Johannes rode up to him, smoothly slipping his Sharps .52 Caliber Carbine into a cradled position in one arm. “Are you coming in tonight?” “No, Reuben. As Zeb would say, this suits me just fine.” Bente and Lahn were standing side-by-side, their noses pointed at the Rockies, a looming, forbidding mass of jagged dark silhouettes […] more to read »
Mr. Rosenthal, We met at a little cafe in Grand Junction on August 31st, which happened to be my birthday. I work in a library if that jogs your memory. You asked me to tell you my thoughts on your book. I waited with anticipation for your book Threads West to arrive. Once I started […] more to read »
Sarah stood on the rough ground of a small rise, surveying the circle of prairie schooners and Conestogas that lay fifty feet east of her. Their once bright, canvas tops were muted and streaked with the rigors of a thousand miles of weather, river crossings, sun and dust. Many had bullet holes or patches where […] more to read »
Reuben stood lazily, his Navy Colt in one hand, gunpowder smoke still rising several feet above the muzzle. One of the other men moved, and Rebecca heard the distinctive hammer-click of Johannes’ Sharps, which he had raised to his shoulder. Reuben’s jaw clenched. He grimly cocked the hammer of the Colt. “I don’t push, mister. […] more to read »
He obliged, lowering his lips and kissing the top of her head. Her arms tightened and he began to repeat the gesture, but she raised her head and intercepted his kiss with her own—just a brush of parted lips at first, then an increased pressure tinged with passion. She was standing just inches away, her […] more to read »