Hi y'all! Sorry I haven't posted lately--I've been quite busy, but I'll save my adventures for another day. If you've seen my posts on Early Literary Influences you know that I've always been an avid reader, and nothing sparked my young interest quite like books with horses: National Velvet, My Friend Flicka, Misty of Chincoteague.
Today I'm very happy to be playing host to Mickie B. Ashling, who tempts me with a grown up story of of horses, but she also throws in another favorite element: two men, so different, yet with so much in common, navigating the rocky road to love. Will they fall in love and live happily ever after? (Dreamy sigh) Or are they destined to remain forever apart by fate and circumstances? And since barns usually figure into stories involving equines, are there any "hayloft" scenes, you ask? Well, you'll have to read the book and find out for yourself--I'll never tell!
Preston Fawkes is ten the first time he meets fifteen-year-old Konrad Schnell at the San Antonio Polo Club. Captivated by the mystique surrounding the sport of kings, Pres vows to learn the game at the hands of his newly acquired friend and mentor. The hero worship soon grows into something deeper, but the friends are separated when Preston goes off to boarding school in England.
The relationship that follows is riddled with challenges―their age gap, physical distance, and parental pressure taking precedence over feelings yet to be explored. Although their bond goes deep, they deal with the reality of their situation differently: Preston is open and fearless while Konrad is reticent and all too aware of the social implications of making a public stand.
Their paths intersect and twine, binding them as tightly as a cowboy’s lasso, but fate may alter their plans. How will love overcome the divots in the turf as they gallop toward the future—one where obstacles no longer stand in their way?
Excerpt:
I stared out the window, paying little attention to the
landscape which was miles and miles of steaming hot nada. August in Texas
wasn’t exactly paradise, so there were no distractions from my melancholy
thoughts. It never occurred to me that Konrad might change as well, but of
course it was a very real possibility. I’d had his undivided attention for
three years, and it would be over by the end of next week. Once we were let
loose in the world, there’s was no telling what could happen.
I got a little preview of the future as soon as we drove past
the great willow tree marking the entrance of the club. A small crowd of people
gathered near the clubhouse, greeting players and their retinue. I assumed
these were the big shots in charge of the tournament. I recognized a few faces
from pictures I’d seen in polo magazines and was impressed anew. One of the
greatest Texans to play the sport, Cecil Smith, now in his late seventies, was
a part of the group, along with the owner of the club, Norman Brinker. They
were meeting and greeting the arrivals, and when our turn came, Konrad was
acknowledged with backslapping enthusiasm.
“So you’re the young man Cecil has been jawing about,” Mr.
Brinker remarked. “Welcome to Willow Bend.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m glad you could make it, son,” Cecil added, joining in
the conversation.
“Thank you for the opportunity, sir,” Konrad said, removing
his hat respectfully and shaking the older man’s hand with the same reverence
he’d have paid God. If Konrad idolized anyone it was Cecil Smith. The legendary
wrangler-turned-polo- player had been instrumental in arranging for Kon’s
invitation to play in this tournament.
In his prime, Cecil Smith had been a 10 goal player for
twenty-six consecutive years, the highest ranking one could attain in the
sport. He’d also been credited with taking polo out of the drawing room and
into the bunkhouse. His glory days had marked the zenith of American Polo, and
long after he’d retired in 1967, he had continued to ride and train polo ponies
on his ranch out in Boerne, not too far from our San Antonio home. He was
always on the lookout for homegrown talent, and Konrad had caught his eye a
while back. It was always a great source of pride for Cecil whenever a local
boy could stick it to the millionaires and upper-class stiffs. He had shown the
world that one needn’t be a blue blood to succeed in polo. All you needed was
talent, guts, and a love for the sport and the animals that were the true
players. Without a good pony you were nothing.
“Go out there and make me proud, son.”
“Yes, sir…thank you, sir,” Konrad stammered, tripping over
his words in embarrassment.
“And who’s this young man?” Cecil asked, finally
acknowledging my presence.
“This here is Pres, Mr. Smith. He’s an upcoming rider and
acting as my groom today.”
“A good groom is harder to come by than a wishing well in the
middle of Hill Country,” he drawled. “Are you any good, boy?”
“I try to be, sir.”
“Tryin’ is only good in horseshoes, Pres. Grooms are the
unsung heroes of polo and I would expect you to go the extra mile for your
friend and his ponies. How many do you have?” he asked, turning back to Konrad.
“Just the two for now,” Kon admitted.
“You’re goin’ to need at least three more, son.”
“I understand, sir. I can’t afford them yet.”
“You show me what’s what this weekend and I’ll see what I can
do about getting you another pony.”
Konrad’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ll do my best to
make you proud, sir.”
“See that you do, boy…see that you do.” He doffed his Stetson
at the two of us and walked off toward another group.
“Holy shit,” Konrad breathed.
“No pressure,” I said, grinning up at him.
He let out a whoop and dragged me off toward the stables.
Kon’s parents and Monica had long since taken off to check into the motel rooms
they’d booked for our stay. The clubhouse accommodations were allotted to the
royals and other more famous players. We nobodies had to fend for ourselves.
I craned my head in all directions, trying to spy a
world-renowned figure, and I wasn’t disappointed. There was a group of men
leading horses covered in red blankets with the letter H embroidered in gold. I
assumed these were the Harriott horses belonging to the brothers from
Argentina, some of the best players of our time.
“Stop gawking,” Kon scolded.
“Can’t help it,” I said. “Isn’t that Prince Charles?” I
whispered, pointing out the familiar face.
“Don’t point!” Kon barked. “People will think we’re a bunch
of hillbillies.”
“We are,” I reminded him.
“Shut up, Flea,” he said, prodding me forward. We were
approached by a stable hand who showed us our assigned stall and encouraged us
to make use of whatever we needed. There were bales of hay and bins of feed for
the taking. I stopped thinking about celebrities and got down to the business
of making our horses comfortable. While I pitched hay and mixed feed, Kon went
to get his pair of ponies. I imagined myself in the role of player instead of
helper. One day I’d be a part of this world and people would be waiting on me
instead of the reverse. I hoped that my friendship with Konrad would withstand
our separation. It was the only damper on the horizon but one I tried to
rationalize as necessary to my growth. Mom had promised to let me return home
each summer but assured me with a knowing smile that I’d stop wanting to after
a while. I doubted it. Leaving Konrad was the hardest thing I’d do in my short
life. There was a part of me that wanted time to stand still, but I knew that
change was inevitable.
Find Fire Horse at Dreamspinner Press:
Official Bio
Mickie B. Ashling is the alter-ego of a multifaceted woman
raised by a single mother who preferred reading over other forms of
entertainment. She found a kindred spirit in her oldest child and encouraged
her with a steady supply of dog-eared paperbacks. Romance was the preferred
genre, and historical romances topped her favorites list.
By the time Mickie discovered her own talent for writing,
real life had intruded, and the business of earning a living and raising four
sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing and the inevitable emptying
nest, dreams were resurrected, and the storyteller was reborn.
She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and
continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and
happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning
novels have been called "gut wrenching, daring, and thought
provoking." She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work
damn hard for their happy endings.
Mickie loves to travel and has lived in the Philippines,
Spain, and the Middle East but currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.
***
I don't know about y'all but the blurb and cover have reeled me right in!
