Click to Enlarge

Hellís Belle
Click one of the above links to purchase an eBook.

ISBN-10: 1-55404-068-X
Genre: Romance
eBook Length: 210 Pages
Published: July 2003

From inside the flap

Del Mitchell is a horse rancher in Wadsworth, Nevada. He's also known as a man who never turns down a dare, no matter how brash or outrageous. Twila Bell is rumored to be a harbinger of disaster. Town gossips says she's accident-prone, maybe even a spell-casting witch. Her own kin call her the Bell from Hell. How can a man famous for taking reckless dares resist the temptation of pursuing romance with a girl like Twila Bell? And how could either of them guess their fateful meeting might presage the greatest luck of all?

Reviews and Awards

"A welcome addition to any reader's library, HELL'S BELLE is guaranteed to delight and entertain." -- Julie Shininger, Escape to Romance

"For a romping good western with cowboys who will charm your boots off, try HELL'S BELLE. I highly recommend this fun novel." -- Liz Ragland-Thompson, Romance Reviews Today

"While it's incredibly steamy, it's also funny and charming. There's plenty of plot to keep things moving, but Biondine never loses focus of the romance of this tale, and never makes a misstep. If you like westerns and romances with more than a touch of steam, you'll love this well-written, engaging story."  - Blue Iris Journal


Hellís Belle (Excerpt)


Wadsworth, Nevada

Spring 1870

Someone coughed too loudly. Preacher Hanft raised an eyebrow in silent question and waited expectantly. Del Mitchell dropped his gaze to the folded note his wrangler handed him, and scanned the short message while a hundred inquisitive eyes bored into his back.

She wasn't coming.

He crushed the scrap of paper in his fist and glanced at his best man.

Sandy cleared his throat and addressed what remained of the assembly still in the small church. "Folks, the bride's had a change of heart. There won't be a wedding today."

"Well, hell! I say we all go over to Miz Minerva's and have us a party to celebrate!" Jordan Zoyer shouted.

Del spun on his heels and strode from the church, wanting nothing more than to be away from the church, his men, his town, his shame.

She'd left him waiting at the altar. Hadn't bothered to send the stupid note to the church. Del had waited over half an hour before dispatching a man to see what  had Betty Lee Lydecker so late.

"Del, wait up!"

Del heard Jordan shouting behind him. From the hoots and scuffling feet, they'd formed a procession along Church Street. Poor Hanft. What did it say about a preacher when the locals would fly out of his place of worship and head straight for Hell on Wheels? An exaggeration,  Del thought, howled by the excessively prudish.

Just because saloon and brothel owners got their supplies shipped by rail cars, like most other business owners, didn't seem fair to call the section of any boom town by that appellation. But Del supposed that at least in this case, it was fitting. Betty Lee had politely told him to take himself straight to hell in her note, and she always had detested the gaming and bawdy houses, particularly Minerva's Pleasure Palace. Ever since the pissing incident, she'd forbidden Del to set foot in the establishment.

So he'd gotten a little drunk and taken a dare. So he'd been lined up on the rooftop, letting loose into the wind, trying to see who could hit the petunias the tinker cultivated in boxes on his porch. Men had silly pissing contests. Everybody knew that. Harmless fun.

How was Del supposed to know Betty Lee's wrinkled old prune of an aunt would pick that very same evening to stop by Tinker Michaelson's, or that the wind would shift at just the wrong second?