Love on the Wind
by Casey Dawes
Mountain Vines Publishing
Releasing on October 12, 2016
All Becky wanted to do when she was growing up was to get out of Hardin, Montana, a small town with a conservative bent close to the Battle of the Little Big Horn National Monument. Now that she has a job at a large oil refinery in Billings, she realizes it doesn’t suit her either. But what’s a girl with a high school diploma to do?
A chance meeting with Travis, a Native American, on a windy hill at the monument, makes her aware there’s more chance at romance than she’d ever imagined. At the same time, she knows her grandparent’s viewpoints don’t include interracial romance as a possibility.
Travis has his own ambitions, which don’t include a romance with a white woman, even if she does live in the same city. He’s focused on bringing windmill technology to the reservation and beyond. The Montana plains have more than enough wind to support the industry.
Not everyone agrees with him. His mother wants him to move back to the reservation. His cousin David opposes Travis’s project at every turn, and Travis can’t figure out his cousin’s angle. Why is he so opposed to less intrusive energy? And what is he going to do about the intriguing woman the wind blew into his life?
As they grow through closer through the fall holidays, can Travis and Becky find a way to acceptance and love through the miracle of Christmas?
Set in the eastern plains of Montana, Love on the Wind immerses the reader in the problems, scenery, and history of the remote state while weaving a story where love triumphs over all.
“He certainly had hubris,” Travis said to the woman standing at the top of the snowy hill, November’s wind whipping the flaps of her coat and scarf.
“Who?” She turned and took his breath away. Wisps of blond hair escaped from her multicolored knit cap, framing her soul-deep, blue eyes. Her face had the sculpted structure common to many of the faces in this part of Montana.
“Custer.” He gestured at the tall, white pillar that marked the graves of men who’d followed the red-headed soldier into battle.
“He was an idiot,” she said.
“On that we agree. You local?” The only other car in the parking lot had Montana plates, but it was a big state.
“Hardin.” She stared down the slope toward the Little Big Horn River, the porcelain skin on her face revealing nothing. It was as if she were staring into something other than the battlefield.
If only the prairie grass of summer carpeted the hills around them. Then, at least, he’d have an idea of what her figure looked like. Instead, her down jacket fell below her hips, keeping her warm and him oblivious.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
She turned back to him. “Are you always this nosy?”
Her smile taunted him.
“You’re on Indian land. We get to ask.”
“It’s a national park.” She took a step toward him.
“That we let you build.”
The antagonism of a few centuries of conflict hummed between them.
“Are you Crow?” She took another step toward him, her breath crystallizing in the air, so close he caught a whisper of citrus from her skin.
“Cheyenne.” He leaned down, his face inches from hers. Irrationally, he wanted to kiss her—a white woman from Hardin.