Please welcome Mark Wildyr with
and wish him Happy Release Day!
When vacationing Denver architect Roger Mackie rolls into a quaint old trading post in Montana’s Bitterroot Mountain Range to gas up his car, it’s the start of a life-changing journey. Lean, handsome Chippewa Johnny Two-Guns is looking for a ride. He’s on a mission to recover some clan treasures. Roger is immediately smitten and drives Johnny all the way to Arizona.
Although the two successfully build a friendship, Roger is unable to initiate the intimacy they both seem to desire. A second visit gives Roger another chance to draw Johnny out of his shell. The payoff is spectacular, leading to a week of sex and discovery, during which Johnny’s innocent enthusiasm shows Roger a new side of love between men. But trouble is on the horizon for the new couple, as fate seems set against them. And what does the sudden appearance of sexy young architect Brad Beaver portend for the future?
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Thanks to My Fiction Nook for allowing me to guest blog about the publication of my new novel, JOHNNY TWO-GUNS, which is scheduled for release on Friday, March 18. JOHNNY is my first collaboration with Dreamspinner Press. Let me tell you a little about myself before we take a look at a scene from the book.
The little southeastern Oklahoma town of my birth gave me my roots. Texas endowed me with a college education. The Army shipped me to far-off Germany. Thereafter, Colorado endowed me with a wife (I lost her to pneumonia), and New Mexico provided a permanent home and a place to foster my long-held interest in Native American cultures. Historical events and cross-cultural relationships are crucial to the plots of the Wildyr books. Thus far, I’ve published 60 or so short stories, a novella, and seven novels. I try to give back to the literary community by teaching a free writing class every Monday afternoon.
The following scene takes place in Chapter 1 shortly after Roger Mackie, a Denver architect, meets a young Chippewa and agrees to give him a ride to Arizona in exchange for help driving and some conversation. They are heading south down I-15 toward Las Vegas.
I glanced over at him. “Let me tell you a little about myself, then you can do the same.”
So I scanned my thirty-two years for him, mentioning the little Illinois town where I was born, and let him know about my two sisters and mom and dad. I told him where I’d studied architecture and how I came to settle in Denver because that’s where my new wife was from. I told him of making partner in the business and about the divorce. For some unknown reason, I even mentioned Hank, but only in the context of a friend when I was growing up. For a moment, I wondered if I had blushed when I mentioned that name.
When his turn came, he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Not much to tell. I haven’t done all that stuff you have.”
“Where were you born?” I prodded.
“Right back there.” His bracelets clicked as he motioned over his shoulder. “Lived in the same house all my life.”
He shook his head.
“But Beasley said you were going to pick up your brother’s stuff. I thought that was the reason for the trip to Tucson.”
His gaze cut over at me, then resumed scanning the road directly in front of us. “Not no more.”
“Oh, you mean you don’t have a brother anymore. Tell me about him. Older… younger.”
“Don’t want to talk about him.” His voice was so low I almost didn’t catch it.
“Sorry,” I said. “But just because he died in a bar fight doesn’t….”
He turned his head away to study the horizon beyond the passenger’s side window. There was silence for a long time. I’d stepped over some boundary but didn’t know what.
Finally, “He was the bouncer there.”
My ears flamed. The kid assumed I thought all Indians were drunks who died in cars or bars. I was just trying to get him to talk to me. The radio crooned two pop tunes with a commercial sandwiched between before the atmosphere inside the car eased.
I tried again. “Where’d you graduate high school?” Remembering what Beasley had said, this felt like firm ground.
The muscles in Johnny’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he named a town I had never heard of.
“It was okay.”
“Okay? Sports. Girls. Dances. It was just okay?”
“Didn’t play sports. Don’t dance… not like that anyway. Didn’t go with girls.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “I run sometimes.”
“Hey, me too. That’s how I get my exercise. But there must be some organized sport you like.”
“Rodeoing. Like a good rodeo now and then.”
“You ride bulls or horses?” I asked. “As you can probably tell, I don’t know much about rodeos.”
Johnny tipped his hat to the right to shade his face from the sun streaming in his side of the car. “Did some bulldogging when I was younger. Until my dad got hurt bull riding. Then I had to quit. If anything happened to me, wouldn’t be no one to do work at the house.”
“Bulldogging,” I mused. “That’s when you jump off your horse and knock down a half-grown side of beef, isn’t it?”
He gave a genuine laugh that lit up his whole countenance. His eyes crinkled at the corners and a tiny dimple appeared in his left cheek. I reacted in my nether regions.“Guess that’s about it.”
Do you get the feeling Rog is riding with a true innocent?
Again, thanks to My Fiction Nook for allowing me to guest post this blog. And thanks to you for reading.
Here are some links where you can learn a little more about me and my writing.
Promotional post. Materials provided by the author.