Cowboys and Indians
Though there are no Native Americans in The Texas Cowboy, Ash looks at Trish and because of her bone structure thinks she might be at least part. It wouldn’t be without the realm of possibility. Texas was home to hundreds of tribes of American Indians. I’ll only name and discuss a few, living around the location in Texas where our fictional town, Clark’s Folly, would be.

Apache
The Apaches dominated almost all of West Texas and ranged over a wide area from Arkansas to Arizona. Two groups of Apaches, the Lipans and the Mescalaros, were of primary importance in Texas. Apaches were among the first Indians to learn to ride horses and lived a nomadic existence following the buffalo.

Biloxi
The Biloxis gave their name to the area around Biloxi, Mississippi, where they first encountered European explorers. They began to migrate westward in the 1760s to avoid white interference. By 1828, a group had settled along the Neches River in present-day Angelina County. The Biloxies became allies of the Cherokees and were caught up in the violence in 1839 that drove the Cherokees out of Texas. 

Cherokee
The Cherokees were one of the principal Indian nations of the southeastern United States. Wars, epidemics, and food shortages caused many Cherokees to migrate west to Missouri, Arkansas, and Texas in hopes of preserving their traditional way of life. Those who remained behind in the Southeast were eventually removed forcibly to Indian Territory (Oklahoma) in the incident known as the “Trail of Tears.”
Cherokees settled in Texas near the Red River. Pressed further south by American settlement, in 1820 about sixty families under Chief Bowl (Duwali) settled in Rusk County near the Caddos. As Americans settled that area, distrust grew between them and the Cherokees. Hoping to gain a legal title to their land, the Cherokees invested a great deal of energy in cultivating a relationship with Mexico. Hoping to protect this relationship, they remained neutral between Texas and Mexico during the Texas Revolution.

Comanche
The Comanches dominated a vast area of North, Central, and West Texas. There were at least thirteen active bands of Comanches, with five playing prominent roles in Texas history. These unparalleled horsemen led a nomadic lifestyle following the buffalo. They controlled trade in produce, buffalo products, horses, and captives throughout their domain. In the 1700s, the Comanches made their presence known in Texas by warring with the Apaches and the Spanish. Fearing that they would lose Texas to the Comanches, the Spanish negotiated a peace treaty with them in 1785. When the Spanish were unable to keep their promises in trade goods and gifts, Comanche raiding against the Spanish resumed, with many of the stolen horses being traded to newly arrived Americans.

​The Texas Cowboy is a contemporary western romance set in the Lone Star State. The hero is a little different having been born in Texas but raised in England. At his father’s death, he returns to inherit Marathon Ranch. And then the fun begins…
 
Happy Trails!
Linda

Can a Texas cowboy, by way of England, and a sassy ranch hand forget their differences to put Marathon Ranch in the winners’ circle…and to fall in love?
​

THE TEXAS COWBOY: AN EXCERPT

Trish ignored his joke about taking care of her. “Well, thank you, Miss Whatever-your-name-is.” When she shot him a glance, he saw the sadness in her eyes before jealousy evaporated it like the morning dew. He couldn’t allow Trish to think he’d made love to her last night, knowing Dorothy would arrive today. Or thinking he’d sleep with the other woman tonight. Embarrassed as well as annoyed, he flushed to the roots of his hair.  Dorothy leapt into his hesitation, offering Trish a handshake.

“I’m Dorothy Applewhite.” The Duchess stared down from her superior height of five-six. “I arrived with the horses, more or less.”

“I’m Trish. Nice to meet you.” Nothing could sound less like the truth.

He looked from one woman to the other. “Dorothy, how did you happen to arrive minutes after the horses were unloaded?”

His ex-girlfriend winked, squeezing his arm against her breast. “Trev mentioned the name of the transport company. I rang them and, using your stable name, was told the shipment would arrive this week. You’d given me the name of the town. I consulted my travel agent and here I am. I wanted to surprise you. I’ve missed you, Ash-Dahling.”

“Ash-Dahling has been busy managing this big old ranch…” Trish batted big innocent eyes and continued in a honeyed voice, “I imagine, that is.”

Dorothy simply stared at the other woman, probably trying to decide if the cowgirl in a red Marathon shirt and figure-hugging jeans was competition. Not Trish’s usual barn clothes. Had she dressed to impress him? Maybe before the horses were unloaded and the duchess arrived. Now, she only wanted to impress one thing upon him. Go to hell.

Trish cast a meaningful glance at Ash, then attacked her opponent with fine-edged sarcasm. “Your white studded jeans are just the thing for the wild west.”

“Thank you.” Dorothy smoothed a hand down her shapely hip. “I ordered them from an American western wear store just for this trip. The shirt, as well. Do people really wear these small string ties?” She flipped the ends of the Bolo, and Ash almost choked trying not to laugh.

Must be hysteria. This was no laughing matter.

“I don’t personally.” Trish leaned closer, pretending to admire the pearl snaps on Dorothy’s western shirt. “Yeah, really nice.”

“I haven’t seen a lot of people—in fact, not even one—wearing a Bolo.” Ash shoved his hands into his pockets. He felt naked, exposed, and a feeling he hated--vulnerable. “Maybe Sunday for church.”

“Church?” Trish barked a laugh.

Frowning, he suggested, “A country and western bar?”

“I prefer dives, sir. Country music, with or without a worn flag painted on the floor, lots of beer, and the Texas two-step.” Trish was no longer laughing, nor did she look very sassy. Was she angry enough to cry…or hurt enough to be angry?

“You two don’t get in an argument about my little tie. You may have it if you like.” His former girlfriend slid a possessive hand around his elbow. “I have Ash here. Dear, my bags are in the boot. Will you ask someone to take them to your room?”

Ash squared his shoulders. “I’ll ask Danita to prepare a guest room.”

“Are you still redecorating the Master Bedroom?” Trish was digging his grave deeper with a guileless smile.

She did not mean the redecorating question to be helpful, but he could turn it around on her. Though after the funeral, he’d moved into the Master Suite, he’d been too busy to make many changes. Marathon was a jealous lover.

“I am.” He looked from one to the other. “Still redecorating.”

The two women frowned. Each one affixed her chilly gaze to him.

Ash wanted to squirm, but a good rabbit knows that any movement only incites the hawk. “Let’s get you settled. Trish, if you need anything, call me. As I said, you’re very welcome to stay here.” Please.

​“Will do, Ash.” Trish placed warm emphasis on his name, but the look she leveled at him gave him frostbite.

​ABOUT THE AUTHOR: LINDA NIGHTINGALE

After 14 years in Texas, Linda returned home to her roots in the South Carolina red clay. She has eight published novels, four of which are available in audio from Audible.com. For many years, she bred, trained, and showed the magnificent Andalusian horses. So, she’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer. She won The Georgia Romance Writers’ Magnolia Award for Excellence, the Raven Award, and the SARA Merritt. In real life, she was a legal assistant. She loves to dress up, use the good china and crystal, and host formal dinner parties. She has a fondness for sports cars like her current ride, Zippy Z.

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/LNightingale
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/LindaNightingaleAuthor
Web Site:  http://www.lindanightingale.com – Visit and look around. There’s a free continuing vampire story.
Blog:  https://lindanightingale.wordpress.com/ - Lots of interesting guests & prizes
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4839311.Linda_Nightingale
Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/lbnightingale1/
Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Linda-Nightingale/e/B005OSOJ0U
Book Bub:  https://www.bookbub.com/profile/linda-nightingale

I’m excited to introduce y’all to the first book in my Gamblers and Gunslingers series – KATIE’S GAMBLE. It is currently FREE on Kindle Unlimited!
 
This series was born while I was writing MAGGIE’S SONG, which is book thirteen in my Texas Brides series.
 
You see, I do this thing where I fall in love with secondary characters. I can’t help it. Once a picture forms in my mind, a story usually follows. And then I just have to write it. Even if the character is a villain.
 
During MAGGIE’S SONG, I met Rowdy Denton. Gambler. Gunslinger. Collector of debts. And he had no give in him.
 
But somehow I felt that underneath the harshness beat a heart of gold. And I had to find out why.
 
And that’s how KATIE’S GAMBLE came to be.
 
Rowdy Denton meets Katie McCord, the sister of his boss, notorious gambler and unfeeling rogue, Johnny McCord. Rowdy ends up having to protect Katie, and while he does his level best not to fall for her, he loses the battle.
 
I adored giving Rowdy his happy ending, looking through the walls he tried to erect and saving him from being a villain forever. He gets a family. And everything else he could ever want. It’s just so beautiful that I dare you not to cry at the end!

KATIE'S GAMBLE: EXCERPT

Katie McCord paced the space in front of one of the settees, her hands on her hips. Perhaps she could find Johnny herself. She eyed the corridor on the opposite side of the lobby and tried to gather her courage.

While the possible consequences of her hunt played through her mind, a man in a long, black coat, dark green brocade vest, and black trousers entered. He removed his gambler’s hat, and his coat stretched with the movement, revealing the gun belt riding low along his hips.

His dark brown hair fell over his forehead as he paused a moment in the center of the rug to dust off his hat.
He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and had to be over six feet. He wore a serious expression, instead of the jovial, eager one the other patrons exuded. An energy rolled off of him, as if nothing ever missed his notice, as if he were aware of his entire surroundings, though he hadn’t even assessed the space.

She lowered her arms and bit her lip. She’d made the wrong choice, coming here. A letter might have sufficed, as Mr. Cummings had suggested. She had no idea how to handle the environment in which she had placed herself.

The man looked up, his gaze going directly to her.

She held herself still, afraid to move should any twitch make him want to approach her.

Slowly, he let his eyes travel the length of her, and when his attention returned to her face, his expression was unreadable. But somehow she knew her presence irritated him.

He turned away and sauntered to the desk. He spoke in low tones to the lobby attendant, and Katie saw the newcomer’s shoulders tense at the attendant’s answers to his questions. He then glanced over at her, and his eyes narrowed.

After saying a few more words to the attendant, the man turned on a heel and strode toward her.

Frightened, she backed up, and her legs bumped into the edge of the settee.

“Miss McCord?” he asked, his voice hard and gruff.

“Y-Yes. I’m Katie McCord.”

He jerked his head at the doors. “You need to go.”

She gulped and curled her hands into fists. “I need to speak with my brother.”

The fellow shook his head. “No. And this is not a place for a lady like you. You need to go before it’s too late.”
Was he concerned about her safety? If so, then the best thing would be for him to let her see Johnny. “I would like nothing more than to leave, sir, but I can’t until I talk with my brother.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “That’s not gonna happen. Best to give up.”

The thought of what she might lose if she left here without Johnny’s half of the confectionery drew her up. She lifted her chin. “I can’t afford to. Do you know where he is?”

He didn’t reply, only watched her with a hard glint.

“Please, take me to him. I can’t stress the importance enough.”

That muscle jumped again. “I’m sure you have your reasons, but McCord won’t see you.”

His flat statement punched her in the stomach, and she felt panic rising within her. “He can’t ignore me. Please.”

Something flashed behind the rigid light in his eyes, but it disappeared so quickly that she had no time to determine what it was. “Miss McCord, I suggest you leave before the evening crowd arrives. Find yourself a safer hotel or return to your home.”

Anger flared. “My home is in Texas. It was once Johnny’s, and he has been neglectful. I’m here to discuss personal matters with him so that I can continue providing for myself and our siblings.”

The gambler, and probably gunslinger, rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he studied her in silence.

After a few, quiet moments, during which she refused to fidget, he finally said, “He won’t listen, won’t care. It’s best that you just go and find an alternate way to take care of your kin.” His gaze swept over her once more. “Get married. That ought to do it.”

She let out a frustrated exhale. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, and I demand that you take me to my brother or send him out here to me.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Finding your backbone, huh?”

She set her jaw, sensing if she said more, she’d only end up giving him a laugh.

​He shook his head. “The McCord temper might run in your veins, but this is no place for a woman like you. Heed me and go home.” With that, he turned around and strode toward the hall on the opposite side of the lobby.

​Secondary characters aren’t secondary for long in my stories. I always end up giving them their due, which is what happened with Everett Crawford. (He’s kind of my Fitzwilliam Darcy character.)
 
Everett made his first appearance in THE DEPUTY’S DAMSEL. He’s the eldest brother of six, and he takes his responsibilities seriously. As I found out more about him, I realized if he ever started looking for a wife, he’d make a list.
 
And, of course, that list would get him into trouble.
 
I adored helping Everett find his lady love, and I adored causing problems for him, too! He’s such a sweetheart because he is highly devoted to his four younger brothers and his step-sister, and the fact that he wants to hold happily-ever-after at arm’s length just broke my heart.
 
So…AN UNACCEPTABLE WIFE was written, and I promptly corrected his backward thinking!
​

AN UNACCEPTABLE WIFE: EXCERPT

Miss Dixon had to go.

Everett never talked about his mother. That topic was closed and had opened only for his sister one time. Miss Dixon was luring him into her web somehow, and he had to release her.

But what would he say?

Everett paced behind his desk late Tuesday evening. He rubbed the back of his neck, as his gut roiled with disquiet. She was taking up too much space in his mind, and he’d been unable to pay a call on Miss Raleigh because of it. Every time he tried to make his feet move in the direction of the young lady’s abode, a vision of Miss Dixon stopped him.

He paused his anxious trek and glanced at the list sitting on his blotter. Five names with detailed descriptions of why each would make an acceptable wife. Miss Raleigh was at the top, and he had reason to believe she would welcome attention from him. He should visit her, ask if she’d like to go for a jaunt in the park.

But Miss Dixon intruded.

He had to let her go, but what plausible reason existed? The truth could not be shared. How could he be honest?
“Miss Dixon,” he muttered to himself, “I’m afraid you must seek other employment because I find you too attractive and disarming. You’ve taken over my mind and have caused inappropriate fantasies that are much too strong.”

What a horrible, unfair basis for firing someone. It was ridiculous.

But bringing home a bride when he longed for the maid would be troublesome. Having both of them under his roof would wreak havoc on his senses, and he feared being disrespectful. Never had a woman exhausted his control as much as Miss Dixon. He was appalled at himself.

A light knock sounded on his office door. “Come in,” he bid, slipping the list into his desk drawer.

​Miss Dixon appeared, and his heart flipped in excitement. Her white cap covered her blonde ringlets, hair that he always imagined tousled and wild upon his pillow. He gritted his teeth.

 “This old book? She’ll think we’re poor!”
 
My mother corrected me: “No, she’ll think we’re rich. Books like this are rare.”
 
Then she proceeded to tape it up some more. Those tape fragments adhere to the book’s spine and pages to this day. My teacher, Miss Cohen, was duly impressed. I treasure that book, one of many on my “Lincoln shelf” which holds books about our murdered president, his wife Mary, his assassin John Wilkes Booth and his family, the “Mad Booths of Maryland” and the conspirators who faced the gallows or years of hard labor because Booth, their charismatic leader, sucked these poor impressionable souls into his insane plot.
 
In 2017 I wrote A NECESSARY END, a romance thriller about Booth’s plot to kill President Lincoln, with a touch of the paranormal. My new historical novel, THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY, features John Surratt, a loyal Southerner embroiled in Booth’s plot. As Booth and his other cohorts meet in the Washington D.C. boarding house of Mary, John’s mother, John begins to struggle with a dilemma that soon tears him apart emotionally: should he avenge the South as a hero, or back out as a coward to avoid an unforgiveable sin?
 
Mary Surratt was hanged as one of the conspirators, although no one will ever know the degree of her involvement. It was in her house where Booth and his crew met to hatch their plot. Her son John is a footnote to history, but he also was one of Booth’s most trusted followers.
 
John may have joined Booth out of need for approval and recognition as a war hero, which he never got from his alcoholic father. As Booth’s cohort, he took dangerous risks for his beloved South. But as Booth’s plan to abduct Lincoln changed to assassination, a mystery arises—was John Surratt there in Washington to assist Booth in the murder, or was he in New York? No one knows for sure, as witnesses claim to have seen him in both places. We do know that he agreed to carry out Booth’s order to shoot General Grant, but backed out at the last minute. We will never know why, but this story explores the possibilities—did he have an attack of conscience, of cowardice, or did he just promise to obey Booth, without any intention to carry out the deed?
 
We witness the inner workings of John Surratt’s mind—and his heart—tormenting him, tearing him apart. His dilemma—whether to carry out this deed for his love of the South, or back out and be branded a coward, but live free from sin—consumed his thoughts, prayers and dreams throughout this part of his life.
 
He never achieved his wish of being a famous war hero. He’s a rather obscure historical figure. But this isn’t about the failed efforts of a would-be hero; it’s the story of an emotionally torn young man devoted to his beloved country. On one level, avenging the South was a noble deed. But deep down, his fear of God’s wrath prevailed.
 
We see how a backwoods Maryland boy comes of age during the Civil War, starting out as a courier, and becomes embroiled in one of the most notorious plots in American history. Students and adults will learn the more intricate details of the Booth plots, from the point of view of one of his most faithful followers. 

DIANA RUBINO

I write about folks through history who shook things up. My passion for history and travel has taken me to every locale of my books: Medieval and Renaissance England, Egypt, the Mediterranean, colonial Virginia, New England, and New York. My urban fantasy romance FAKIN’ IT won a Top Pick award from Romantic Times. I’m a member of the Richard III Society and the Aaron Burr Association. In my spare time, I bicycle, golf, do yoga, devour books, and live the dream on Cape Cod.

Visit me at www.dianarubino.com, www.DianaRubinoAuthor.blogspot.com, 
https://www.facebook.com/DianaRubinoAuthor or on Twitter @DianaLRubino.

Now that school has completely ruined reading, let's continue on to Math, shall we?

Mrs. Marshall was my Math teacher. I think she was somewhere around 60 years old. I felt bad she hadn't been granted that glorious age of "39-And-Holding" as Grandmother had been. However, I think I know why that gift hadn't been bestowed upon Mrs. Marshall. I mean, why lengthen the life of someone who taught Math?

And this was the year of multiplication.

​
Ah, yes. It was time to memorize numbers. Not the rules for Four Square or Chicken. Isn't that fantabulous?

I didn't understand the concept. How did 7 x 7 equal 49? I had no idea, which only served to prove there was nothing logical about Math. It seemed people just tossed numbers around and thought, "Hmmm.....why don't we make 4 x 8 equal 32?"

It was a nightmare. And I was awake for it. And Mrs. Marshall loved it. And the kids around me understood it. But I didn't.

Once, I actually raised my hand and told Mrs. Marshall I didn't understand. She huffed and puffed at me, but explained. I didn't have the guts to tell her I still didn't get it.

Oh, well. Thankfully, I had a good memory. It took some time, but I memorized my times tables. I filed them away in the part of my brain that is titled, "Just Learn It So I Can Get On With The Good Stuff".

As an adult, I use that section a lot more than I should.

HAUNTING MISS FENWICK: AN EXCERPT

“I would never hurt you or Sir Newton.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

Her answering tremble passed through her arm and into him.

Outside, the lightning and thunder had died, but the rain slapped the window sharply. Like as not it had had turned to sleet.

He slipped the edge of the blanket over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You’re cold as well.”

She angled her head and studied him. “Is there truly treasure here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Never confess. Money would be sweet, but it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“You would steal it from us?”

It wasn’t stealing. If he found money, he would merely be taking back from Sir Richard what was owed, what was needed to save his brother’s life.

Digging deep, steeling himself, he gave her the look he’d honed as a young officer, a look he’d used on his most ill-disciplined men, the one he could hold observing a lashing…and for the worst cases, a hanging.

She glared back at him, as fiercely defiant as the worst denizens of the rookeries.

He shook his head and sighed.

“Does anything frighten you?” His hand slipped lower, down her arm and under it, over a slim waist to a generous curve that made his breath—and other parts of him—stir.

“Mr. Greggson’s attempt on my person was alarming. I thank you for saving me.” A shudder went through her. “Would he have attempted more than a kiss, do you think?”

His fingers moved of their own will, softly stroking. “He’s not a man you should be alone with.”

“Yes, I do know that. You and my father have both said so. But what about you, Freddy? Ought I to be alone with you?”

He’d never forced a woman, not ever. Not even after the madness of battle had he succumbed to that primitive drive. He’d done his duty to restore order within his men as well.

He’d understood their mad impulses though.

“I am a gentleman, Tilly.”

She stirred. “Papa…has not been feeling well, I think. I was ever so happy to see him out in the fresh air, but I’ve worried so about him. Mr. Greggson doesn’t know that, but he does know I’m my father’s only child. He seeks to coerce me into marriage because he’s after the estate and its income, and whatever valuables may be found here, which when Papa dies, he believes will be mine.” She let out a minty breath. “But you, Captain Sanderford, you I believe would prefer just money and not my person along with it.”

“Tilly—”

“And so, it would probably be wise for you to unhand me.”

His hand tightened, bunching the cloth of her robe. “Unhand you?”

She tilted her head and gazed at him, almost an equal in height now that they were sitting. Her lips had parted a fraction and locks of hair draped the deep blue of eyes that glistened in the light from the candles.

“Oh, Tilly.” He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers.

Softness. The scents of mint and soap and lilac.

His chest pounded and every nerve in his body roared. She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t pushed, hadn’t slapped him.

Proceed with caution, he reminded himself. He pressed closer and slanted his lips, coaxing until her mouth opened.

His hand strayed up, under her breast, and he drew her against him.

​What, besides parchment, was under the high-necked gowns and the heavy robe?

ALINA K. FIELD

Award winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but she prefers the much happier world of romance. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.
 
She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!
 
Visit her at:
https://alinakfield.com/
https://www.facebook.com/alinakfield
https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7173518.Alina_K_Field
https://www.pinterest.com/alinakf/
https://www.instagram.com/alinak.field/
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alina-k-field
Newsletter signup:  https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/z6q6e3
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alina-K.-Field/e/B00DZHWOKY

Bill, my brother, was an observant kid. He was quiet and paid strict attention, especially to those things he found most interesting. Like driving.

Remember when cars had bench seats in front? Well, Bill sat up there in between Mom and Dad. The three girls sat in back. (Usually talking and singing and trying to beat Dad at the ABC game.)


​
Little did we know while we were horsing around, Bill was soaking up all the steps for driving a car. We didn't think he'd been watching. Or could even pick it up. He was two.

So....here we go. Buckle your seat belt.

We would go to the meat market on Saturday morning. Holy heck, I hated the way that place smelled. It did help Maria determine her future job. She wanted to be a butcher. (She likes bacon.)

But, if you stayed outside, in the car, with the windows down, the smell was quite delightful. There was a gentleman, Rudy, who had a tamale cart in front of the meat market. And boy howdy were they good. He was a good cooker. I would lean my head out the window and breathe in the tamales. Mom always bought some from him, and we would go home and have lunch.

One particular Saturday, Mom took pity on our noses and let us stay in the car while she went in to get meat. The three girls sat in the back. Bill sat in front in the middle seat. Mom came out to buy our tamales. And while I'm praying she buys each one he's got, Bill puts the car in drive. Our big, white, 1980s Buick shoots forward over the guard and slams right into Rudy's tamale cart.

My mom and Rudy, of course, are shocked and going crazy over human injury. (There weren't any. Rudy's cart stopped the Buick. And we were quite safe in that boat of a car.)

Meanwhile, I'm devastated. The tamales! Their foiled bodies are everywhere. On the hood. The gritty pavement. The dirty sidewalk. I jump out and start picking them up, but the adults aren't helping and Rudy's cart is crushed and there's no place to put the food, except in the car and that might be stealing. And you know we aren't buying any today because Mom doesn't believe in the 5 Second Rule.

As I mourn the loss of spicy goodness, my brother has become famous. And my Mom has become flustered.

Of course, we paid to fix Rudy's cart, and all was back to normal by the following Saturday.