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Category: Young Adult EPIC eBook Award Winner
Description: In McClellan's Bluff, Leslie Cahill, now seventeen, falls in love with an "older" man, twenty-eight year old Sloan Stroh. She's flattered by the attention of this neighboring cowboy and is swept along by her strong emotions. Sloan dominates Leslie's every moment, albeit in her mind, at least. Her father and brother strongly object to the relationship not only because of the considerable age difference, but because they do not trust Sloan's intentions. Leslie learns Sloan's dark secret, which dates back many years to her mother's death. McClellan's Bluff takes place in Washington's ranch country.
eBook Publisher: Atlantic Bridge, 2002 Atlantic Bridge
Fictionwise Release Date: January 2003

1 Reader Ratings:

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Words: 56902
Reading time: 162-227 min.

"In McClellan's Bluff, author Mary Trimble proves her gift for confronting the complexities teens face as they learn to define their identities and establish their independence as young adults. Indeed, Trimble truly understands the driving restlessness of teen years and the incredible attraction inherent in the interest of a much older man. She cautiously avoids the intricate legal implications by avoiding intimate relations between Leslie and Sloan, although in most states Leslie is certainly of the age of consent, including Washington where the story is set. Further, Trimble does not in any way back away from the emotional issues a romance between a seventeen year old and a man eleven years older. As Leslie learns, dating a much older man not only arouses the concern of family, but also thrusts her into a relationship with expectations she is not prepared to fulfill. An impressive example of the complications of teen years, McClellan's Bluffcomes very highly recommended."--Cindy Penn, Wordweaving

Chapter One

She first saw Sloan on a sunny April Saturday after her father invited her to ride along with him to Stroh's ranch.

"Sure. How come you're going there?" She climbed into her father's truck. Sometimes he let her drive, but didn't offer today.

"I want to look over his bulls." Each year the Circle C culled their old bulls and replenished them with new stock.

"Why don't you just not castrate some of our bulls?" Through the side mirror Leslie watched dust curl up behind the truck.

"That can cause in-breeding problems, like dwarfism. Stroh runs a purebred operation."

"Is Wade coming?" As foreman, her brother would normally make these decisions with their father.

"Not today. He and Randy have to fix the water system in the heifer pasture."

On the way Leslie and her dad chatted comfortably. The rough side of ranching had never appealed to her but she loved hearing about the inner workings of her family's livelihood.

"How many bulls will you buy? Why didn't you bring the stock trailer?"

"Two or three. I'm just looking today."

"How do you know how many to get?"

"One bull services about twenty cows. It's simple math. How's school? How did you do in that algebra test?"

"Aced it, after all my worrying. Next year, when I'm a senior, I'm taking calculus. They say it's hard. Dad, yesterday one of the guys called me 'Little Miss Runaway.' After all this time. I thought everyone had forgotten about it. I know he was only teasing but..."

"It's going to take time, Les. Just try not to let on that it bothers you. What did you do?"

"I pretended I didn't hear it. I was with Jordan and I just turned to him and said the first thing that came to my mind. I can't even remember what I said. Jordan gave him a dirty look."

Her father slowed the truck as they neared Stroh's ranch. "Jordan's a nice boy."

"He is. I can't believe we've been dating for six months now."

"So what about Kip?"

"He's yesterday's news. History. Toast."

John chuckled. "Poor Kip."

"'Poor Kip' is a control freak. The girl he's dating now complained to me about it!"

The patched fence bordering Stroh's property showed ingenuity in using a variety of local materials. Where the hard, rocky soil made post digging impossible, the fence was supported by cribs--cages filled with rocks. Four-strand barbed wire stretched between irregular-shaped, split pine poles replaced occasionally by sturdy steel posts.

They pulled into the long driveway bordering the bull pasture. Her father slowed down to look over the stock. Leslie watched him. Dad, like Wade, could see more in a glance than Leslie could by making a real study of it. John Cahill was a well-respected eastern Washington rancher and the Circle C was known for its healthy stock and high standards.

Jake Stroh met them by the house and the three ambled over to a group of Hereford bulls crowded around a stack of alfalfa.

"I want some smaller bulls this year to put in with the heifers."

Mr. Stroh nodded. "Got some prime stock to show you."

Leslie, absorbed in their conversation, started when a man brushed against her arm. He looked about Wade's age, in his late twenties. She felt the warmth of his body, not an unpleasant sensation. "Oh, hello."

He nodded. Pale, almost translucent blue eyes searched her face and quickly scanned her body. Catching her eye, he nodded again, this time showing approval.

Leslie felt a rush of pleasure. No one had ever looked at her that way.

Her father and Mr. Stroh made their way along the pasture fence pointing out likely prospects.

The young man took off his stained billed cap, ran his fingers through hair so blond it almost looked white and replaced the cap. "I've seen you around, but didn't know who you were. You a Cahill?"

"Yes, I'm Leslie Cahill. That's my dad. You probably know my brother Wade. Do you work here?"

He shrugged. "You might say that. Jake Stroh's my uncle. I've been coming here on and off for years. Name's Sloan Stroh."

Leslie, suddenly tongue-tied, couldn't think of a sophisticated response. Should I shake his hand? Say something! "Where's home when you're not here?" Her stomach flipped. What a dumb question.

"You name it, I've lived there."

He stood so close she could feel his breath on her cheek and smell his chewing tobacco. He turned to spit, making a resounding splat on a flat rock. For some reason, she even found this attractive. Neither her father nor brother chewed tobacco. At one time, they smoked, but both gave that up a few years ago after her father developed a nagging cough. Their hired hand, Randy, chewed though and Leslie had found the habit disgusting. But somehow, with this man....

Her father and Stroh walked further away from Leslie and Sloan, engrossed in conversation. Her father turned once and started to call her but was distracted by something Mr. Stroh said. He frowned absently and turned his attention back to the business of bulls.

"Your daddy let you date?"

"Of course I date!" Oh man. What's going on here?

"How old are you? Eighteen, nineteen?"

Flattered that she appeared older, she hated to admit otherwise. "Not quite."

"Not quite what?"

She laughed. Keep him guessing.

"You like to dance? I'll bet you knock 'em dead on the dance floor."

"Sure. I mean...sure I like to dance." But she wasn't about to reveal that the only dances she'd attended were at the high school. He thinks I'd knock 'em dead!

"How about me and you doin' a little boogyin' in town? I think we could smuggle you into Big Jim's."

Stunned that he would consider taking her to a tavern, her mind turned to jelly. "Well..."

"Leslie," her dad called, "it's time to go."

"What do you say?" he whispered urgently.

"I, ah--"

"Leslie, let's go." Her father's voice had an edge to it--she didn't want him to call her again.

"Okay, Dad. I'm coming." She flashed Sloan a smile and turned to join her father and walked with him toward his truck.