. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and her book:
Calico Canyon
Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
MARY CONNEALY is married to Ivan a farmer, and she is the mother of four beautiful daughters, Joslyn, Wendy, Shelly and Katy. Mary is a GED Instructor by day and an author by night. And there is always a cape involved in her transformation.
Visit her at her website and her blog.
Product Details
List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1597899380
ISBN-13: 978-1597899383
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One
Mosqueros, Texas, 1867
The Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode in.
Late as usual.
Grace Calhoun was annoyed with their tardiness at the same time she wished they’d never come back from the noon recess.
They shoved their way into their desks, yelling and wrestling as if they were in a hurry. No doubt they were. They couldn’t begin tormenting her until they sat down, now, could they?
Grace Calhoun clenched her jaw to stop herself from nagging. Early in the school year, she’d realized that her scolding amused them and, worse yet, inspired them. To think she’d begged their father to send his boys to school.
Her gaze locked on Mark Reeves. She knew that look. The glint in his eyes told her he was planning. . .something. . .awful.
Grace shuddered. Seven girls and fifteen boys in her school. Most were already working like industrious little angels.
Most.
The noise died down. Grace stood in front of the room and cleared her throat to buy time until her voice wouldn’t shake. Normally she could handle them—or at least survive their antics. But she hadn’t eaten today and it didn’t look as though she’d eat soon.
“Sally, will you please open your book to page ten and read aloud for the class?”
“Yes, Miss Calhoun.” With a sweet smile, six-year-old Sally McClellen, her Texas accent so strong Grace smiled, stood beside her desk and lifted the first grade reader.
Grace’s heart swelled as the little girl read without hesitation, her blue eyes focused on the pages, her white-blond hair pulled back in a tidy braid. Most of her students were coming along well.
Most.
Grace folded her skeletal hands together with a prayer of thank-fulness for the good and a prayer for courage for the bad. She added prayers for her little sisters, left behind in Chicago, supported with her meager teacher’s salary.
A high-pitched squeak disrupted her prayerful search for peace. A quick glance caught only a too-innocent expression on Ike Reeves’s face.
Mark’s older brother Ike stared at the slate in front of him. Ike studying was as likely as Grace roping a longhorn bull, dragging him in here, and expecting the creature to start parsing sentences. There was no doubt about it. The Reeves boys were up to something.
She noticed a set of narrow shoulders quivering beside Mark. Luke Reeves, the youngest of the triplets—Mark, Luke, and John. All three crammed in one front-row desk built to hold two children. The number of students was growing faster than the number of desks.
She’d separated them, scolded, added extra pages to their assign-ments. She’d kept them in from recess and she’d kept them after school.
And, of course, she’d turned tattletale and complained to their father, repeatedly, to absolutely no avail. She’d survived the spring term with the Reeves twins, barely. The triplets weren’t school age yet then. After the fall work was done, they came. All five of them. Like a plague of locusts, only with less charm.
The triplets were miniature versions of their older twin brothers, Abraham and Isaac. Their white-blond hair was as unruly as their behavior. They dressed in the next thing to rags. They were none too clean, and Grace had seen them gather for lunch around what seemed to be a bucket full of meat.
They had one tin bucket, and Abe, the oldest, would hand out what looked like cold beefsteak as the others sat beside him, apparently starved half to death, and eat with their bare hands until the bucket was empty.
Why didn’t their father just strap a feed bag on their heads? What was that man thinking to feed his sons like this?
Easy question. Their father wasn’t thinking at all.
He was as out of control as his sons. How many times had Grace talked to Daniel Reeves? The man had the intelligence of the average fence post, the personality of a wounded warthog, and the stubbornness of a flea-bitten mule. Grace silently apologized to all the animals she’d just insulted.
Grace noticed Sally standing awkwardly beside her desk, obviously finished.
“Well done, Sally.” Grace could only hope she told the truth. The youngest of the three McClellen girls could have been waltzing for all Grace knew.
“Thank you, Miss Calhoun.” Sally handed the book across the aisle to John Reeves.
The five-year-old stood and began reading, but every few words he had to stop. John was a good reader, so it wasn’t the words tripping him up. Grace suspected he couldn’t control his breathing for wanting to laugh.
The rowdy Reeves boys were showing her up as a failure. She needed this job, and to keep it she had to find a way to manage these little monsters.
She’d never spanked a student in her life. Can I do it? God, should I do it?
Agitated nearly to tears, Grace went to her chair and sat down.
“Aahhh!” She jumped to her feet.
All five Reeves boys erupted in laughter.
Grace turned around and saw the tack they’d put on her chair. Resisting the urge to rub her backside, she whirled to face the room.
Most of the boys were howling with laughter. Most of the girls looked annoyed on her behalf. Sally had a stubborn expression of loyalty on her face that would have warmed Grace’s heart if she hadn’t been pushed most of the way to madness.
Grace had been handling little girls all her life, but she knew noth-ing about boys.
Well, she was going to find out if a spanking would work. Slamming her fist onto her desk, she shouted, “I warned you boys, no more pranks. Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, John, you get up here. You’re going to be punished for this.”
“We didn’t do it!” The boys chorused their denials at the top of their lungs. She’d expected as much, but this time she wasn’t going to let a lack of solid evidence sway her. She knew good and well who’d done this.
Driven by rage, Grace turned to get her ruler. Sick with the feeling of failure but not knowing what else to do, she jerked open the drawer in her teacher’s desk.
A snake struck out at her. Screaming, Grace jumped back, tripped over her chair, and fell head over heels.
With a startled cry, Grace landed hard on her backside. She barely registered an alarming ripping sound as she bumped her head against the wall hard enough to see stars. Her skirt fell over her head, and her feet—held up by her chair—waved in the air. She shoved desperately at the flying gingham to cover herself decently. When her vision cleared, she looked up to see the snake, dangling down out of the drawer, drop onto her foot.
It disappeared under her skirt, and she felt it slither up her leg. Her scream could have peeled the whitewash off the wall.
Grace leapt to her feet. The chair got knocked aside, smashing into the wall. She stomped her leg, shrieking, the snake twisting and climbing past her knee. She felt it wriggling around her leg, climbing higher. She whacked at her skirt and danced around trying to shake the reptile loose.
The laughter grew louder. A glance told her all the children were out of the desks and running up and down the aisle.
One of the McClellen girls raced straight for her. Beth McClellen dashed to her side and dropped to her knees in front of Grace. The nine-year-old pushed Grace’s skirt up and grabbed the snake.
Backing away before Grace accidentally kicked her, Beth said, “It’s just a garter snake, ma’am. It won’t hurt you none.”
Heaving whimpers escaped with every panting breath. Grace’s heart pounded until it seemed likely to escape her chest and run off on its own. Fighting for control of herself, she got the horrible noises she was making under control then smoothed her hair with unsteady hands. She stared at the little snake, twined around Beth’s arm.
Beth’s worried eyes were locked on Grace. The child wasn’t sparing the snake a single glance. Because, of course, Beth and every other child in this room knew it was harmless. Grace knew it, too. But that didn’t mean she wanted the slithery thing crawling up her leg!
“Th—ank—” Grace couldn’t speak. She breathed like a winded horse, sides heaving, hands sunk in her hair. The laughing boys drowned out her words anyway.
Beth turned to the window, eased the wooden shutters open, and lowered the snake gently to the ground. The action gave Grace another few seconds to gather her scattered wits.
Trying again, she said, “Thank you, B-Beth. I’m not—not a-afraid of snakes.”
The laughter grew louder. Mark Reeves fell out of his desk holding his stomach as his body shook with hilarity. The rest of the boys laughed harder.
Swallowing hard, Grace tried again to compose herself. “I was just startled. Thank you for helping me.” Taking a step toward Beth, Grace rested one trembling hand on the young girl’s arm. “Thank you very much, Beth.”
Beth gave a tiny nod of her blond head, as if to encourage her and extend her deepest sympathy.
Grace turned to the rioting classroom—and her skirt fell off.
With a cry of alarm, Grace grabbed at her skirt.
The boys in the class started to whoop with laughter. Mark kicked his older brother Ike. Ike dived out of his chair onto Mark. They knocked the heavy two-seater student desk out of line. Every time they bumped into some other boy, their victim would jump into the fray.
Pulling her skirt back into place, she turned a blind eye to the chaos to deal with her clothes. Only now did she see that the tissue-thin fabric was shredded. A huge hole gaped halfway down the front. It was the only skirt she owned.
Beth, a natural caretaker, noticed and grabbed Grace’s apron off a hook near the back wall.
Mandy McClellen rushed up along with Sally and all the other girls. Mandy spoke low so the rioting boys couldn’t overhear. “This is your only dress, isn’t it, Miss Calhoun?”
Grace nodded, fighting not to cry as the girls adjusted the apron strings around her waist to hold up her skirt. She’d patch it back to-gether somehow, although she had no needle and thread, no money to buy them, and no idea how to use them.
Grace looked up to see the older Reeves boys making for the back of the schoolroom.
“Hold it right there.” Mandy used a voice Grace envied.
The boys froze. They pivoted and looked at Mandy, as blond as her sisters and a close match in coloring to the Reeves, but obviously blessed with extraordinary power she could draw on when necessary. After the boys’ initial surprise—and possibly fear—Grace saw the calculating expression come back over their faces.
“Every one of you,” Mandy growled to frighten a hungry panther, “get back in your seats right now.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared.
The whole classroom full of boys stared back. They hesitated, then at last, with sullen anger, caved before a will stronger than their own. Under Mandy’s burning gaze, they returned to their seats. Grace’s heart wilted as she tried to figure out how Mandy did it.
When the boys were finally settled, the eleven-year-old turned to Grace, her brow furrowed with worry. “I’m right sorry, Miss Calhoun,” she whispered, “but you have to figure out how to manage ’em yourself. I can’t do it for you.”
Grace nodded. The child spoke the complete and utter truth.
The girls fussed over Grace, setting her chair upright and returning to her desk a book that had been knocked to the floor.
“Miss Calhoun?” Beth patted Grace’s arm.
“Yes?”
“Can I give you some advice?”
The little girl had pulled a snake out from under Grace’s skirt. Grace would deny her nothing. “Of course.”
“I think it’s close enough to day’s end that you ought to let everyone go home. You’re too upset to handle this now. Come Monday morning you’ll be calmer and not do something you’ll regret.”
“Or start something you can’t finish,” Sally added.
Grace knew the girls were right. Her temper boiled too near the surface. She was on the verge of a screaming fit and a bout of tears.
My dress! God, what am I going to do about it?
These boys! Dear, dear Lord God, what am I going to do about them?
She tried to listen for the still, small voice of God that had taken her through the darkest days of her life during her childhood in Chicago. He seemed to abandon her today. The good Lord had to know one of His children had never needed an answer more. But if God sent an answer, her fury drowned it out. She’d been putting off a showdown with these boys all term. It was time to deal with the problem once and for all.
Sally slipped her little hand into Grace’s. “Boys are naughty.”
Grace shared a look with Sally and had to force herself not to nod. Seven sweet little girls stood in a circle around her. Grace wanted to hug them all and then go after the boys with a broom, at least five of them. The other ten weren’t so badly behaved. Except when inspired by the Reeves.
God had made boys and girls. He’d planned it. They were supposed to be this way. But how could a teacher stuff book learning in their heads when they wouldn’t sit still or stop talking or quit wrestling?
Digging deep for composure, Grace said, “You girls return to your seats, please. And thank you for your help.”
Beth shook her head frantically, obviously sensing Grace wasn’t going to take her advice.
“It’s all right, Beth. I’ve put this off too long as it is. And thank you again.”
Beth’s feet dragged as she followed her sisters and the other girls to her seat.
Grace waited as the room returned to relative quiet, except for the usual giggling and squirming of the Reeves boys.
Glancing between her chair seat and her open desk drawer, Grace was worried she might develop a nervous tic. She sat down but left the drawer open. An almost insane calm took over her body. “School is dismissed except for Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, and John Reeves.”
Forehead furrowed over her blond brows, Beth shook her head and gave a little “don’t do it” wave.
Grace could tell by the way the sun shone in the west window that it was only a few minutes early for dismissal. Good. That gave her time to settle with these boys, and then she’d have it out with their father. Things were going to change around here!
The rest of the students, stealing frequent glances between her and the blond holy terrors in her midst, gathered up their coats and lunch pails and left the schoolhouse in almost total silence.
And that left Grace.
Alone.
With the Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
I was interviewed about 
George Carlin
Nicole Hollander: Can you imagine a world without men? No crime and lots of happy fat women.
of contests, critiques, community and connections to get published.
from those critiques. Also if you are a finalist, you get judged again. This time, by editors and agents. So this is a chance to get your work in front of people who might buy your book or sign you as a client. There came a time when I expected to final in any contest I entered. If you Google 
Mary Connealy Contest Diva there’s a website with a list of people who’ve won a lot of contests and I’m on it. I kept track for the last two or three years before I got a contract and I’d finalled in eleven contests with five different books. I entered my manuscript Petticoat Ranch in ACFW’s Noble Theme contest in 2004. I was a double finalist, another book of mine, China Doll-now sold and re-titled Montana Rose, was in the running, too. When I heard I was a finalist, I decided to attend the 2004 conference. A member of my online critique group said I could room with her. I had never been on a plane before and I had never gone on vacation without my husband, Ivan, before. I don’t know if you can imagine the guts it took for me to go. Ivan, my husband, was great about it when 
I told him I wanted to go, spend all that money on my writing.When you think about it. Me, saying to Ivan, “Honey, I want to fly to Denver and spend three days in a hotel with someone I met on the internet…” Well, he was a pretty good sport about it.
Cathy’s encouragement kept me hoping. Plus, by this time, I had about twelve books written and I’d had so many rejections I had a hide like a rhino, so submitting work didn’t even faze me. (In the interest of full disclosure I believe I stole the 'hide like a rhino' line from Janet Dean, although it could be another Seeker. We're all tough...most of the time) Okay, well maybe I crawled under my computer desk and sucked my thumb for a day or two every time I got another rejection but other than that I was fine. Just before the next 
year’s conference, Cathy Marie Hake told me she wanted to pitch my name to write a book as part of a three book series set in historical Alaska. I worked on a proposal and talked on the phone with Cathy a lot before the 2005 conference. Every year at the conference the acquiring editor for Heartsong Presents gives a contract to an 
unpublished author. I was so hopeful! I knew there was a chance it could be me. The Heartsong editor said someone else’s name and there’s only one, so okay, I’ve been rejected before. I kind of expect it. And then she said, “And this year we’re giving two contracts to first time authors. We’re offering a contract to Mary Connealy.” I get chills saying that! It was a wonderful, thrilling shocking moment. I had to go up and get the contract, in front of 350 other writers, all clapping. A great, great moment in my life. And it happened as a direct result of contests, critiques, community, connections …well, ten years of hard work helped of course..and I gained those through ACFW.
and now~~~~drumroll please
A review by Cherry Blossom MJ of 
