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Addison Longwood survived the plague that struck down almost everyone around her. She survived the hazardous trek into the countryside to find shelter within a group of like-minded individuals led by a man she can actually respect. Settled and contributing, she allows herself a sense of hope.

From the remaining military, Captain Jesse Forbes is charged with locating survivors in order to rebuild the country. His initial impression of Addison’s band isn’t positive and he sets his sights on the young woman in order to infiltrate, and assess her leader—the end justifying the means, or so he assures himself.

But there are far greater dangers lurking, threatening the very existence of the survivors. Alliances are forged—and tested. Betrayal cuts deep, lives are lost and others changed forever.

Who are the good guys anyhow?

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F3FXJ8W                                                   

https://www.books2read.com/u/bOARBW

Excerpt:

Wrapped in an old piece of toweling—another item to add to the shopping list—she was squeezing the moisture out of her mane when Jesse Forbes came through the door. One of her guys lingered just outside, guarding the man, but every molecule of her being told her to run, far and fast before she put some steel in her spine and managed a nod.

“Morning. I see you’re up ahead of most everyone else too,” he said.

Making small talk in the showers, with him fully clothed and her … not, sucked. To his credit, aside from one sweeping glance down her body, he looked at her face.

“Seems like it.” She edged around him, catching his amused stare and grabbed up her clothes. “Excuse me.”

“I wondered how long your hair was.”

She blinked, and despite herself, her hand rose to finger the wet tangles. Not particularly vain, she’d left her hair to grow, finding it easier to tie up and out of the way instead of fighting with the unruly curls. Especially now she could keep it clean and avoid the critters that tended to infiltrate dirty hair, particularly among close quarters. It had been carefully secured and out of the way on the mountain that day so he couldn’t have known.

Deciding not to answer, she ducked into the tacked-on separate room, no more than a tent, thank goodness for the temperate climate. She rubbed furiously at the dampness still on her skin and then yanked on her jeans under the cover of her towel. She pulled on her shirt, only then using the toweling to wring more moisture from her hair.

“Sorry. Again. I seem to put my foot in my mouth around you. And I’m not yet privy to the rules around here.” His smooth baritone sounded too damn close and she wheeled around, cursing the fact she’d turned her back on him. And he was between her and her rifle.

She hadn’t been mistaken about his size and breadth, although refused to feel intimated—or anything else. Besides, his guard was close by. Her brain processed his educated comment. Sometimes he sounded like an average Joe, then next, a college professor. Privy? Her obsession with books allowed for the interpretation, but still…

Forcing herself to project calm, or whatever felt close to that, she said, “Are you asking about segregation? Of the sexes?” And why had she used the word sex in his vicinity?

“That, among other things.”

“Mitchell, I mean, the Colonel, will apprise you.” She thought she saw a glimmer of intrigue in those strangely colored eyes but it passed too quickly to be certain.

“He said he’d assign someone. As a guide. Aside from my armed escort.”

“Then you’ll be set. Excuse me.”

“Is there a time that’s better for me—and the guys—to shower?” His hands went to the collar of his T-shirt and he tugged it over his head.

Addy had seen enough torsos—and other man parts—in her life. How could she not, given her history and where she now slept? So Jesse’s cut chest and chiseled abs shouldn’t have had any effect on her. And they didn’t, her excellent self-control surging to the fore. They. Did. Not.

“No set times,” she said, infusing her voice with casualness. “This shower is communal for the fighters. The camp defenders, I’d guess you’d call us. There’s another, larger one for the rest of the camp. The guys make allowances for us four women—me, Marcia, Denise, and Laura—first thing. I woke up earlier today.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Was that a knowing look? She fought a blush. He was getting under her skin and she had no doubt he knew it. Probably knew women inside and out, had lots of experience with them. Well, she had lots of experience with men, too, and none of it positive.

“I slept fine,” she lied. “I woke early, is all. So if you hurry, you won’t be disturbed by the other women when they arrive. Unless it won’t bother you.” For sure it wouldn’t bother Denise and probably not the other two.

“I’ll just be quick then.” His long fingers reached for the button on his khakis. It didn’t escape her notice he didn’t remark on being disturbed by the women.

Refusing to look as though she was fleeing, Addy folded her towel before turning on her heel and stalking out, dipping to snatch up her rifle. The glimpse of his naked, sculpted butt and strong legs was emblazoned on her retinas, but she blinked the vision away. Add arrogance to his confidence. Not necessarily a nice mix.

About the Author:

Allyson Young aka Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in cottage country, Manitoba, Canada, where she and her husband pretend to work well together in their seasonal business.
She has always enjoyed the written word, and after reading an erotic romance quite by mistake, decided to try her hand at penning one. That was followed by a mix of spicy (Ally) and sweet (Peribeth) romances in various genres as well as a  post apocalyptic adventure without a lick of romance.


A best selling Amazon author, a hybrid and coauthor, as of April 2018 she has published seven series and several standalones, with others in the works.
allysonyoung.com

From guest author @actuallyalethea preorder Náápiikoan Winter #western

At the turn of a new century, changes unimagined are about to unfold. 

THE WOMAN: Kidnapped by the Apaches, a Mexican woman learns the healing arts. Stolen by the Utes, she is sold and traded until she ends up with the Piikáni. All she has left are her skills—and her honor. What price will she pay to ensure a lasting place among the People? 

THE MAN: Raised in a London charitable school, a young man at the end of the third of a seven year term of indenture to the Hudson’s Bay Company is sent to the Rocky Mountains to live among the Piikáni for the winter to learn their language and to foster trade. He dreams of his advancement in the company, but he doesn’t reckon the price for becoming entangled in the passions of the Piikáni. 

THE LAND: After centuries of conflict, Náápiikoan traders approach the Piikáni, powerful members of the Blackfoot Confederation. The Piikáni already have horses and weapons, but they are promised they will become rich if they agree to trap beaver for Náápiikoan. Will the People trade their beliefs for the White Man’s bargains? 

Partially based on the works of Canadian trader, explorer, and mapmaker David Thompson, Náápiikoan Winter spans a continent, examining the cultures in flux at the passing of an era and the painful birth of another. 

PREORDER NOW ON KINDLE
http://www.amazon.com/Naapiikoan-Winter-Alethea-Williams-ebook/dp/B01EIQNCMO/

From the Author

Fictional Characters and Real Life
by Alethea Williams

The principal sources for the second part of my historical novel, Náápiikoan Winter, were David Thompson's Narrative of His Explorations in Western America 1784-1812, and Richard Lancaster's 1966 book, Piegan. Richard Lancaster's book was helpful mainly as a narrative of a white man in Native culture, and for his accounts of trying to learn the Piikáni language. Many of the events in my story follow those David Thompson records in the last four chapters of Part One of his book, which deal with his recollections of the Plains Indians at about the turn of the nineteenth century, and in particular his dealings with the "Peeagans."


-Why isn't your primary male character named David Thompson?

Historical characters add flavor to my novel, but they only really serve to illustrate the opinions and mores of the times, both European and Piikáni. Although my novel is based on fact, the principal characters are entirely fictional. Donal Thomas resembles the young David Thompson of record in many aspects, but I wanted the freedom to place in the realm of fiction Donal's internal dialogue, the thought processes and motives that led to his decisions, and his growing awareness of the huge cultural differences he is supposed to surmount in order to succeed in bringing trade to the Piikáni at the close of the eighteenth century.

-Which characters in Náápiikoan Winter came from historical accounts?

These characters' names, their occupations, and some of their actions are recorded in David Thompson's Narrative of His Explorations in Western America 1784-1812:
William Flett, English youth in service to HBC
James Gaddy, leader of the HBC expedition to the Piikáni
The Black Indian, Nahathaway (Cree) guide
Saokohtoo  (Straighten Out), the Orator of the Inuk'sik (Small Robes) band of the Piikáni
Saahkómaapi (Young Man), Beaver Bundle Man to the Inuk'sik band of the Piikáni, the band's Dreamer
Kotonaa-áápi (White Kootenay), first war chief
John Charles, a schoolmate
I gathered other character names from modern and historical sources, many listed in the back pages of Náápiikoan Winter.
 
-So what does Náápiikoan mean? Why do you keep a title that few people can pronounce? Aren't you afraid readers will not be able to locate your book under a search for that title?

Variously spelled throughout history, Náápiikoan simply means white man. Retaining the word in the title implies that although the young white trader is a main character in the story, it is not just his story. His is not the only view of events that counts. He is an outsider. I think the cover of Náápiikoan Winter, by Brigida Blasi, shows why choosing that title works. "White Man Winter," of course, would have been easier to find in an Internet search, but I hope no one has to put so much effort into looking for my book that they give up!

-What gives you the authority to write a book about the Piikáni people?

I have no authority. Although it took more than 20 years for Náápiikoan Winter to see print, I was captivated by David Thompson's story at least that long ago. I found Richard Lancaster's book in a library sale, and although Native feeling about him today is ambivalent, I found much of value in a book written by an outsider living with the Piikáni. I sincerely admire Piikáni history, and hope my novel honors the people about whose heritage I have written in Náápiikoan Winter.

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Alethea Williams is the author of Willow Vale, the story of a Tyrolean immigrant’s journey to America after WWI. Willow Vale won a 2012 Wyoming State Historical Society Publications Award. In her second novel, Walls for the Wind, a group of New York City immigrant orphans arrive in Hell on Wheels, Cheyenne, Wyoming. Walls for the Wind is a WILLA Literary Award finalist, a gold Will Rogers Medallion winner, and placed first at the Laramie Awards in the Prairie Fiction category.