Samhain Publishing

One woman, two men—the choice of a lifetime and the chance for a perfect future. When Amanda McCormick heads west as to create a home of her own and begin a “perfect” marriage with a man she’s never met, gambler Spencer Teague intercepts her. Pretending to be her fiancé, he tricks her into surrendering her virginity.

Amanda hides the misguided affair and forges a relationship with her young husband, Travis. But her secret haunts her when she learns she’s pregnant. Meanwhile, Spencer is haunted by visions of a little girl who demands he find and help Amanda.

Their lives entwine as the three come together in an unexpected relationship that touches—and tortures—them all. Amanda questions whether perfection is attainable and if it’s possible to love two very different kinds of men.

Here’s what author Beth Williamson (see her new Samhain release today!) had to say about the book:
“Perfecting Amanda is an emotional ride that swept this reader along, a gripping historical that allows you to peek into the life a strong woman lived so long ago. Get ready y’all, you’re in for a story that won’t let you go.”

Amanda is determined to make the life she wants for herself, to create the home that she never really had. I could post you a sexy excerpt, but you can find that at Samhain. I wanted to share one of Amanda’s first days as a farm wife, trying to do chores she’s unfamiliar with and having a helluva day. It’s a little long, but there wasn’t really any reasonable place to cut it.

EXCERPT:
Lunchtime and the brief reprieve from work were over too soon. Travis gave her the limp, blue sunbonnet he’d found in the attic and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek before heading back out to the fence line. “Don’t work too hard,” he cautioned. “There’s always more to do tomorrow.” He gave a tug on the brim of the faded, old bonnet framing her face.

She smiled up at him, fighting an impulse to rise up on her toes and kiss him back—on the lips. But Travis turned and left before she could act on her desire.

After crossing the kitchen to the stove, she lifted the lid and checked on the cooking navy beans. They’d absorbed a lot of water and were plumping up nicely. She threw in salt pork for flavoring. In another couple of hours she’d add green beans, tomatoes, carrots, turnips and whatever other garden vegetables seemed suitable to make soup. Replacing the lid, she walked back out to the garden. Her step wasn’t as springy as it had been that morning and her daydream about exploring the jungles of India wasn’t as exciting.

About a half hour later she was pulling out some stubborn pokeweed, which had grown almost as tall as a stalk of corn, when a cackling sound caught her attention.

Amanda looked up to see a black and white hen strutting through the newly-weeded carrots. “How did you get out here?” She dropped the huge weed she’d wrested from the ground and walked toward the chicken. “You’re supposed to be in your pen. Don’t you know there are chicken hawks just waiting for a biddy like you?” As she snuck toward the hen, it moved away from her, keeping just out of reach. She chased the bird in slow motion through the garden and out into the grass, always a couple of paces away from catching it.

Perhaps if she couldn’t catch it she could shoo it the direction she wanted it to go, like a cowboy herding cattle. She shook her skirt and apron, driving the plump hen back toward the coop. When she rounded the corner of the house, she sucked in her breath at the dismaying sight before her. The front yard was full of chickens. The whole flock had escaped their enclosure and was wandering through the grass pecking at the ground. “Oh no!”

Her gaze flew to the gate she thought she’d closed. It was hanging wide open. She must not have latched it. Chickens were everywhere. She hardly knew how to begin to round them up. Flapping her skirt at the one in front of her, she continued to drive it toward the pen. “Come on, ladies, time to go home.”

Amanda clucked and cooed and talked to the chicken, steering it all the way home. But at the last second, the hen veered off with a squawk in a different direction. Cursing, she tried to capture another one. This time she decided to forgo the herding approach and just grab for the nearest hen. She ran around the yard, reaching for this one and that one, as the hens darted to and fro, always just out of reach.

She was sweating, fuming and in tears by the time the bright idea struck her to entice the chickens home to roost with food. She went to the bin at the back of the coop and scooped out a ration of meal then stood in the poultry yard tapping the tin, rattling the corn so the chickens would hear it. Within moments they came flocking from all parts of the yard back into their enclosure. Shutting the gate behind the last one, she cast the feed on the ground, feeling like chucking the tin at their stupid bobbing heads, as they clucked and pecked.

After putting the pan away, closing the lid of the feed bin—tight this time, closing the gate behind her and latching it securely, she went toward the house. She had no idea what time it was, but from the angle of the sun it must be getting toward suppertime.

From the corner of her eye she saw a chicken flutter past heading toward the coop. She let out a quiet scream of frustration and went to let the straggler in with the rest of the flock, hoping there weren’t others she’d missed.

After stopping by the garden to pick a few handfuls of vegetables, she headed toward the house again. Before she even reached the kitchen door, she smelled the odor of burnt beans. Smoke swirled out of the kitchen window and through the back door screen.

“Oh no!” She rushed inside to turn off the stove. The ring of blue flame still burned steadily beneath the pot. Smoke curled out from underneath the edges of the lid, sending noxious fumes throughout the house. She picked up the pot with a pair of holders and carried it outdoors, smoke streaming into her face all the way. Setting it down in the grass, she took off the lid to stare at the mess of burned beans within then went back into the house to air out the kitchen.

The air was hazy with smoke. Amanda waved it toward the window with a dishcloth. It was worse than trying to herd chickens. Without form or substance, the smoke coiled around her, the smell making her choke. She needed a proper fan to stir the still air.

Grabbing a baking sheet from one of the cupboards, she flapped it wildly around her and some of the smoke seemed to dissipate.

After a few minutes, exhausted from her efforts, she checked out the rest of the house. It was less smelly than the kitchen, but still smoke hung in every room. With very little breeze coming through the windows, there was nothing to drive out the smell.

For a while she went around with her cooking sheet, fanning it here and there, doing the best she could to clear away the fumes, but finally she glanced at the clock and saw it was almost six. Travis would be back and hungry any minute and there was no dinner prepared.

Her eyes smarted and it wasn’t just the smoke stinging them. She was hot, sweaty, exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be back home, walking along the beach, catching a cool breeze off the lake with the water lapping over her bare feet. What insanity had possessed her to travel west to marry a man she hardly knew and live the life of a farm wife?

She washed her red, chapped hands and broken dirty nails with lye soap at the kitchen sink, rinsed the tears and dirt from her face and headed back into the pantry to come up with something to feed her husband for dinner.

*

Travis thought about Amanda all day as he worked straightening fence posts and re-stringing wire. She looked so pretty standing in the kitchen washing up the breakfast dishes. Her red hair glowed in the morning light coming through the window and her blue, flower-sprigged dress was crisp and fresh.

But when he had come home at lunch and found her squatting in the garden and she turned her dirt-streaked face up to him, she looked even prettier. She was like some Charles Dickens urchin struggling pitifully against insurmountable odds. Travis wanted to scoop her up, carry her into the house and bathe her, telling her not to worry about gardening or feeding chickens or cooking him meals. All she had to do was let him make love to her and he’d be satisfied. As a matter of fact, he spent most of the afternoon fantasizing this scenario, especially the part where he patted her rosy skin dry and lifted her in his arms to carry her off to bed. Beyond that he wouldn’t let his mind wander or he wouldn’t have gotten any work done at all. As it was, his cock pressed hard and swollen against the seam of his pants.

He wanted Amanda—wanted her desperately. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. The good Christian girls of Reederville weren’t an option and he didn’t feel right about going to prostitutes, although he had on occasion during his army days. As a result, there’d been no sexual release for him, other than his own stroking hand, for a long, long time.

Living with Amanda and not having her was driving him crazy and this was after only one day of platonic co-habitation. He didn’t know how long he could keep it up. He prayed that tonight she’d invite him to her room to properly begin their union as husband and wife.

Shouldering his shovel and wire cutters, he tucked his work gloves in his overall pocket and headed home. The house truly felt like a home now that he had someone to share it with. And it would feel even more like home as he and Amanda grew closer and eventually had a child or two.

After putting the tools away in the barn, he walked toward the house. He smelled burnt beans before he even went inside. He took off his work boots and left them on the back porch then opened the kitchen door. The burned smell was even stronger. A slight haze of smoke still hung in the air. Amanda was stirring something on the stove with her back to him.

Travis wanted to walk up behind her and slip an arm around her waist. Instead he paused in the doorway, clearing his throat so he wouldn’t startle her this time.

She turned toward him, her face flushed from the heat of the stove. “Sorry. I burned the beans. We’re having eggs, potatoes, salt pork and toast instead. And some vegetables from the garden.” She looked close to tears or as if she had just finished crying.

“That sounds just fine.” He smiled to set her at ease, acting as if he didn’t notice her eyes were puffy and pink. “I’ll get washed up.” He walked to the sink and pumped water then added a little hot from the kettle on the stove, washing his hands, face and neck, before drying them on a dish towel. “Can I help with anything?”

“No,” she said curtly. “Please just sit down at the table. I’ll bring the meal in a moment.”
Travis obeyed. He was touched when he saw the dining room table set with his mother’s good china, the flatware lying straight on either side of the plates. Living on his own, he’d become accustomed to grabbing a plate from the cupboard and a fork from the drawer and leaning against the kitchen counter more often than not.

Amanda came from the kitchen with a serving dish in each hand. She refused his second offer to help, making several trips back and forth until she’d brought everything they needed for the meal. Finally she sat across from him and folded her hands.

He said grace, concentrating on her face, not the words of the prayer. The poor little thing looked exhausted and miserable, worse than she had at lunch. He wanted to put a smile on her face more than anything.

“I was going to make a navy bean soup, but as you can smell, I had an accident.” She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap.

Travis dug into the meat, potatoes and scrambled eggs. “This is just as good. I love eggs.” He lifted a forkful and placed it in his mouth then struggled not to choke. He’d never tasted anything so salty in his life. He chewed and swallowed without making a face before reaching for his glass of milk.

“Something’s the matter.” Amanda watched him drink half the glass.

“No. It’s fine.”

She took a bite from her plate and frowned. She chewed and swallowed it down. “Salty! It’s terrible! How could I mess up something so simple?”

Travis wondered that himself. “Did you soak the salt pork in water first? You have to soak some of the salt out before you cook with it.”

“No,” she moaned. “And I added salt to the eggs.” Her voice trembled and a sudden sob burst out. She covered her mouth, trying to choke it back.

“Aw, honey, it’s okay.” Travis felt a terrible desire to laugh, but now was not the time for levity. He rose from the table and went around it to crouch next to Amanda, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m stupid! I can’t do anything right. First the chickens then the beans and now I can’t even make a simple meal.” She pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes as if she would stop the tears that continued to leak out.

“It doesn’t matter,” he soothed. “We can eat the vegetables and bread and butter. It’ll be fine. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “I’m not!”

He stroked her hair back and kissed her temple. “Why don’t we forget about eating right now? I’m going to draw you a nice hot bath to soak in. That will make you feel better.”

“No,” she moaned. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, not making more work for you. You’re out in the field all day, the least I should be able to do is give you a decent meal!” The last word was lost in a sob.

Travis rose from his half crouch, pulling her up out of the chair and gathering her into his arms. As he held her shaking body close, he’d never been so grateful to have a rumbling stomach. He’d gladly skip several meals or face mounds of over-salted eggs if it meant being able to hold and comfort her like this. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her body filled his arms and he felt a stirring in his groin at the proximity. He breathed in her scent, sweaty, salty, womanly and his desire grew stronger. He had to release her and step away before she felt the result of that desire poking into her crotch. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her with his base needs.

“I’m all right, really,” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes dry. “Let’s sit down and eat whatever part of the meal is edible. I’m starving and you must be too.”

They resumed their seats across from one another. While they ate, she told him the details of her day and by the end they were both laughing about the escaped chickens if not the burnt beans.

He helped her clear the table, scrape the leftovers into the garbage and wash the dishes. Then he heated water in several of the largest pots and poured them into the copper tub.
Amanda thanked him for his help before he left her to bathe.

Standing outside the closed kitchen door, he imagined her in there, taking off her dress, her shoes and stockings, her unmentionables, until she stood nude in the center of the room. He heard a splash and pictured her stepping into the tub, naked and lowering herself into the water. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep from opening the door a crack to take a peek. He forced himself to move away, going out to the barn to settle the animals for the night.