Welcome to my Friday bonus feature called Karen’s Killer Fixin’s **Author Special**!! Today, in lieu of one of my own recipes, I’m going to introduce you to a new author who will share one of her favorite recipes. Not only will you and I occasionally learn how to make something new and delicious, but we’ll get a chance to check out some wonderful authors. Introducing author, SHEILA RAE MUNOZ, and her favorite recipe for BARBECUE HOT DOGS!!
Nova Scotia Series Book 3
BY SHEILA RAE MUNOZ
Isabelle has returned to 1700s Nova Scotia to face the issues from which she ran in the first place. However, will her decision to return bring her the freedom to move on in her life, as she had hoped, or will her decision become the very shackles she sought to throw off?
In Rachel’s Song, Rachel discovers her own special song and how to present it by harmonizing with those she comes to love and trust.
Everyone except Isabelle seems to understand that she, herself, has a song . . . and that those around her see her song as a beautiful symphony. Through heartache, disappointment, and grave danger, Isabelle learns to tune out the dissonance around her and experience the simple, joyous music of life itself.
Nova Scotia Series Book 3
BY SHEILA RAE MUNOZ
Isabelle then heard the soft thud of a horse’s hoof, followed by a horse’s snort. Another snort came from a different direction. In a matter of seconds, Isabelle realized there were several men on horses that had come in off the road and partially encircled their campsite.
Isabelle quickly stood up and reached for her gun.
“That’s not a good idea, there,” came a rough voice out from the dark.
Isabelle clutched Rachel tightly to her as she stepped back a few steps.
“And where do you think you’re goin’?” came a deep voice from behind her.
Isabelle whirled around. She could see moving white patches from a couple of the horses, but everything else remained black among the trees. She could not see how many there were or exactly where they were as they milled around just out of her sight. Only now and then would there be a snort or a flash of white from a horse that would give her an idea of where one was.
“What do you want?” Isabelle asked loudly.
“We want you . . . and that little girl of yours,” came an answer from her right.
Isabelle turned toward it, keeping her arm across the front of Rachel. “Why do you want us? Who are you?”
“We’re the slave patrol . . . and you are a runaway slave.”
“That is, unless you have your ticket from your master that proves you are a freedwoman,” came another voice, this time from the opposite side.
Isabelle realized they were taking turns talking and continuing to mill around so as to confuse her and keep her off balance. She decided she would stand still. Her gun was still within reach, but with so many out there, she would have little chance in using it to defend herself and Rachel.
She heard someone dismount from his horse as the leather from his saddle creaked. He came into the firelight where Isabelle could see his face. The man reached out to touch Isabelle’s chin and turn her face toward the firelight to better see her scar. Isabelle slapped the man’s hand down. Several of the others laughed.
“Huh, we have one here who wants to fight!” the man threw out to the merriment of the others. He attempted to reach out a second time to take hold of Isabelle’s chin. She slapped it down once again and stepped backward, dragging Rachel with her. The men laughed again, this time louder.
“Why, you . . .” the man in front of her said. “Someone needs to teach you some manners! You just a bit uppity now, ain’t you? A slave doesn’t step back from a white man!” The man slapped Isabelle so hard across the face that it threw her backward, causing her to lose her grip on Rachel.
In that instant the man before her snatched Rachel and threw her to another man on his horse, who caught Rachel and tossed her over his horse on her belly in front of his saddle like he would a bag of grain.
“Rachel!” screamed Isabelle as she recovered her standing from the slap. Her jaw throbbed. The man grabbed her arm once again and yanked Isabelle close to his body.
Rachel began kicking, trying to kick herself off the horse, but the man placed a big hand on her back and held her down. “Quit kicking, or you’ll get the whipping of your life,” the man threatened. “You’re learning bad manners from your slave mammy,” he added.
Isabelle’s captor put his nose close to hers. With one hand gripping her arm, he used the other hand to trace a finger down the side of her face and neck. “Ahhh, lookee here at this white skin, fellas. She’s whiter than my wife!” He bent over as he laughed at his own joke. “Never seen a slave so white. Thought you could pass yourself off as a white woman, didn’t ya?” This time the man grabbed Isabelle’s chin roughly and gripped so tightly that Isabelle groaned in pain. He snapped her head to the side to show the scar to all the men. He paraded Isabelle around in front of the men on horseback.
“See this? Someone thought to do this so she could not pass herself off as a white woman and spread her black genes to white offspring. See this here?” He shook Isabelle’s head by her chin then snapped her head backward.
“I’ve a notion to string you up right here and teach you somethin’,” the man yelled. He reached up and grabbed Isabelle’s dress by the neckline to rip it apart in order to bare her flesh for a whipping. “Maybe that young ’un of yours over there needs to see this to learn her a lesson!”
“Please . . . I’m not a slave; I’m not a runaway!” Isabelle screamed, pulling on her arm to try to get away from her captor. “Neither is my daughter!”
“Hehehe,” laughed the man. “Now, where have we heard that one before, huh, guys?” he threw out into the darkness.
The men chuckled and murmured among themselves that they had heard that only hundreds of time.
Sheila Rae Muñoz holds a Doctorate Degree in Education and taught in Christian schools for several years. She had a desire that each of her own children learn to write well, so she resigned teaching in a school setting, where there was little emphasis on writing, to homeschool her children. Two of her children are now published authors.
This is Sheila’s first fiction novel and her second book. She has also previously writtenand revised Christian school curricula, as well as edited several books for other authors, including three by the late Florida Highwayman artist Robert Butler, one of which is his autobiography, Timeless Echoes: The Life and Art of Robert Butler.
Sheila, an avid hunter and fisherman, resides in Lakeland, Florida, with her husband, Raymond, and their dog, Bear.
Links to Sheila’s website, blog, books, etc.
Author Facebook Page:
Amazon Author Page:
I hope you enjoy the recipe Sheila is sharing today on Karen’s Killer Fixin’s. Happy Eating!
P.S. We’re at 415 recipes and counting with this posting. Hope you find some recipes you like. If this is your first visit, please check out past blogs for more Killer Fixin’s. In the right-hand column menu, you can even look up past recipes by type. i.e. Desserts, Breads, Beef, Chicken, Soups, Author Specials, etc.
BARBECUE HOT DOGS
Favorite Recipe handed down through our family.
1 onion, finely chopped
1/4 t. pepper
1/4 t paprika
3/4 t dry mustard
3T Worcestershire Sauce
2T apple cider vinegar
1# hot dogs slit lengthwise; open in butterfly position
Hot Dog buns
Mix all ingredients except hot dogs and buns. Layer hot dogs in oven safe dish. Pour sauce over the hot dogs, making sure some gets into any hot dogs on bottom layer.
Cover and bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Serve in buns, making sure to get some sauce onto the inside of the buns so it soaks into the bun.
NOTE: My mom used to keep a jar of this sauce made up in the refrigerator so if we came home from school or work hungry, we could grab a bun and hot dog, pour on some sauce, and pop it into the microwave for a quick pick-me-up.
Thanks, Sheila, for sharing your book with us!
Don’t miss the chance to read this book!