirt pocket. We
miss you too, Joe.
About
the Author
Originally from Pennsylvania, Deb and her
husband Pete moved to Western North Carolina and live on a small farm in the
Blue Ridge Mountains.
She
enjoys the simplicity of their country lifestyle and takes pleasure in the
daily antics of their horse Colonel, half dozen rowdy barn cats and a large but
friendly black snake they’ve affectionately named, Licorice.
After retiring from a successful career in Art Administration, Deb
has taken on a new career as a novelist and humor writer. In October of 2012, her
novel Love, Montana was selected and
published by HumorOutcasts Press. The sequel, Always,
Montana is published by Shorehouse books.
Her other books include, A
Hot Dog Stand in the Himalayas a daily
diary for their granddaughter Sammie that
develops into a collection of heartwarming fictionalized short stories
and The Adventures of Annie Banana Bread
and Larry Cranberry a tale that
teaches the acceptance of children with disabilities and diverse health
conditions.
Deb
is one of the original writers forming the successful online humor magazine,
Humoroutcasts.com.
Get in touch with Deb on
