A moving, thought-provoking read...beautifully written ... Highly recommend for fans of literary Western/romantic fiction...

- Claire Middleton--Goodreads; Barnes & Noble; IndieBook Reviewers

"Western Song" grabbed me from the opening pages and didn't let go until the very end. ... this book could cross genres, not just for fans of the western romance and interracial drama...but for anyone who just likes a moving, beautifully-written, and powerful read!

- Steph Coleman --Goodreads; Barnes & Noble; Indie Book Reviewers

Excerpt

Weston rose, tucking his shirt into his pants and sauntered around to Song’s side of the table. “I do not believe I am allowed to escort a lady home if I haven’t danced with her at least once.”

“Oh, she can’t dance, Wes,” Jack said looking up at him with a wide grin. “Her feet’ve killed her.”

“Excuse me, Jack.” Weston reached past Jack and took Song’s arm.

Gazing at Weston, Song slowly rose. Weston effortlessly guided her to the dance floor. Zebadiah and Olive had not left the center of the hall, their arms still encircling each other. Zeb glanced up as Weston and Song entered and tapped Olive on the shoulder. Sleepily she raised her head, glanced at Weston and Song, smiled, then, promptly replaced her heavy head back on Zeb’s welcoming shoulder.

Weston and Song danced. As the haunting strains of the melancholy ballad swelled, Weston led Song in a flawless waltz. Though he’d had a considerable amount to drink, he moved easily, elegantly, and Song matched him step for step. On the dance floor, under the twinkling lights, she was ethereal, her beauty captivating. As they glided around the dance floor in an ever-widening circle it was as if they were claiming this space, this night as their own. Weston pulled her in more tightly to him. Closer and closer he held her, dancing now so tightly together, her lovely face tilted upwards, her high cheekbones flushed with rose, her black velvet eyes as sparkly as snow drops, that with one slight movement, one easy move downward, he would be kissing her.

The music swelled to a crescendo and suddenly like an elevator that jams, like a film split from its reel, like a car brought sickeningly to a screeching halt when met by an immovable object like the stone turret of a bridge, it stopped. Bright lights buzzed on, musicians’ cases snapped closed, loud voices yelled “good night.”

 Weston and Song blinked, stunned in the blinding light. They stood captured while action swirled all around them. Then, quickly, they dropped their hands from their embrace and moved back from each other.

But not quickly enough.

Weston coughed uncomfortably. “Welp, I guess that’s the end of this rodeo.”

“Rodeo?”

“Never mind. Just another one of those idiots.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, Song. Time to go.”

Zebadiah and Olive joined them. Together the four of them left the dance hall, Zebadiah and Olive still draped around each other, Weston and Song walking stiffly side by side, leaving enough room for the F-250 to roll right through them, never mind the Holy Ghost.

 

Book Tour Schedule

Giveaway

About Leigh Podgorski