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Send a White Rose is probably the first book I ever wrote in complete form. Some people say their first book is not worth publishing, but this one has a very special significance. It’s a western, but there are no shootouts, prostitutes with hearts of gold, anti-hero gamblers, or even gunslingers. The biggest battle takes place in a hospital with a Bowie knife and a cavalry saber.
The heart of this story is learning the lesson that you have to depend on others to live. You might think you are self-sufficient, strong, and able to help everyone else, but Bart Durant learns that all of that can disappear in one catastrophic moment.
Leah Masters doesn’t seem like the type that would let pride get in the way of doing the right thing, but she learns that true love waits, even when it’s a question of your brother being accused of murder. And worse, she may never get a chance to correct a bad first impression or find the love she crossed the country in search of.
We think you’ll enjoy this story and are happy to share it with you. Be sure to sign up for the newsletter to get your free copy. Here is a sample, and following are the links so you can see it for yourself.
A ragged Mexican boy thudded his heels against the stone side of the well and yawned as she came around the corner. He sprang up and thrust a crumpled, dusty white rose at her.
“That is for you,” he said in Spanish.
“Que bonita! Muchas Gracias, niño.” Alethia took the rose and reached into her pocket. “I have something for you also.”
The boy brightened. Then his face clouded over and he shook his head. “No, I have thought about that, and I should not take it. It was his idea.”
“Someone told you to bring me this rose?”
“It was the gringo muerto. Well, there were two dead men, but one of them was not really dead. There was such a lot of blood, though.”
“Where is this gringo, niño?”
“I told him I would not tell anybody, and I will not. I have to go.”
Alethia caught him by the shoulder as he slipped down off the well and fixed her eyes on his. “This man is hurt, niño. He may die without help. He must have… help…” She stopped and stared at the white rose in her hand, her own voice echoing in her mind. “Send a white rose, Judge. I will come at once.”
“Tell me. Aprisa — quickly. Tell me where he is.”
“Not you, of all people. Then even He would know about the things.”
Alethia understood the “He” if not the rest of the boy’s cryptic speech. “He already knows. El Señor knows everything. You cannot hide anything from Him.”
“Sí, but still he loves you. He sent Jesucristo to die for you. What if He had not cared about you? What if He had thought it cost too much to die for you? Will it cost you more to help this gringo?”
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