CRUELTY TO ANIMALS - MARGARET TANNER

MARGARET TANNER - HISTORICAL ROMANCE AUTHOR

I am not an animal lover, but I can’t stand to see cruelty inflicted on them.  I believe that people who mistreat animals should be severely dealt with by the law. There is no excuse, and no mitigating circumstances for such despicable actions.

The strange thing is, in nearly every historical romance I have written there is at least one scene with an animal in it.   The animal, usually a horse or a dog is in distress and is rescued by either the hero or the heroine.

This is an early scene taken from my award winning World War 1 novel, A Rose In No-Man’s Land. The heroine is Sister Amy Smithfield, an army nurse, the hero, Captain Mark Tremayne an English officer serving in the Australian army.

                                                ***

An over laden cart rumbled past and as Amy glanced at the thin, miserable horse straining between the shafts, her blood ran cold. The driver flailed the beast with a long cane.  Several times in quick succession it fell on the laboring animal’s back as he struggled to pull the cart through the churned up mud.

She dashed over. “You stop that this instant or I’ll have you arrested.”

“Clear off, lady.” The driver raised the cane again and she grabbed at his arm.

“You callous beast.”

His virulent abuse shocked her almost as much as the swipe of his beefy paw, which sent her sprawling.  She scrambled to her feet and launched herself at him again.

“What the hell’s going on?”  Captain Tremayne’s fingers biting into the flesh of one arm stopped Amy’s maddened onslaught.

“This crazy woman attacked me.”

“He wouldn’t stop flogging his horse.”

“Put your shoulders to the wheel men,” the captain ordered several soldiers who ran over.  “Get the cart back on to the gravel.”

“Plucky thing you did, Sister,” one of the soldiers growled.  “I would have flattened him if I’d got here first.”

“Unload your wagon and get out of here.” Captain Tremayne reached across, grabbed the cane from the man and snapped it in half across his knee.  “Overload your wagon like that again and you’re out of business. Permanently.” He flung the pieces to the ground.

He sounded so savage that Amy quaked.

 “I’ll leave you in charge, Corporal.”

Captain Tremayne strode over to where she waited.  “What on earth possessed you?”

“I can’t stand cruelty to animals.” Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

With a muffled oath he peered into her face. “Oh for God’s sake, don’t cry again.”

“I’m not.” She scrubbed at her eyes with trembling fingertips.

His long lashes fanning out over his eyes hid his innermost thoughts, but she watched in fascination as a pulse convulsed at the side of his jaw.

“Here, into my office.”  A hand in the middle of her back propelled her forward.

She looked so little and frail he felt like drowning in her tear-drenched, gray eyes. A feeble ray of sunlight shafting through the window turned her hair to silver. Except for the army nurse’s uniform, she could have been an angel in a religious painting.

“Would you like me to send my orderly out for some tea?” He cursed the fact he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss all the hurt away.  Dammit, why should he care about her being upset?

“No, thank you.  I’m glad you broke his whip.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t smash him across the head with it first.”

“You cared too?”  Her heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t like seeing animals mistreated.”  He ran a fingertip along her cheek before stepping away.

The male scent of him, the heat of his body, his feather-light caress almost had her reaching up to touch his face.  Curling her fingers into her palms to keep them from straying, she fought to get her emotions under control. She didn’t want him to know how his touch affected her. How it burned through the layers of skin and seared her soul.

“If you’ve recovered, Sister Amy, I’ll escort you back to your quarters.” His tone sounded all army captain now, unemotional, brusque, as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

A ROSE IN NO-MAN’S LAND:

Nurse Amy Smithfield finds a once in a lifetime love on the French battlefields, but risks losing it when she has to fight for survival in the slums of London’s East End.
 

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=176_145&products_id=5179

 

 

http://amzn.com/B00B64HHAU

 

 

 

ROMANCE - HAPPY OR SAD?

Margaret Tanner's take on romance.

Valentine’s Day has been and gone. The chocolates are all eaten and the dead roses have been discarded, but has the magic of love disappeared as well? I don’t think so.

Without romance the world would be a sad and lonely place, and I don’t think I am alone in thinking this way.  Tens of thousands of women who read romance books know the truth. Love makes the world go round. No matter whether the story finishes with death or birth, happiness or sadness, as long as, in the mind of the romance reader, the ending is satisfying to them, they are happy and ready to buy their next romance book.

Some of the best romance books I have read had me crying at the end, but I didn’t feel cheated because under the right circumstances, and as strange as it might seem to some, a sad ending makes for a grand finale.

A short love scene from my recently released novel, A Rose In No-Man’s Land.

Paris, 1916. With the black clouds of war hanging over their heads and casualties mounting, Captain Mark Tremayne and Sister Amy Smithfield decide to risk everything to snatch a few days of happiness.

When Mark entered the bedroom silence greeted him, except for a slight rustling of the curtains.  The bedside lamp bathed Amy in a soft, intimate glow as she slept.  Her lips curved into a tender smile so her dreams were pleasant ones, hopefully of him.  She lay flat on her back, absolutely naked.  He had never seen anything so beautiful.  Her hair spilled out over the pillow like shimmering moonbeams.   The mounds of her breasts, tipped with pink, and the tangle of golden fluff between her thighs, were the only vestige of color on her shimmering, milky white skin.

He stood staring at her.  He could not move, didn’t want to move, just let his gaze wander up and down her exquisite body.  He had escorted some of the great beauties of Europe over the years. They could not hold a candle to this lovely girl because of her inward beauty, a virtue they did not possess.

He crept into the bathroom to undress so as not to waken her then tiptoed over to the bed.   Carefully he slid in beside her, rolling on to his side so he could watch her.  Soon this wasn’t enough.  He wanted to touch her, needed to do much more but knew he would not waken her to do so.

With feather-light touches of his fingertips he explored at will.  Her skin had the smoothness of porcelain, but it was soft, warm and alive.  Laying his face up close to her, he inhaled her rose fragrance.  Never again would he smell the perfume of roses without being reminded of Amy.

He closed his eyes and lay quietly, resting his hand on her waist.   He thought he heard the sounds of distant artillery or perhaps it was the pounding of his own heart.

http://www.amazon.com/A-Rose-No-Mans-Land-ebook/dp/B00B64HHAU/ref=sr_1_15?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1359339640&sr=1-15&keywords=margaret+tanner

A LEAP OF FAITH - THE ACT OF SELECTION

In a leap of faith, driven by desperation and the chance to improve the lives of their families in Australia, men took advantage of the Selection of Land Act, and staked their claim on parcels of crown land. Unfortunately, for many inexperienced in the ways of farming in a harsh continent like Australia, they were doomed to failure and heartache. Many not only lost their land but their lives. Others struggled on for years, their lives blighted by bitterness and regret at a leap of faith that didn’t deliver the riches they had dreamed of. Some made an adequate living. A few, of course, prospered. Rather than a leap of faith, I would call it a lottery. It all depended on the experience of the man, but more importantly the quality of the land on which he selected.

In Australia the 1860/61 Land Act allowed free selection of crown land. This included land illegally occupied by the squatters, (wealthy ranchers), who had managed to circumvent the law for years. A similar scheme apparently operated in the US as well, (nesters against the ranchers).

The Act sometimes allowed selectors (small farmers) access to the squatters’ land, and they could purchase between 40 and 320 acres, but after that, the authorities left them to fend for themselves. Not an easy task against the wealthy, often ruthless squatters who were incensed at what they thought was theft of their land.

The Act of Selection was intended to encourage closer settlement, based on intensive agriculture. Selectors often came into conflict with squatters, who already occupied land. The bitterness ran deep for many years, sometimes erupting into violence.

Steele Rudd (a pseudonym for Arthur Hoey Davis 14.11.1868 – 11.10.35), an Australian author wrote a story On Our Selection. He based it on his father’s experience as a selector struggling to make ends meet on a small parcel of land.  It started out as just one chapter published in a magazine in December 1895 and eventually became the basis for Dad and Dave, a popular radio series which ran from 1932 – 1952.

Henry Lawson 1867 – 1922, was born on the gold fields of NSW. Many believed him to be the first poet to capture the Australian way of life. After a childhood ear infection, he was totally deaf by the age of 14, and he grew up to be bitter about his poverty and ill-fortune.

In 1888 he started publishing his stories and poems.

The Fire at Ross’ Farm, was a classic poem about selector versus the squatter.

Robert Black, the squatter’s son, loved Jenny Ross the selector’s daughter.
When Robert tells his father about the bushfire (wild fire) threatening the Ross farm, his father said, and I quote these couple of lines from Henry Lawson’s poem, which I feel epitomise the extent of the hatred and mistrust between the squatters and the selectors.

Then let it burn the squatter said, I’d like to see it done

I’d bless the fire if it would clear Selectors from my run (run is an old, no longer used, Aussie term for ranch).

Frontier Wife, from The Wild Rose Press, is set against this background.

The heroine’s uncle selected 80 acres for his farm on Adam Muno’s 40,000 acre property.

FRONTIER WIFE

Tommy Lindsay arrives in colonial Australia to claim the rundown farm she and her brothers have inherited.

Hidden behind her fragile English rose beauty, beats the heart of a courageous young woman. She will need all this strength to survive the unforgiving heat, and the dangers lurking around every corner.  Lost in the bush, capture by a feral mountain family, raging bushfires are nothing, compared to the danger she faces if she gives her heart to wealthy squatter, Adam Munro.

Adam has no room in his heart to love a woman.  All he ever wanted was a presentable wife who would provide him with heirs.   He didn’t need passion in his life, not until he met the beautiful English rose living next door to him.

Only in the new world can a highborn young Englishwoman and a tough frontier man, ignite the passion that will fulfill their hopes and dreams in ways they never imagined possible.

 http://www.thewildrosepress.com/frontier-wife-p-4099.html

 Margaret Tanner

Australian Historical Romance Author

STREET KIDS CHRISTMAS

Merry Christmas and a safe, happy and prosperous New Year to everyone.
Here is a Christmas stoy with a difference. Hope you enjoy it.

                       

                                    STREET KID’S CHRISTMAS by Margaret Tanner

            “Will you show me around? the softly spoken stranger asked.

            Ash did not move from his lounging position. Who the hell is this idiot, asking me, the leader of the city’s toughest street gang, to play tour guide?

            “Do you know who I am, mate?” He dragged on his cigarette and purposely blew smoke into the man’s face.

            “Yes, I know who you are.”

            “Then p…off, while you’re still able to.”

            Ash surprised himself by not punching the man’s face in, but something about this stranger, a nagging sensation dredged from somewhere deep down, stilled his hand.  Maybe I’m being generous because it’s Christmas.  Had they met before, in the days before drugs and crime banished him from the world of ordinary people?  An undercover cop perhaps?

“If you’re a cop and they find out.”  He jerked his finger towards the pinball parlour. “You’re dead meat.”

“I’m not a cop.  I’d just like you to show me around your world, Ashley.”

How the hell does he know my name?

Now nineteen years old Ash had lived on the streets for six years. Feels like sixty sometimes.  Housebreaking, mugging, selling his body to gutter crawlers, he had done everything short of murder to get money for a fix. How many thousands of dollars had he injected into his veins over the years, before he got himself off the hard stuff?

They headed towards the railway yards where the graffiti artists displayed their work. “Merry Christmas,” he stumbled over the words.  “Peace on earth.” He gave up the struggle.

“Haven’t tried that.”  He tossed his head so the several ear studs he wore were shown off to their best advantage.  “Can’t write much and I don’t like drawing.”

He stuck his hands into the pocket of the leather jacket he recently stole from a department store.  He would probably end up selling it after a few days, depended on how things went.  Christmas meant plenty of money around, and people got careless over the holidays.

“I solicited here sometimes.” He jerked his thumb towards a poorly lit toilet block. “Good place to roll people too.”  He waited for the stranger to condemn him, but he didn’t.

“You could pull yourself out of his hell, Ashley.”

“Nah. What’s the use?  It’s not such a bad life.”  He wasn’t having some soppy do-gooder feeling sorry for him.  He hated the life but wouldn’t admit it on pain of death.  What else could he do anyway?

“Tell me about your parents.”

“Don’t have any. When me mother died I cleared off.”  Hatred that had lain dormant for years surfaced, but he pushed it aside, trying to think of something to say or do to shock this nosy stranger.

They passed shops adorned with Christmas decorations, and a fat old Santa ho-ho-hoed his way along the street as they headed towards the sleazy nightclubs where young girls plied their trade.  He waved to Brooke who opened the passenger door of a white Mercedes.

“She used to be my girl once.”

“You don’t mind if she goes with other men?”

“Nah, why should I?” he lied.  I could kill some of those old sleazebags, but Brooke lived on borrowed time, so would her clients if they weren’t careful.  He snickered inwardly because he knew she had a deadly STD.

A heavily pregnant girl limped up to them.  Her arms and legs were matchstick thin, her skin drawn so tightly over her cheek bones the blue veins stood out. One of her eyes looked swollen and black.

“Here, get yourself something for Christmas, Mel.” Ash dragged a crumpled ten-dollar note from his pocket and shoved it at her.

“You could help these people,” the stranger said again.

“Listen, if you’re a cop or one of those do-gooders, I’ll…”

“You’ll do what?”

“Kill you.”

“But you haven’t taken a life before.”

“Yeah, well there’s always a first time. Don’t think it makes any difference to me if it’s bloody Christmas Eve, same as any other night to me.   I seen you somewhere before. Dunno where, but a long time ago.”

They wandered along the beachfront.  “Poor old bugger.” Ash pried Keith’s fingers from the empty sherry bottle, buttoned up the old man’s gaping coat and re-arranged the newspapers over him.

“Got bad lungs, night air will kill him one day.  I don’t want cops swarming all over the place.” Ash excused his act of kindness.

The stranger stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. They traveled all over Ash’s territory. Brightly lit streets with Christmas carols blaring out from loud speakers, along dingy alleyways where addicts lounged in doorways or negotiated with pushers.

“Want me to steal us a car?”

“No, I prefer to walk.”

At Greasy Sam’s they stopped to order hamburgers.  As they waited in the cubicle, the stranger started nagging him again.

“You’re the only one who can help these people, they trust you.”

“Why should I?  Anyway, who are you to tell me what to do?”

“These people are suffering.”

“And what the hell would you know about suffering?  Have you ever been hungry and cold? Repeatedly stabbed by some pimp like me?  Seen your friends die from an overdose?  Watched your old lady being bashed?” The hatred that had poisoned his system for years spewed out, as the stranger listened without interruption.

Ash shook with emotion by the time he finished, and he felt almost light headed with relief.

“Promise me, Ashley, that you will help these people, because I can’t.” The stranger stared at him with sadness and sorrow etched into his face. “I can only stay a short time.”

What intense eyes he had. Ash blinked several times.  A roaring sound almost ruptured his eardrums.  He remembered where he had seen this man before.  In a picture hanging inside a church he was vandalizing.  At the last minute something stopped him from lighting the match that would have burned the place to the ground.

“Remember me now, Ashley?”

“No.  You can’t be the same man because… All right, I’ll try to help these people, but leave me alone.”  He hardly recognised his own voice because it sounded so fearful.  I’m losing my mind he thought frantically.  It can’t be the same man.

“I am the man,” the stranger said, spreading his hands out on the table.

Ash closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the nail holes, but he vowed to help the street kids. When he finally glanced up he was alone.  What a relief, he’d been hallucinating. That bloody plum pudding he had stolen must have been contaminated.  He was suffering from food poisoning, seeing people who weren’t even there.

Sam slithered up wearing his usual glum face. “Where did your friend go?” he sniveled. “You’ll have to pay for both hamburgers if he doesn’t come back.”

                                                  ***
Margaret is a multi-published Australian author with Whiskey Creek Press and The Wild Rose Press
Website: http://www.margarettanner.com/

MY FAVOURITE HOLIDAY THEMED ROMANCE - RX IN RUSSIAN

This story, in my opinion, could be construed as a holiday themed romance because it is set in an unusual place for romance novels – Belarus.

Rx In Russian by Mona Risk – The Wild Rose Press

BUY LINK

Dr Jillian Burton, a Paediatric/Neonatal specialist is in Belarus for a short time as part of an American Health Delegation to improve childrens’ health. In the Solidarity Hospital in Minsk she meets up with, and is instantly drawn to, the charismatic hospital director, Dr Fyodor Vassilov.

Each of these doctors carry the scars of tragedies from their past. Fyodor for the loss of his wife, the mother of his four sons, and Jillian is guilt ridden for causing the death of her only child.

The author obviously knows Belarus well and this drew me in straight away. I could feel the icy cold, visualize the cars frozen in the street, and the majestic old buildings that were long past their glory days.

This was a moving romantic story, brilliantly portraying a country and culture I know little about. The story was a gripping one, beautifully written and full of passion. Fyodor and Jillian each have to ride an emotional rollercoaster before they achieve their HEA ending, and when it happened, it was certainly worth waiting for.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Mona Risk is a multi-published, multi-award winning American author.
She is published by one of my publishers, The Wild Rose Press.

Margaret Tanner
Published author
http://www.margarettanner.com/