Perfect: Open Country

One of the best parts about vacationing is the opportunity to read. somewhat, uninterrupted. Some books, I don’t care, or I, even, end up hoping for interruption. Not that the book isn’t good, just sometimes, I need or want to break away. Rarely, at least for a good long while, have I found a book that’s made me want to sit up all night reading.

I use to, though. When my boys were small, sometimes, in that vast wilderness of motherhood, I remember a few books, I stayed up all night reading and it was worth it in the morning. I was a railroad widow, so I was often alone for days or a week at a time. Raising boys alone.

I was lucky, as I told my boys, “I was once a little boy, too, so I know what you’re thinking.” (My middle son says this comment probably did irreparable damage to their delicate psyche.) I was a tomboy and my best friend was a boy who could think up the wildest ideas for fun. Truth is, I thought up my share, too.

We set out one summer to dig to China. Even his father helped. We didn’t make it, but by the end of summer, we had quite a hole and our mother’s were tired of vacuuming up the ton of sand we tracked into the house in hair and shoes. I don’t remember one time being bored that summer. We had to take our lunches down in the hole with us. Les’ father made us keep it wide for safety sake. Still, what an adventure.

We caught grasshoppers and cooked them in toy iron skillets to see what they tasted like, climbed trees and played Tarzan, made a giant Monopoly™ game throughout the neighborhood and charged our friends to play. We were trying to earn money to buy some pet turtles. We played cars and made roads mapping grass and sand. Played cowboys and Indians with plastic toys that I proceeded to chew all the tails and hoofs off of.

Perfect experiences to raise a family of boys, I think. Still, often, I found myself out of my element and longing for…just one touch of lace or pink. I was lucky, though. I read.

And romance novels were just beginning to go strong. Every once in a while, I’d find one book that kept me reading past midnight, past dawn. LaVyrle Spencer was my favorite writer. The writer whose book I knew would keep me up through the night. The story, the writing, the tiny details, the use of words. When she released a new book, I savored it, holding it back as reward.

Well, I have finally found a writer who can stand right next to Spencer. Proudly. And better yet, the books are Western Historical. My very first love.

I was raised on John Wayne and Clint Eastwood s*#t-kickers. That’s what you went to the movies to see, in my day. Good old westerns where right was right and a man took a problem into his own hands. And better yet, there were horses.

I love horses. When I was little, I was a horse, too. I thought I was anyway. Wished I was, but that’s another story.

I started and finished Open Country by Kari Warner, the second in Warner’s Blood Rose Trilogy on vacation. And…I loved it.

Hank’s story is perfect and Molly is perfect for him. I wondered as I read Pieces of Sky who the woman would be who would win this man’s walled off heart. She’d have to be special and Molly is. And all the things I love about reading are there, too. Great writing, searing detail, western setting, a story that is just like every man or woman’s conflict and problems. I love stories like that…like just what happens next door or in your own life. And to write like that, you have to understand the human emotions and feelings.

Warner does (and she’s a really nice lady, too). And Warner’s books remind us of those old westerns in the best way, with strong characters, rugged men and setting. I highly recommend this second in the series and I wait impatiently for Jack’s story in Chasing the Sun.

And I have another great book to recommend. Haven’t I been blessing in that department lately? My only wish is that I hadn’t bought it for my Kindle because the one drawback with the Kindle, as I’ve said before, is I can’t share my reading finds. I usually decide as I buy the book whether I’ll want to past it on or not. That determines in what format I buy it. With The Mountain Between Us by Charles Martin I chose wrong. I want to share.

I want to share with my boys and my mother, especially. The story felt so personal and close to me and there were life lessons, too.

I saw the ad for The Mountain Between Us in my Literary Guild flyer and because it was a survivor story, I was immediately interested, then I found out the setting. The Ashley National Forest. That’s where we spend a lot of our vacations. I know the place well, love it, fear it and respect it. The story was great, the details spot on. Martin described the setting to perfection. And the setting served as a character in the story. But it was the love in the story that pulled me in. It was a hard book to put down.