A fireman, a woman lawyer in the West, escaping into the vast wilderness of Yosemite. Kathy is drawing on the experiences of her life to create a story rich in the beauty and isolation of the out-of-doors.
As pre-teens, Kathy and I were reluctant participants on our first backpacking experience, sleeping bags wrapped around our arms, we hiked with our father to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. From this humble beginning grew a deep appreciation of the natural world, often met on its terms with a backpack. Kathy describes Yosemite's back country so well because her steps have followed those of John Muir. John Muir enjoyed the scene as a naturalist, Kathy enjoyed the scene as a romance writer. Read further to see the results of her visions.
| Summary | Teaser Text | First Three Pages | Bodie/Yosemite | Home Page |
Claire Butler was one of California's first lawyers, carving out her place in the small mining town of Bodie. Johnny Christmas was her first client--a firefighter accused of brutalizing a local woman. Despite Johnny's reputation as a brawler and a carouser, Claire fiercely believed that he was innocent, and she would risk her career--and her life--to prove it...
Torn between her honor and an angry lynch mob, the law-abiding counselor surprised even herself--when she helped her client escape to the mountains. Johnny and Claire rode into wilderness, their desires fueled by the excitement of danger. In the cool darkness, they thrived on the fruit of woods and streams--and the warmth of each other. There they were safe to live and love, in their own private Eden... Top of Page
Claire swam in the placid river, her golden hair swirling behind her. He could tell she was naked. He couldn't quite see her body, but her pale skin reflected beneath the water . . . The whole scene conspired against his intentions. The hot sun poured over his back. A light breeze puckered his nipples. The scent of pine tickled his nose. He found it easy to abandon scruples . . .
She turned into the water. Her eyes widened and her lips parted . . . Now he stood there naked before her . . . She waited. Her pale face above the green water, her skin blurry beneath if. He dove. He reached her . . .
He kissed her. He tried to be hard and heartless about it, but he knew he had failed. Her mouth was too tender, too soft and expressive. He pressed himself to her, full of hunger and love, and every emotion but anger. He didn't want this and fought against it, but his lips lingered over her softness . . . and she pulled herself to him, twining her legs over his waist, more giving, more wanton, more open and needy than he'd ever imagined . . .Top of Page
Bodie, California
July, 1880
"They're going to hang Johnny Christmas, and it doesn't seem fair."
Claire Butler stared at the brassy-haired woman whose low-cut red dress exposed the last of her faded charms.
"You want me to defend an accused rapist?" Claire asked.
"You got it, honey . . ."
Claire clutched the top of the ladder and glanced at the sign whose ornate white letters proclaimed her name and new occupation. She'd hoped the law business would pick up in Bodie, but she hadn't expected an offer so quickly, and during a lifetime of admiring her father's profession, she'd never envisioned a proposal like this. She set the claw hammer down and wondered what a fancy lady would know about justice. "And you're offering to pay his expenses?" Claire hitched up her skirt and inched down the wood steps, mentally cursing female apparel that made masculine chores such a burden. When she reached the bottom, she brushed off her sleeve and turned to the small crowd of women gathered on the porch of her house and office. "Do you mind if I ask you why?"
"Why what? Why do we want to hire you? Or why would we pay his expenses?"
"Both, as a matter of fact."
The scarlet clad hussy turned without answering and opened the door to Claire's office. Her satin skirts rustled as she sashayed inside, followed by a bevy of girls whose angled cheekbones belied their plush figures and betrayed the hardships that had driven them to the oldest profession. Claire retrieved the hammer and hustled inside. The women posted themselves next to a table Claire had set up to interview clients. She walked quietly to the desk, glad she had already finished the study. Given her dismal experience in San Francisco, she'd never expected an offer of work when she'd barely even hung out her shingle.
Reaching the table, she turned and faced the clutch of young women ranged behind their crimson-clad leader. A soft breeze fluttered their smocks. Claire knew from her childhood that they wore them loose to give men quicker access. She shuttered inside, thanking the heavens that even in her lowest moments, when she'd had no notion where the rent money would come from, she'd never been driven to such desperation.
Still, she didn't have next month's rent yet.
She thrust her hand at the fancy lady with the over-exposed bosom. "Claire Butler. Attorney-at-law."
"I'm Cleo." The middle-aged woman ignored Claire's gesture and shift her weight so her hip tilted forward. "I run the town's most popular whorehouse."
The scent of cheap lilac water tickled Claire's nose, but she remained standing, gaze level, hand forward. The plump woman studied Claire's ladylike suit and wool-encased figure, then brought her gaze to meet Claire's. "We've come about Johnny Christmas. I imagine you've heard what he's charged with?"
Claire nodded. Everyone in town knew what had happened, or at least what was supposed to have happened.
"He's a friend of our, and we want to help him. We want to hire you to defend him."
Claire gestured the woman into the chair. She didn't have enough seats for the others and briefly considered finding them some, then dismissed the notion. If the madam came with an army of backers, they'd just have to find their own places. "I understand he's engaged Patrick Reddy."
"A fine lawyer, Patrick, but not the right man for this case."
Claire took her own seat. The idea shocked her, defending a rapist. She found herself wanting to crawl under the table. She braced herself with the smell of old leather, the heft and weight of her father's fine pen. "You seem pretty certain of your opinion."
"In my line of work, you learn a lot about lawyers."
"Then you must know Reddy's one of the best."
"He's too softhearted to defend Johnny Christmas." Top of Page
