Dude Ranch Nights--New Deirdre O'Dare Work

I'm delighted that JMS has decided to release a few hetero erotic romance tales and that my Novella Dude Ranch Nights is one of them. In fact as of today, it is available. Here is a  link.  https://www.jms-books.com/general-c-36/dude-ranch-nights-p-2211.html?zenid=DarPSHLdU8KeV55WaxXtH0

And I will follow that with a blurb, an excerpt and the cover.

Blurb: When New York socialite Carole “C.J.” VanDemont loses the uncle with whom she went adventuring life looks bleak and dull. Then an ad sends her to Arizona to visit La Riata guest ranch and experience wilderness adventures with guide and rancher Cameron Greenway. In Cam she finds everything she imagined and more. He puts a whole new twist on adventure for her until she becomes helplessly addicted to his brand of excitement. Must and can she return to the staid life awaiting her?

Excerpt: (The opening two scenes) 

Demont-Delft Estate,
Newburgh, New York
April 7, 1953

 
Carole Janine VanDemont, C.J. to her friends, crossed the exquisite Aubusson carpet with quick, choppy strides. She paused before one tall window to stare out over the rolling grounds of the family estate, which extended to the distant river, a branch of the Hudson. Tinted a soft green by the fresh spring foliage, with a hint of scattered pastels, the scene reflected pastoral peace. Instead of providing inspiration or comfort, the familiar view seemed bland and dull.
"What does one do when, at twenty-six, there are absolutely no new worlds to conquer?"
Although her question was rhetorical, her brother Michael answered it anyway. "Why, one either seeks to discover new worlds or rests on one's laurels, I expect, sis. Life isn't that boring, is it?" His lifted eyebrow echoed the mocking tone of his words.
She shrugged, an irritable twitch of her right shoulder. "Oh, I don't know. I'm just out of sorts, I suppose. It was most inconsiderate of Uncle Rene to kill himself just when we were planning the trip to India. I was counting on riding elephants, perhaps shooting a tiger this year. Daddy would never think of such a trek, and he'd have apoplexy if I went alone. What shall I do instead?"
"You sound as if Uncle Rene crashed his plane on purpose or out of spite. I thought you were fond of the fellow."
"I was. His death left me devastated. Now don't misunderstand, but had we not been related, I could've happily married the man. He's the only person who's ever challenged me."
"But he happened to be Mom's black-sheep, younger half-brother, so that was out of the question. Too bad." Michael, home from Harvard on spring break, flopped into a chair. He picked up a magazine and began to leaf through the pages. He stopped, mid-flip, perusing one page more intently. "How about an Arizona dude ranch vacation? Here's an advertisement. Sounds fascinating to me."
He tossed the magazine to C.J. as she stalked by, pacing the confining limits of the elegant but comfortable den. She caught it with a supple twist of her wrist, scarlet nails flashing in the light of the lamp by which he'd been reading. "Surely you jest. Riding old nags along bridle paths in the desert instead of Central Park, and eating beans around the camp fire? I might as well go on that cruise with Grandmère."
Still she scanned the ad, stopping her restless motion as she read...

Adventure of a lifetime!
Hunt savage, illusive wild animals in the rugged southwest. 

Camp in sites made famous by Zane Grey and John Ford in books and films.
Relax and enjoy the modern comforts of La Riata Ranch 

or rough it he-man fashion in the wilderness.
The choice is yours.
Contact Cameron Greenway, YA7-5635 or P.O. Box 1727, Verdell, Arizona.

There were also photographs. One showed a rustic, two-story lodge-style building constructed of rounded stones bonded with cement. The big house was surrounded by smaller cabins of comparable construction and a grove of towering, wide-leafed trees. Another showed several saddled horses hitched to the rails of a massive log corral. The one that caught C.J.'s eye featured a man, uncommonly tall, unless the horse at his side was pony-sized. He wore cuffed jeans with cowboy boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and a shirt with elaborate embroidered yokes. He seemed to be looking straight at the camera--or the reader--his piercing pale eyes casting a hypnotic spell. Though unsmiling, his craggy, handsome face stole her breath.
C.J. sucked in a quick gulp of air. Oh my, now that's quite a man. He looks like he belongs in a movie with John Wayne or perhaps Gary Cooper--a real cowboy. Can he be Mr. Greenway or a mere employee? All at once she was determined to find out. If it took a trip to Arizona, at least that would beat sitting here at home dying of ennui. Striding to the shiny walnut desk in one corner of the room, she picked up the telephone to place a long distance call.
Three days later, she boarded the train to head west, not sure what she would find there, but feeling a tickle of excitement for the first time in weeks. With a small sigh, she settled back in her Pullman compartment to pass the leisurely trip.

* * * *

Cameron Greenway paced the bricked platform between the Santa Fe Depot and the nearest track. His boot heels beat a sharp rhythm on the hard surface with his restless strides. Due in soon, the Super Chief was already a few minutes late. He glanced at his watch, frowning. At this rate it would be dark by the time they got back to the ranch.
He'd driven to town to pick up a client, one C.J. VanDemont. Mr. VanDemont had a strange voice, low and husky, but something about it had bothered him. Well, people often sounded peculiar on the telephone. The connection had not been the best. Anyway, the man indicated he wanted the full package--a ten-day adventure with camping, hunting and some side trips for scenic photography. That Cam could do. He had no false modesty about the quality and level of adventures he provided. He'd perfected just the right mixture of luxury and rustic atmosphere to please almost any well-heeled guest. He tailored the degree of roughing it to each client's abilities and desires once he met them in person.
Although he affected the image of a rough, unschooled cowboy, Cam was a graduate of Yale and the scion of an upper crust family. Even if his parent's current wealth came from mines and ranches in Wyoming and New Mexico, both of them had roots in the bluest blood of the eastern seaboard. The family's black sheep, he had gone his own way to build his life in its unique mold. The role of guide, outfitter and dude-rancher suited him to a "T." He played the rugged outdoorsman to the hilt and actually lived that life as much as was possible in the modern era.
The sharp blast of the diesel's horn alerted him to the train's imminent arrival. He stepped back from the track as the sleek silver, red and yellow locomotives swept past him, slowing to a stop with a shriek of steel on steel. Several passengers alighted, but none Cam could identify as C.J. VanDemont. Damn, did I make this trip in vain? I'm sure the man said he'd arrive today.
At that moment, a modishly dressed young lady approached him. Tall for a woman, she carried herself with arrogant grace. Honey-blonde hair fell in shoulder-length waves to brush the bottle green yoke of her masculine-cut suit jacket. A matching pencil slim skirt outlined pleasing curves of hip and derrière. Black high-heeled pumps accentuated her trim ankles and well-turned calves beneath the skirt's hem. Full, scarlet-painted lips curved into a smile as she tilted her head, studying him.
"You look just like your picture," she said. "Would you happen to be Mr. Cameron Greenway?"
As he nodded, he registered several facts at once. First, it was the same voice, low pitched but definitely not masculine. Second, this lady was one gorgeous female, and last, he was knee deep in trouble if she really was C. J. VanDemont. Why in the world would a woman like this want to rough it Arizona style? She had socialite written all over her.
"Yes, I am. And you're C. J. VanDemont? I wasn't expecting a lady."
She laughed, the sound carrying so much raw sexual energy his whole body tightened. Gods help me, this woman is short-fused dynamite!
"I know." She lowered her lids demurely, shielding vivid green eyes for a moment, then offered a pretty smile, but quite artificial. "I was almost sure you didn't realize I was female, but that's okay. Yes, I really do want to rough it. I've been on safaris in Africa, a trip to Alaska, across the Gobi, and several similar treks. This year was supposed to be India and the Himalayas, but my uncle, Rene-Paul Dubois, got himself killed in a plane crash, which put an end to that. He was the adventurous relative with whom I've enjoyed many travels. In his absence, I anticipated a frightful and boring spring, but then your ad caught my eye. Here I am."
For a long moment Cam studied her, while his mind whirled in a frantic spin, trying to come to terms with the notion of being alone in the woods with this amazing vision. Could she be as bold and daring as she presented herself to be? What kind of adventures did she expect to enjoy?
Well, I aim to please. Entertaining this woman well might be worth much more than the normal fees I charge for my services. I see some distinct possibilities here.
He'd taken a few couples out for hunts and camping, but more often, if a couple booked a holiday, the lady stayed at the ranch while her husband went on the hunt or camping and photographic expedition. He'd installed a swimming pool, located a few gentle nags anyone could ride and hired help who knew how to keep "dudes" entertained. But a lady on her own who wanted the full experience--this was going to be a first.
"Well, Miss VanDemont, we need to get your luggage and start for the ranch. It'll be dark before we get there anyway."
With an elegant wave, she indicated a couple of bags sitting on the platform not far from where they stood. "That's it. I know enough to travel light. If I were going on a cruise, it would be different, but I find them incredibly tedious. Shuffle-board and dining at the captain's table? Please, I'm not a fifty-year-old fossil! And by the way, please call me C.J. I hate to answer to 'miss.'"
Cam collected the two bags and tossed them into the truck. Then he handed C.J. into the passenger seat, circled the cab to slide behind the wheel and headed his new Ford pickup down the highway. He had the distinct feeling he could be in for the adventure of a lifetime himself. This lady was a looker, for sure. She could stand in for Veronica Lake or Lana Turner any day and nobody would miss them. She radiated sex appeal along with the scent of Arpege that wafted with her every move.

By God, I'll show her adventure if that's what she wants. And if she has other kinds of sport in mind, I can handle that as well.