Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Woooo Hoooo - It's release day for Chase's Story - Book 10 of Grandma's Wedding Quilts

Chase wanted no part of going to college or following in his father’s footsteps and becoming a Doctor.  His dream involved cattle and horses and he follows that dream to the Arizona Territory. 

One cold, rainy day his life takes a turn when he finds himself looking down the muzzle of a Colt Walker barely being held up by a woman who has been badly beaten along with her three-year old son.  Will she be someone Chase could let into his heart or someone who could destroy his life

A bit of a teaser....

The sun was setting and Chase was hopeful he’d get home before dark. His eyes drooped and he gave himself the luxury of letting his head drop forward. He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep but the wagon jolted to an abrupt stop.

     Chase snapped his head up and found he was looking down the muzzle of a gun. More surprising was the woman holding the gun. She was soaking wet, with an eye swollen shut, dried blood coming from a cut somewhere under dirty brown hair, a lip that was split and deep, purplish bruises covering most of one side of her face. Though she stood about five and a half feet tall, she was so thin, a stiff wind wouldn’t have too hard a time blowing her to the ground. 

     Her dress was one of an indiscriminate color, it was so faded. One sleeve was completely ripped away at the shoulder and the waist was also torn. She had the horse’s bridle in one hand and the gun in the other.

     Chase sat up a little taller and pulled the break on the wagon. “Ma’am, you don’t look too good, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

     Her bottom lip trembled. “I…I’m sorry, mister, but I need your wagon and whatever water and food is on it. You can keep your cow.” A tear slipped down one of her cheeks. “I’ve got a little one who’s sick and got to get him out of here.”

     Chase pursed his lips and casually leaned his elbows on his knees. “Is that a Colt Walker? They stopped making those some twenty years ago.”

     She ignored his questions. “You need to get down.” 

     The arm holding the gun started to shake. “I’ll shoot, mister. Don’t think I won’t.”

     Chase shook his head. “I don’t think so. You see, the Walker is a single action and the lever needs to be cocked with each shot.” He crossed his arms. “You will need both hands to do that and it looks like it’s weighing a bit too heavy for you now.”

     She chewed on the good side of her lower lip, fear and indecision written all over her face. When she turned to look over her shoulder Chase jumped from the buckboard, knocking them both to the ground. She screamed as he landed on top of her. He grabbed the gun before rolling back up to his feet.

     The woman, now covered in mud, curled into a fetal position and sobbed. Chase put the gun under the bench of the buckboard and bent to pick her up. She moaned when he laid her in the hard wagon. He reached over her to grab an old blanket when her hand shot out, grabbing his arm with a ferocity he didn’t think she possessed.

     “Timmy,” she gasped, holding tight. “Please,” she begged, a sob catching in her throat, “you have to get him.”

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