If you enjoy a wild ride for revenge, youll love EYE FOR EYE. Only $.99 for a short time. Heres a taste: Prologue The Big Horn Mountains, Montana, Spring 1876 Six dusty, trail-worn, riders reined up, staying in the cover of a stand of lodgepole pine, two hundred yards from the log ranch house, barn, and corrals. Even at that distance and with lots of cover between them, the ranch dog knew their presence and was barking. One man rode on, at a slow walk so as not to appear to have any malice in his heart. A single rider...just wanting to water his horse after a long ride. When Ranger, Quints cow dog, started raising all Billy Joe hell, Consuela walked over and pulled a lace curtain aside eying the yard from the window. Ranger hated crows and often went a little crazy when one landed in the yard—particularly if it was near his bowl. She figured that was what was troubling him, and smiled, then returned to work. Dressed in an ankle length elk-skin dress and buffalo-skin moccasins, gifts from Two Hatchets, Consuela Reagan was carefully folding beaten egg whites into the mix for a cake that would bake up light as smoke. Her forehead bore a band of beads on soft elk skin, also a gift from the Sioux. Her long hair, black and shiny as a ravens wing, hung to the middle of her back and was pulled back and tied with a thong of woven rawhide to keep it out of her cooking. Her face wore a smile, and had for the last two months, since shed missed her monthly. A gift of God; a child in her belly. Tomorrow was their fifth anniversary, and she wanted something special for Quint, and he loved her cakes. Quint had taken her away from Colorado and its horrible memories of the death of her father and the loss of a rancho that had been in their family for six generations. But that was all behind her. Now, Montana was a new life and Quite Waters a new ranch and a new opportunity, rich with deep grass and sweet water...all overlooking the wide Yellowstone River. And she was with child, again, after losing the first one. Three months along, she figured. God would finally bring them a child; the beginning, she hoped, of a large family. God willing this child would make it full term. She paused a moment from beating the mix, and listened. The clomping of hooves? Quint couldnt be home so early. Walking over to the basin she washed her hands, then moved to the door and reached for the handle, just as there was a knock. She opened the door to see a tall man with sharp features in a duster and floppy brimmed hat, who politely stepped back from the door. He snatched the hat off his head before she could speak, holding it in both hands at his belt line. Maam, just passing through and thought you might have a little work for a hungry stranger? His voice was low and reassuring. The man was unshaven, and looked like it had been a week since hed stropped a razor. His beard was gray, and he had a gray—almost white—stripe in the center of his dark head of hair from forehead to crown. She gave him a tight smile. Youd have to talk to my husband about that. But if you want to take a seat there on the porch, Ill fetch you something to eat. Why, maam, thats kind of you. You sure I cant carry some wood in or some such? She was running low. Woods in the shed on the far side of the house. Ill get something.... As she moved back to the pie safe where she had some leftovers from last nights supper, she wondered how wise shed been...now hed come inside. She filled a pie tin with cold elk stew and three tortillas, and was pouring a cup of coffee when her door opened and he walked in, his arms heaped with stove wood. He left the door wide, not the act of a man up to no good. As he stacked the wood in the bin next to the Buck stove, he asked, Can I speak with the man of the house? Hes out in the fields, which was a small lie, as he was working, in town, four miles upriver. He aint here, the man said, loud enough that it could be heard across the farmyard. Her mouth went dry. She cut her eyes to the door, and the shotgun on an antelope horn rack over the doorway. The crooked smile he gave her sent a chill down her back. Her mouth went dry while her spine turned to ice. He chuckled, then spat out, Youll never make it, squaw woman. Im Mexican, she said, and broke for the door and the shotgun. But he was right. He caught her by the wrist as another huge man filled the doorway. The one with the stripe in his hair dragged her toward the only other room in the house and the double bed there. Screaming, her knees going to mush, she raked the side of his face with her free hand…her nails drawing blood and a vehement wail. He spun and slapped her hard, then slapped her again and again until her legs folded under her, and even with her ears ringing and half unconcious she heard the laughter of more than one man whod entered the house. Then another man grabbed her arms, jerking her up, painfully wrenching them together behind her back until her elbows almost touched. Her eyes flared and she screamed a little more than a squeak as her mouth and throat had gone dry as a bone yard, as the first man tried to tear the buckskin dress apart to expose her breasts...then jerked a knife from the scabbard at his belt and split it and the chemise she wore beneath, down to the waist. Her breasts spilled out and he glared then laughed hungrily. By God, shes brown as a bean but shes all woman, he yelled, and others laughed. All she could think of was the baby. No matter what happened, she must protect her unborn. amazon/Eye-Adventure-Western-Novella-Montana-ebook/dp/B00O93HJ1C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1417186671&sr=8-1&keywords=eye+for+eye+l.+j.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Nov 2014 15:00:09 +0000
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