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FINDING PROMISE
FINDING PROMISE
The McBride Brothers #2
Scarlett Dunn
Released Dec 29th, 2015
Kensington: Zebra
A
trail of danger and dreams…
She may be an heiress, but Parker
Promise Sinclair cares more about living an adventurous life than snaring a
suitable husband. So it’s no surprise when she joins a Wyoming wagon trail—only
to survive a massacre that leaves her with no memory, a target on her back—and
her abiding faith tested by the only man who can possibly protect her.
His gunfighting skills and trail
savvy have saved U.S. Marshal Jake McBride more times than he can count. And
his instincts tell him the only way to keep Promise alive is to take her along
on his high-stakes cattle drive. But she soon proves she can ride and shoot
with the best of them—and Jake finds it increasingly difficult to keep himself
from falling for her. Soon, with danger closing in, they'll have only one
chance to face their doubts, their fears—and their growing love…
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Excerpt
As
he drew closer, Preacher laid his ears back and started sidestepping.
Jake’s senses went on high alert. His horse was as good at
detecting danger as any U.S. Marshal he’d ever seen. He stroked
Preacher’s neck as he assessed the situation. The riders were well
out of sight, so he didn’t know what had Preacher so worked up.
“Settle down, boy. I don’t see anyone moving about.” He focused
again on what he thought were flags, and realization dawned. Covered
wagons. They were turned over on their sides and the canvases had
been ripped apart, leaving the tattered pieces to flap in the wind
like sails on a ship.
“Come
on, boy. Let’s see what this is about.” Preacher snorted at him
as though he disagreed with the command, but he moved ahead. Jake
counted six wagons overturned as he reined in at the nearest one.
Dismounting, he held on to Preacher’s reins just in case he needed
to make a fast getaway. What
happened here? Indians? Is that who was
riding away? They
hadn’t encountered any Indians so far, but that only meant one
thing; they were due. One thing was certain, if Indians were around,
he figured he’d see them soon enough. Not many places to hide out
here in the open, but they sure had a way of appearing out of thin
air.
The
thunder and lightning had lessened considerably, so he figured he
could hear trouble if it came calling. Scanning the area, he saw all
manner of items from the wagons scattered about. Judging by the
destruction, and some costly articles left behind, it occurred to him
that whoever did this was looking for something in particular.
Spotting a man on the ground near the first wagon, he released
Preacher’s reins and hurried to him. As he approached, he saw the
blood covering the front of his rainsoaked shirt. He didn’t need to
touch him; his eyes had the vacant stare of a dead man. There was a
rifle beside the man and Jake picked it up to see if it had been
fire. It hadn’t. The man’s pistol was still in his holster. He
walked to the overturned wagon and peeked inside. There was a woman
lying half out of the front of the wagon, so he
hustled
around to check her. Shot dead. A few feet from her was another man
lying dead on the ground. What
in heaven’s name happened here? He
ran to the other wagons,
praying to God he would
find someone alive. He found six
more bodies. Everyone
shot—no arrows, but Indians had
guns, he reminded
himself. Questions circled his mind.
Why weren’t they traveling with a larger group? Had they been ill
and left behind? And why in heaven’s name had they stopped out here
in the open? Not the best place to stop for the night if they needed
to defend themselves from an attack.
Reaching
the last wagon, he saw a woman lying facedown near a large overturned
trunk, and a man lying several feet from her. Again, he scanned the
horizon to make sure no one was waiting to shoot him in the back.
Approaching the woman first, he kneeled down and gently turned her
over. Pushing aside her long wet hair from her face, he saw that her
eyes were closed and blood oozed from her temple. He placed his palm
on her chest to see if she had a heartbeat. Alive!
Her heartbeat was faint,
but it was there. Thank
God.
Wiping at the blood on her temple, he tried to see how badly she was
injured. It looked like a bullet had grazed her, but fortunately it
wasn’t lodged in her head. He searched her limp form for additional
signs of injury, but finding none, he stood and pulled off his
slicker to cover her. It didn’t make a lick of sense since her
clothing was drenched, yet it made him feel better. He walked to the
man lying nearby to see if he was as lucky as the woman. He wasn’t.
He
whistled for Preacher, who came trotting up beside him. He pulled a
clean shirt out of his saddlebag and quickly tore it into long
strips. Gently, he propped the woman against his thigh and wound the
cloth around her head. Two thoughts struck him at once: how fragile
she was, and how good she smelled. Odd, under the circumstances, that
he’d noticed her fragrance, but he figured it was because since
he’d left Texas the only things he’d smelled were cattle and wet
earth. While he worked on the bandage, it occurred to him that she
was much younger than the other women he’d found. The man lying
near her was also younger than the other men. He
must have been her husband. Why would anyone shoot all of these
people? What were they searching for? If Indians had attacked, they
would have taken some of the items littering the ground, like the
tools or sacks of sugar and barrels of flour. They would have taken
the young woman too. He’d
seen a lot
of evil in his ten years as a U.S. Marshal, but nothing as
senseless as this. He
took hold of her hand, wishing he
could will her to wake.
Her hand was so delicate and soft
against his calloused
skin that he glanced down to look at
her palm. This was not
the hand of a woman who worked
a farm, though he did
feel some rough spots on her fingers,
which he figured were
from holding a horse’s reins.
He
glanced at the man again. No gun. Realizing that only one man had
been armed offered up another set of questions. It was possible that
the killers had taken their weapons. Did they also take the horses,
or had the horses simply run off when the shooting started? He felt
sure the killers didn’t take the time to unhitch the teams, so
these folks had stopped for some reason.
He
could see hoofprints in every direction, but right now he didn’t
have time to study them other than to make a mental note that they
were shod. He knew the rain would wash away the tracks of the men he
saw riding away, but his first responsibility was to care for the
woman. He’d take her back to meet up with the drive so his cook
could tend her. He’d hired Shorty not only for his cooking skills
but because he also possessed some doctoring knowledge. Shorty had
been on six cattle drives and had tended various injuries, so Jake
hoped he would know what to do for her. Once the woman was in
Shorty’s care, he’d bring some men back to bury the dead. Then
he’d have time to try to make sense out of this massacre.
Preacher
caught his attention when he snorted and sidestepped closer. “What
is it, boy?” Jake looked around and immediately spotted Indians on
a knoll less than two hundred yards away. Damn,
if they can’t sneak up on a
man! He
counted ten braves, and though he wasn’t sure, he thought they were
Comanche. “Okay, boy, we’re leaving.” Just as he was about to
lift the woman in his arms, he saw a leather-bound book underneath
her skirt, and next to it was a Colt .45. He picked up the pistol and
smelled the barrel before tucking it in his belt. He grabbed the book
and stuffed it inside his shirt to keep it dry. Once he was settled
in the saddle with the woman securely in his arms, he pulled his
slicker over her head to keep her bandage dry. He turned his gaze on
the Indians and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw they were not
riding toward him. It was odd how they were just watching, almost
like they were afraid to ride closer. He looked around to make sure
no one else was lurking about. Before he rode away, he glanced once
more at the destruction around him. He was certain of one thing: The
Indians hadn’t done this. Not one scalp was missing.
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Scarlett Dunn lives in Kentucky surrounded by all manner of wildlife, and
enjoys long "God walks" where most inspiration strikes. Possessing an
adventurous spirit, and a love of history, particularly the pioneers of the
West, she has a special place in her heart for all cowboys, past and present.
Readers can visit her website: www.scarlettdunn.com.
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