#westernfiction

[godsofghostriver]

Chapter XIII - STALKERS is LIVE!

"That compulsive feeling tingling at the base of my neck, I gaze back… enormous wide piercing silver eyes loom, the man with dreads sits kneeling, wrists snapped and dangling, but raised like some kind of twisted, woeful prayer, as though venerating the monstrosity in the darkness."

- The Gods of Ghost River

Read it here!

[aliterarydumpsterfire]

Sticky Fingers and the Chase

Shadows had just begun to press a kiss over the clearing in the woods when Curtis McGowan crested the last ridge of Mica Mountain. From his rocky alpine outcrop he watched as those shadows advanced, interrupted only by a young wisp of smoke from the cabin chimney below. There was only one other who knew of his family’s abandoned refuge in the woods, unless it’d been claimed by squatters, but he doubted it. The gray mustang grazing downstream confirmed his suspicions.

Found you, Bethy Shaw. You’ve taken one too many liberties this time.

It didn’t take much to find her, but it was a relief to know his childhood ‘playmate’ hadn’t gone far. Wouldn’t be long now ‘til he recovered his gold and other effects. Then maybe he’d go down to Sante Fe and find some honest work-- something other than mining. He wasn’t about to fall for that racket again.

The miner swung down from his horse, cursing the ‘borrowed’ saddle that made him sorer than a California widow.

“Now just you wait here,” he told the horse as he tossed the reins on a low branch. Not that he particularly cared if the bay stayed put or not, since he was fixin to liberate another from down-valley in short order.

He cut a trail down the backside of the ridge, skirting the perimeter of the cabin until the only safe barrier was a cluster of boulders, and he veered around them. She’d expect him there. Instead he sallied to the far side of the cabin, where her horse stood dozing.

“Hey, Clyde,” he whispered, giving the old gelding a scratch behind the ears. The big gray looked awful long in the tooth these days, a far cry from the colt he’d caught on the plains when he couldn’t have been much older himself. “How’s she treatin you?”

Clyde only flicked an ear in response, as if his former owner were a fly. He and Clyde weren’t much friends these days. That was alright, nothin’ a spare apple wouldn’t fix. But the big brute only eyed Curtis suspiciously as the apple was held out.

“Suit yourself.” Curtis stowed it and crouched behind the firewood, stacked in neat towers below the cabin’s eave. He waited, listening, and he imagined she was on the other side of that wall, doin the same. Until the dull scrape of wood on packed-down clay proved him wrong. It cut through the cicada’s song, and with it Curtis dropped behind a low scrub.

Dim lantern light spilled over the clearing as Bethy Shaw stepped out of the cabin. Her shadow danced behind her, making wispy exaggerated sways of her hips across the pines. Every curve of her shape leapt in the lantern light. Curtis would have recognized every one even in the dark. Blindfolded. With his hands tied behind his back. Not that the two had any… intimate history. He just always wished they did. Their chance encounter a couple days back in Tucumcari made that hope a possibility, again, as long as he could persuade Bethy to return his goods and go on back home.

Except it was at that exact moment he caught the hard line that pointed westward from her hip like a compass into the twilight unknown, and he froze.

He’d know that sawed off barrel anywhere. Pa’s shotgun. His shotgun.

In the soup-thick night air another thing came to him as well. The sweet, earthy aroma of his lucky cigars. He groaned. A little too loudly.

Known for her keen hearing, of course, Bethy heard. Her clear, brusque voice cut through the night serenade.

“Curtis, you gullible sonofabitch, I know you’re out there. I’ll shoot ya full of your own bullets if you try me.”

After a long moment of stillness the cicadas started up again. She remained there, peering into the darkness as the nightsong swelled and the oil lamp flickered.

Curtis McGowan weren’t no yellerbelly. He gathered up his courage, waited until Bethy Shaw disappeared back into the cabin, and waited twenty more minutes just for good measure. Satisfied that would be enough time for his quarry to let her guard down, he tiptoed to the door. There he waited another five minutes at the pine doorframe. And finally burst into the cabin.

Several things hit Curtis McGowan all at once. The most unexpected of those things was the beautifully light but fragrant aroma of lavender and sage. Then there was the sight of Bethy Shaw, in a state of the most titillating undress, more real than any dream he’d ever had. The most predictable, and pressing thing, however, was the knotty end of a long pine bough, bark still intact, which slammed into his chest with considerable force.

He stumbled back, crying out, and was rewarded with another whack over his hands as they flew up to protect his face.

“Damn Bethy, it’s Curtis, not a goddamn Comanche!” he cried, struggling to shield himself from another blow.

“Don’t care who you are, if you’re hopin’ to get the bulge on me you’d better think again, Curtis McGowan!” She made to swing again.

Curtis backed up, empty palms raised. “Easy girl, easy! Have a care with that thing! Ain’t here to uhh--,” his eyes traveled down her front, taking in the sights, and bit back a smirk. “Get the bulge on ya.”

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but notice her state of relaxation. Aside from the gunbelt slung haphazardly over her shoulder, she had the look of a soiled dove hanging up her spurs for the day. Not that he’d say that aloud-- that would surely cost him. Instead, his eyes landed on the weapon he’d spied her with earlier.

“See you helped yourself to my pa’s shotgun too.”

She smiled wickedly and reached for it, blessedly putting the pine bough down. “Oh, this one? It was your pa’s, you say?” The shotgun swung in a high arc to level at him.

He gave a low whistle. “Didn’t take long for you to adjust to bandit life. You’ve got sticky fingers somethin awful, Bethy.”

She pulled a face. “It’s hard out here for a lady to make her way! Thought an old friend wouldn’t mind helpin a damsel in distress but I see I misjudged my old friend.”

Curtis wasn’t buying it. “I have a mind to pack you up on my mule and take you directly back home to tell your daddy what you done.”

That brought on a true flash of panic across her face. “You know my daddy would tan my hide if I went back home!”

From what he knew of Jacob Shaw, a tanned hide would be the most mild-mannered result of Bethy goin home, that was for sure. Curtis stole a glance back to her and smiled. As real casual-like as possible, he planted a palm on the rough-hewn table and leaned back. “Well hell, I s’pose I don’t have to mention it to your old man. Depends.”

Bethy lowered the gun, the hint of an upward twitch at the corners of her lips. “You tryin’ to make a bargain, Curtis?”

“You gonna make it worth my while?”

Wickedness flickered through her eyes. It stirred a weakness behind his knees. It was the same look she had in this dreams, ever since the town fair hay makin’ competition three years ago. She’d won a blue ribbon. He won a ‘friend’ he couldn’t shake, even if he wanted to. Not that he ever did. Bethy Shaw was like a shadow made of smoke, all wispy curves he knew by heart but never could catch. But maybe tonight…

It was with that secretive, mischievous glance that she finally put down Pa’s shotgun. She set it gently on the table behind him, and slipped her gunbelt back off to join it. With her blouse no longer under the heavy belt it draped and swung freely. Free enough to billow up when she moved a little too quickly, sidling up against him. It was then that his vantage, towering over her by a good head and a half, paid off.

“You’d think,” she mused aloud, “that any idiot would’ve figured out if a gal is lifting all your gear, you’ve got something she wants.”

Curt paused, unsure he caught her meaning. “Other than gold?”

He needed a drink, and a casual sweep of the cabin told him Beth indeed had helped herself to his whiskey, too.

“Other than gold”, she echoed, fingers inching towards his gunbelt. His mouth worked soundlessly, so transfixed was he upon her fingers. The buckle fell to the floor with a heavy clink. The weight of the thick leather belt leaving his hips made him wiggle ever so slightly, by instinct. Happy accident drove him to collide with hers.

“Other than gold.” Her murmur was husky, so low he had to lean forward to hear as she repeated again.

When he did she seized him, her fingers traveling up his arms, and then his shoulders, to tangle in his hair. He tried to not think about the heat flooding through him. Tried to tear his eyes away from her smooth, unblemished slopes of cleavage in stays that only barely served their purpose while unlaced.

He wanted to ask, “is it a kiss?”, but her lips were already on him, and he dared not tempt fate.

***

He woke to cardinals singing. For a moment he basked in the song, unable to discern if he was in a dream or a memory of times gone by. If only things were as simple as mornings of his childhood, in his father’s hunting cabin in the high ponderosas amid early birdsong and thick mountain fog. Dream or no, it was cozy all the same. He wanted to savor it, but a reminder tickled him to waking.

Gotta light a shuck out of here before Bethy wakes.

He made himself listen for a moment, and furtively sent a hand to Bethy beside him. But his fingers only met cold buffalo hide. Bethy was not there. Confused, he raised his head and rubbed his bleary eyes.

Pa’s shotgun was gone. His new saddleblanket, too. With cold realization, it hit him. Bethy was gone. His gold was gone.

“No. No no no no!” Curtis vaulted out of bed. “Aw, sheeit. Bethy!” In nothin but his long johns he dashed outside, checking for her horse.

But Bethy was long gone, and Clyde with her.

He should have expected as much. He wondered if it was true, that she was really sweet on him.

Maybe this is what folks called ‘hard to get’.

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[chrismullenwrites]

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[cjpromotionsmarketing]

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[coloursofunison]

I'm delighted to welcome back David Fitz-Gerald and his new book, Rolling Home, to the blog #WesternFiction #WesternAdventure #AmericanWest #NewRelease #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I'm delighted to welcome back David Fitz-Gerald and his new book, Rolling Home, to the blog #WesternFiction #WesternAdventure #AmericanWest #NewRelease #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @authordavefitzgerald @thecoffeepotbookclub @AuthorDAVIDFG @cathiedunn

I’m delighted to welcome back David Fitz-Gerald and his new book, Rolling Home from the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series, to the blog with a series trailer. Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail Series Trailer Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail Series Trailer Here’s the blurb Climb aboard! Don’t miss the heart-pounding climax of the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series. Rolling Home is the final…

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Book Spotlight Rolling Home David Fitz-Gerald #WesternFiction #WesternAdventure #AmericanWest #NewRelease #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @AuthorDAVIDFG @cathiedunn

Book Spotlight Rolling Home David Fitz-Gerald #WesternFiction #WesternAdventure #AmericanWest #NewRelease #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @AuthorDAVIDFG @cathiedunn Linnea Tanner BOOK SPOTLIGHT: ROLLING HOME  It is my pleasure to welcome David Fitz-Gerald and to spotlight his book, Rolling Home, in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour held on June 18th, 2024. The Western / Historical Fiction novel, Rolling Home (Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail) was independently released by the author on June 15th, 2024 (254 pages). Below are highlights of Rolling Home, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series trailer, and David Fitz-Gerald’s author bio. Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2024/05/blog-tour-rolling-home-by-david-fitz-gerald.html HIGHLIGHTS: ROLLING HOME   Rolling Home: A Pioneer Western Adventure (Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail) By David Fitz-Gerald Blurb: Climb aboard! Don’t miss the... Read the full article

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Rolling Home

Book Title: Rolling Home Series: Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail Author: David Fitz-Gerald Publication Date: June 15, 2024 Publisher: David Fitz-Gerald Pages: 254 Genre: Western, Historical Fiction Series Trailer: https://youtu.be/sWvp6dtbXvA Twitter Handle: @AuthorDAVIDFG @cathiedunn Instagram Handle: @authordavefitzgerald @thecoffeepotbookclub Hashtags: #WesternFiction #WesternAdventure…

[ginaraemitchell]

Falling for a Bossy Cowboy: An Opposites-Attract Christian Cowboy Romance (Vargas Ranch Book 3) by Karen Baney | #Contemporary #ChristianFiction #WesternFiction | @ireadbooktours @AuthorKarenBaney @Karen_Baney @acornireadbooktours

For readers seeking a clean romance with solid Christian themes and attitudes, Baney's series offers an enjoyable read. While "Falling for a Bossy Cowboy" can be enjoyed as a standalone novel, diving into the series from the beginning provides a deeper understanding of the Vargas family dynamics and enhances the overall reading experience. Falling for a Bossy Cowboy: An Opposites-Attract Christian Cowboy Romance (Vargas Ranch Book 3) by Karen Baney | #Contemporary #ChristianFiction #WesternFiction | @ireadbooktours @AuthorKarenBaney @Karen_Baney @acornireadbooktours

Falling for a Bossy Cowboy: An Opposites-Attract Christian Cowboy Romance (Vargas Ranch Book 3) by Karen Baney | #Contemporary #ChristianFiction #WesternFiction | @ireadbooktours @AuthorKarenBaney @Karen_Baney @acornireadbooktours A book blog tour from iRead Book Tours. Thank you to the author, publisher, & Lauren at iRead for providing me with the information for this tour. Quick Summary: For…

[joyffree]

✩★ NEW RELEASE TOUR ★✩ Audrey Rescue Me - (Mail Order Brides) By Annee Jones Hosted by DS Book Promotions

Wrong place, wrong time…and now she's running for her life…

Audrey Winthrop has everything figured out. At twenty-one years old, she’s got everything she ever wanted… Well, almost everything. But, she’s on her way toward living her dream. It's 1920 and the world is changing, especially for women. Bright lights, a big city, and independence are finally within her reach. And now that she’s living in New York City, it’s all just a few steps away.

With the help of some friends from her boarding house, Audrey is excited to get a taste of big city life at last. But when it’s finally her turn to step out and dance her heart out at one of the local speakeasies, she witnesses a crime that will change her life forever…

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

★✩★ NEW RELEASE TOUR ★✩★

Audrey

Rescue Me - (Mail Order Brides)

By Annee Jones

Hosted by DS Book Promotions

AMAZON

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BL9H24HK/

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BL9H24HK/

CA https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0BL9H24HK/

AU https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0BL9H24HK/

Available on Kindle Unlimited

Blurb:

Wrong place, wrong time...and now she's running for her life... Audrey Winthrop has everything figured out. At twenty-one years old, she’s got everything she ever wanted… Well, almost everything. But, she’s on her way toward living her dream. It's 1920 and the world is changing, especially for women. Bright lights, a big city, and independence are finally within her reach. And now that she’s living in New York City, it’s all just a few steps away. With the help of some friends from her boarding house, Audrey is excited to get a taste of big city life at last. But when it’s finally her turn to step out and dance her heart out at one of the local speakeasies, she witnesses a crime that will change her life forever...

Follow Annee Jones:

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Annee-Jones/e/B08KSFSHX1/

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[aliterarydumpsterfire]

Jessie Curtis and the Reward for Barrelsmoke Mullins

Jessie Curtis flexed her stiff fingers, popping knuckles impatiently. It’d been a long time since she’d darkened the door of Madame Dumont’s. She’d been waiting ‘til the curtains in the side room upstairs opened to make her move, watching the last patron exit the back door with a pep in his step.

She took a swig from the bottle, grimacing as she downed cheap whiskey. It was gut-rot, sure to kill her eventually, but she didn’t care. One vice or another would, as her parents had never neglected to tell her.

Ma always did say I wasn’t one for sense. If she were alive she’d say it now to be sure. But Mary Curtis was long dead, and Pa Hank Curtis, too. The old marshal had never thought much of his daughter. In some small way Jessie hoped maybe bringing Pa’s murderer to justice would help ease some of that, from beyond the grave and somesuch. Anyway. She wasn’t one to put stock in what the preacher man said. This Barrelsmoke business had nothin’ to do with bein’ a big damn hero or a vengeance quest or nothin’. Just seemed like the right thing to do.

So here she was, outside the window of a low-rate brothel in a town too far from a railroad to ever survive without an establishment such as this. If she had any sense she’d put miles between her and the woman she’d come to see. If she was lucky this time she’d make it out with her dignity intact.

A lone, willowy figure appeared in the window above. Finally. She spit out her chew and unlaced her spurs.

Satisfied that her target was likely unoccupied, she slipped through at the back porch as another grinning fool tipped his hat to her on the way out. Up the stairs she went. As quiet as could be managed she stalked down the hall on the sides of her feet to the last door on the left. She listened, counting out the seconds of silence, and rapped on the oak door.

“I’m with a customer!”

“Lily I know that ain’t true, otherwise I’d be able to hear ya all the way from the shithouse.”

Lillian Sackett glanced up as Jessie entered, but didn’t bother to rise or even greet her. Tobacco smoke curled up in lazy bends around her face as she reclined on a plush pink coverlet. Polite society would condemn the woman for smoking, but brothels would hardly be considered polite society. Jesse took a turn about the room, checking the wardrobe and under the bed before settling into a satin backed chair.

“Hello, Lilian.” She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. The last time she’d been in this room it’d been a less than pleasant experience neither was likely to forget.

The dove blew a smoke ring in answer.

“Lillian, I want you to tell me all you can about Eli Mullins.”

“Barrelsmoke Mullins? Why?”

Eli Mullins was a slippery one, he’d earned that moniker, that was for sure. Gone before a body could touch the ground, leaving only gunsmoke and victims in his wake. Jessie wasn’t too slow on the trigger herself, but no one was a match for old Barrelsmoke. People said his gun was some type of converted Navy Colt, and the smoke that hung in the air after a battle with him was from some black powder he had made special. Any gunfighter in the Territory worth his salt steered clear once they knew that particular burn. Until now.

Mullins’s face was plastered on every saloon from here to Sante Fe, $1000, dead or alive. It’d made Quay county the new destination for bounty hunters. There was no time to waste for Jessie. $1000 and revenge was a powerful motivator. She had a bullet with Barrelsmoke’s name on it, carried it in the inside pocket of her waistcoat. If Lilian Sackett helped, she might even get to deliver it.

“I’m doin’ the sheriff a favor. Said if I did he’d let me off easy for a misunderstanding couple weeks back,” Jessie lied.

Lillian tapped the nightstand and held out her hand.

“Doesn’t the thought of bringin’ a murderer to justice give you satisfaction enough?”

She scowled. “Jessie, I’ve got no love for Eli Mullins, but I do love his money.” With an exaggerated flick of her wrist she hiked up her skirts overworn silk stockings, making sure her visitor got a generous eyeful. “You gonna do him better?”

Jessie flashed a rueful smile, digging into her pocket. “Nothing more noble than giving a fallen woman an opportunity to come by honest money. That’s what Preacher Matthews would say.”

Lillian spat, projecting a well-aimed arc of saliva on trail-worn boots. “It’s double now.”

“Shit, Lil, I’ve got no quarrel with you. Just want to find Mullins and bring him to justice.” For good measure she stacked another coin on the nightstand and added, “he killed my old man, you know.”

“Marshal Curtis? That self-righteous old coot?”

“The very same.” It wouldn’t be the first or the last time her father’s name elicited that reaction. It seemed US Marshals were born to it, just like all other lawmen. Jessie wasn’t ever a great supporter of her father. Hell, half the time she was just trying to slip out the back of the saloon while her old man was setting spurs in the door. Hank Curtis was always looking to make an example of his daughter, especially if there was gambling involved. Or anything fun for that matter.

The two locked eyes. A long stare passed between them, punctuated by stray grunts and over-acted squeals from the adjacent room.

Jessie rose with a sigh, reaching for the stamped gold pieces. It was worth a try at least, to ask Lilian. Everybody knew she was Barrelsmoke’s favorite dove this side of Cripple Creek.

“What do you want to know?”

Jessie turned back. “Let’s start with when you expect him next.”

___

Nights were getting colder, despite an Indian summer threatening to take back the cooler days of late. Twilight was in full effect as Jessie pulled her sarape closer and shifted in the enclosed balcony box of Lilian’s room. The woman had begrudgingly allowed her plans, provided she get a portion of the reward money, and under pain of death to not ruin any of her fine furnishings. Jessie smirked at that, though another glare from her told him to save it for when he told the sheriff.

Across the broad streets of Tucumcari she caught a shadow behind the tall false front of Cole’s General store. That’d be Sheriff Peavy, and whoever else he’d rounded up for a posse. They were expecting a gunbattle, judging from the headcount. Jessie hoped it didn’t come to that. Hard to collect a reward when you can’t ensure the owner of the killing shot. Besides, her plans didn’t quite coincide with the ones she’d made with the lawman.

It wasn’t long after the stars appeared that so did Mullins with his own posse, about seven men all on Indian calicos. If the man had any sense of subtlety he’d have his friends ride into town separately, maybe from different directions, but not Mullins. Not that it made much difference. Someone would have to be a right fool to attack Barrelsmoke on their own. Good thing Jessie didn’t intend to.

Barrelsmoke made a predictable beeline to the boardwalk leading to M.Dumont’s. Even the noise from the saloon a block down seemed to dampen as eyes filled every street window.

Now.

“He’s here,” she whispered. Jessie reached into her waistcoat pocket, fingertips pushing a bullet up the sides of the rough cotton lining. She thumbed it into the Colt cylinder and motioned to Lilian.

“Still bad for business, this plan.” She put down the stocking she was in the midst of mending and primped herself in the mirror, adjusting all manner of ribbons and bows on her pink dress.

Jessie waved her off. “Hush woman, you’re not the one doin’ the killin’. Now get me into this wardrobe.”

The painted lady huffed but obeyed, pushing aside perfumed frocks to make room before closing the oak-paneled doors on her visitor’s face. Between the frippery being both stiflingly musty and doused in fragrance, Jessie nearly choked but caught herself. She fancied could hear the thuds and clinks of Mullin’s boots start up the stairs below.

Soon enough the spurs and footfalls grew in earnest, with a cadence and speed that could have inspired a funeral dirge. At long last they stopped in front of Lillian’s door, barely pausing before the door swung open without even a knock.

“Mullins.” Lilian greeted him from the balcony like he was hired help. At least she greeted all her customers the same.

The spurs tracked to meet her. “Lilian.” A ripping of fabric followed, but it didn’t sound like the dove minded. As a matter of fact, she could’ve sworn she heard a coo of surprise in response.

“I hope you’re interested in getting blown away tonight,” her sweet voice came through with a coy undertone.

That was it. That was the cue.

Jessie unholstered and pulled back the hammer, trying to muffle it under a petticoat she pulled up from the hangers. It did no good. The three clicks of the hammer cocking back was clear as a bell to any outlaw worth his iron.

“Say, what was that?” Barrelsmoke’s voice cut their hazy murmurs with an edge of suspicion.

Jessie kicked the wardrobe open, panels splintering under her foot. A string of curses spilled from her lips as she struggled to yank her boot free from the oak cage. The couple turned away from the balcony railing. The light of recognition dawned in the man’s eyes, grim tension drawn at his jaw. Jessie’s blood ran cold but she leveled her Colt.

A blur at the hip as Barrelsmoke palmed his revolver, a flash of silver. For once the marshal’s daughter was faster. She squeezed the trigger.

At such close quarters the shot was like a thunderclap. The bullet’s impact rippled through Barrelsmoke’s body. He recoiled backwards, face contorted in surprise, blood flying from the corners of his mouth.

For a sweet moment all was quiet. Jessie launched forward and kicked the gunslinger over the balcony railing.

Somewhere behind, Lilian screamed. Despite her knowing the plan, real panic flooded her face. She fanned herself, generous spilling bosoms heaving as she failed to catch her breath like a cowhand after a stampede. It wasn’t the re-ward Jessie was after, but it wasn’t a bad first course neither.

“Lilian!” A concerned shout rose from the deserted street below.

“She’s alright!” Jessie shouted back. She pushed down a swell of triumph and peered over the railing. A silver star gleamed crimson on a buckskin jacket below. With one foot Sheriff Peavy kicked over a dust-coated corpse, blood pooling over fine New Mexico sand. He gaped up at the balcony in baffled anger.

“Sorry about that, Sheriff.” Jessie tipped her hat. “Honest mistake.”

“Damnit Curtis, that was Barrelsmoke Mullins.”

“I know it.”

“We agreed that we’d be takin’ him alive.”

“Awful sorry, sheriff.” Jessie took her hat in her hands. “I jus kept thinkin’ about how he killed my pa, and then he went for Lil and I plum lost all control.”

Sheriff Peavy shook his head, holstering his Colt. “I should’ve known that might happen.”

Jessie wore her most apologetic face. “Well shucks, sheriff. I know you wanted to take him alive.” She stole a glance at Peavy’s face. The lawman looked mighty frustrated as he dusted himself down.

“Come on down, I suppose you’ll be askin’ about that re-ward.”

She schooled her face to solemn planes, thinkin’ of her old schoolmarm Miss Sawyer for extra measure. That spinster could teach a stone a thing or two, and Jesse had earned plenty of those looks when she was still learning her letters.

Only the tiniest hint of eagerness slipped through her voice as she replied, “only if you think it’s right, Sheriff. My Pa didn’t raise no scalper.”

Lillian snorted. Someone below may have snorted too, but Jesse was already halfway to the door.

“Oh hush, you! If you had any sense, you’d be nice as pie and get to work earnin’ your keep.”

Another snort. But it didn’t matter what Lillian thought, or how the job was done. Barrelsmoke Mullins was dead, and as far as Jessie could reckon, that made her rich. And a big damn hero. A big damn rich hero.

And there weren’t nothin’ her old Pa could say about that.

[chrismullenwrites]

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: J.A Johnstone Books- The Big Gundown, Rattlesnake Valley The Devil's Background

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Best Selling Author Scotty V. Casper

Finn Sullivan: Mountain Man: Betrayal Of Trust: A Mountain Man Western Adventure (Frontier of the Mountain Man Book 5) https://a.co/d/0iCTJGbf

The fifth adventure in a brand new Mountain Man adventure series from acclaimed Western author Scotty Casper. This is all the action and adventure of Frontier America together with a rip-roaring storyline that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

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