Guest Post by Maggie Blackbird

My fave setting when I write romance is “the rez,” probably because I’m from the rez.  Having worked for an Aboriginal organization for fifteen years that took me all across my Treaty area and then some, I’ve been to over thirty First Nations communities.  Each one has its special something about it.

Like every other neighbourhood or community, gatherings are important, along with plenty of food.  In The Circle is Small, my latest novel, someone brings a big pan of baked beans to the fundraising dinner for the hero’s mother.

My late Auntie Linda passed this recipe down to me, and it’s always a hit wherever I go.  By the way, my auntie never measured anything.  She used her eye.  And she taught me how to use my eye for this recipe.  My late grandmother is responsible since she had nine mouths to feed on my grandfather’s minimal income, so she learned how to make do with whatever was in the panty, and my auntie learned this method while growing up.  So I’m doing my best to try and provide actual measurements LOL.

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1 bag of white beans

1 cup of brown sugar

1 can of tomato soup

1 tsp. of mustard

½ to ¾ cup of molasses

6 slices of bacon

Soak the beans overnight before you bake them.  Once soaked, boil them for an hour or until they are soft.  You can tell by picking one out and touching it.

In a pan, combine the brown sugar, tomato soup, mustard, and molasses.  Stir together.  Add the chopped bacon.  Stir again.  Drain the beans from the pot.  Add to the pan.  Stir.  Then cover.  Bake at 375 F for an hour and a half or up to two hours.  It all depends.  Stir them every fifteen minutes and then recover.  For the last fifteen minutes of baking, uncover the beans.

There you go.  Baked beans.

 

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THE CIRCLE IS SMALL

by Maggie Blackbird

An ex-cop returning to face his horrendous past, the woman who won’t forgive him, and the family who’ll never let him forget that he killed their son.

Blurb:  First Nations Constable Jordan Chartrand’s guilt can’t handle the accusing stares from the family left to mourn their son after that horrible night…so he flees from his Ojibway community and the woman he loves. Two years later, his mother’s cancer diagnosis forces him to return to help her.

Devoted schoolteacher Ellie Quill wants nothing to do with Jordan after he bolted to the city and left her behind. Her life goals are set. As for her secret, she’ll keep that to herself, even if Jordan’s begging to know the truth about her child.

When the two are compelled to work on a community project to address the rampant drug problem, their forced proximity slowly melts Ellie’s icy walls. But no matter how much her heart desires to give Jordan the second chance that he’s begging for, she refuses to because providing a life for her son in the tradition of the Ojibway culture is her top priority now, not moving to the city where Jordan continues to hide.

EXCERPT:

The rain came down so hard it bounced off the car. Ellie banged her fist on the steering wheel. Fine, she’d wait it out. But after ten minutes, the downpour continued. She had no choice but to unblock Jordan and let him know she had to stay put.

Her fingers hovered over her phone. What if he got the wrong idea and figured she’d unblocked him because of last Monday night? And if she unblocked him after sharing a text, she couldn’t very well re-block him. That bordered on childishness.

Screw it. She had no choice. Cursing under her breath, she called up the last and final text he’d sent, typing in…

It’s pouring rain. I’m waiting for it to let up. Give me another five or ten minutes. I’m outside in my car.

Finger shaking, she hit send and waited. He didn’t respond. Maybe he’d blocked her? Annoyance gathered at the back of her neck. What excuse did he have? He was the one who’d run off to Winnipeg.

A message popped up. She checked her screen.

There’s an umbrella here. I’ll come and get you.

What? She didn’t want to be anywhere within two feet of him. She quickly typed back…

It’s okay. I’ll wait out the rain.

We got a lot to do. Who knows how long the rain will last? I hope you don’t mind hot-pink umbrellas. I’m not sure who left it here.

Hot pink? You’re kidding. Okay. Come and get me.

Ellie tossed her phone back into her purse. Her lungs were expanding. Her breath came faster. She squeezed her fingers and toes. No, she wasn’t going to get anxious about being near him. They’d had their one night.

The big door opened. Jordan came out with a bright pink umbrella over him. Normally, Ellie would’ve laughed, but there wasn’t anything funny about her predicament. She snatched her purse.

Jordan dashed over, dodging puddles with a hip and a hop. He stood beside her door, waiting for her to leave the car.

Ellie pushed away her hesitation. She couldn’t let him stand in the rain, so she darted from the vehicle and huddled safely under the umbrella. Besides the clean scent of the rain bringing to life the aroma of the spruce and pine trees, Jordan’s fragrance was under her nose, a reminder of what they’d done last Monday.

She was squashed up against him, close enough to brush his side, his firm muscles waiting for the same taste she’d given him a week ago.

“We’re gonna have to run together so neither of us gets soaked.” He put his arm around her shoulder.

She almost recoiled at his touch, but she knew he had no choice, otherwise, he’d have to scrunch down to reach her waist.

“Do you mind?” Jordan asked. “It’ll be easier for us to run in sync.”

His palm was searing her bare arm like a blacksmith branding an iron. She cursed the humidity that had compelled her to don a sleeveless polo shirt. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, on the count of three. One…two…three…”

She dashed along beside him, having to run faster to keep up with his long legs since he towered over her. Their bodies moved as one, reminiscent of…no way, she wasn’t going there. Instead, she kept her head down, doing her best to avoid the puddles that Jordan stepped in to keep her feet dry. Damn him and his gallantness. Fucking gentleman.

They were upon the door and beneath the cement awning above them. Dry. And safe. Well, she couldn’t say safe. She had her ex-boyfriend to contend with.

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About Maggie Blackbird

An Ojibway from Northwestern Ontario, Maggie resides in the country with her husband and their fur babies, two beautiful Alaskan Malamutes.  When she’s not writing, she can be found pulling weeds in the flower beds, mowing the huge lawn, walking the Mals deep in the bush, teeing up a ball at the golf course, fishing in the boat for walleye, or sitting on the deck at her sister’s house, making more wonderful memories with the people she loves most.

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