Adventures of a Deadly Duo (Preview)

Chapter One

Daisy Dixon took a deep breath, rich pine and beargrass and bitterroot filling her nostrils, her throat, her lungs. The Rocky Mountain spring brought a crisp night’s sky with fluffy white clouds drifting effortlessly, incrementally, silent.

Daisy mimicked their movements, remaining quiet as she crept over the ridge. She’d left Albert half a mile down the slope. She had to be nearly invisible as she approached her enemies’ camp, and that meant forgoing the advantages of being on horseback. There were other advantages to be exploited, and Daisy knew every one of them by heart.

Daisy stepped closer, her boots carefully crunching down on dead, dried cottonwood leaves and twigs, the men’s muttered conversation getting clearer as she approached. She couldn’t quite make out their words, but that hardly mattered. They could be discussing an overthrow of the government or reading the bible for all Daisy cared. Whatever it was, they would be their last words.

Their horses whinnied and shook their heads, as if they were trying to warn their masters of Daisy’s approach. But the men remained seated around the fire pit, flames crackling, voiced grumbling and rolling as she stepped closer.

“I say we ride straight on to California,” one of them said, “I hear there’s gold running in the streams.”

“You said that about the Black Hills,” another said, “wound up running red … with blood.”

“That fool sheriff stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong,” the first man answered, “what did you want me t’do?”

“Smarten up, that’s what!”

“Maybe you dummy up, ‘er I’ll give you what the sheriff got.”

“All right, boys,” the third man said, “we didn’t make it through Gettysburg just t’be fightin’ amongst ourselves. We been all over the north past ten years; them Yanks ain’t beat us yet.”

“And they ain’t gonna,” another said. “I’ll rob every one of ‘em blind if I can, and then take their eyes, just in case o’ resurrection of the flesh. Let ‘em wander ‘round fer eternity an’ never see God far as I’m concerned.”

Daisy stepped closer, Colt pistols in the twin leather holsters hanging from her gun belt. They were loaded and ready, even anxious to do their part. She considered freeing them to do their job and end their lives from afar, but there was a matter of reputation, and that was a matter of life and death for Daisy Dixon. She never brought in a kill from the side or from behind.

She was Kyle Black, after all, the most feared bounty hunter in the Rocky Mountains. And Kyle Black was a man of such deadly skills, guile and courage and size and sheer strength that he never had to sneak up on any man. He was ten feet tall by some accounts, four feet wide at the shoulders like some living God of death, which was just what Daisy wanted them to think. As the man’s only friend and his official representative, Daisy was uniquely positioned to collect the big man’s fees and thrive on his reputation, which of course was her own.

Men, she thought as she approached the camp, so stupid, so ready to underestimate a woman. They’re more than eager to laud one another, glorify them, even when they’re no more than clever legend. But a true-life woman was something to be used and abused, raped and discarded, locked up in a kitchen or by a laundry bucket and clothes line. None of them could believe that a woman could possess my skills, my willingness to do what has to be done.

It’s always their last mistake, and they always die regretting it, just like these three dumb bunnies are about to do.

Daisy tried not to smile, tried not to enjoy what she was about to do. But she couldn’t help it. She could already feel her own lips stretching out, curling into her cheeks. She could already envision how it was going to play out. She’d done it before and she’d do it again, and she would do it with casual perfection. It was almost too easy, almost too much sheer sport. Daisy tried not to derive pleasure from her regrettable manner of getting along in life. She wouldn’t have chosen such a life, but the life seemed to have chosen her. Daisy often thought about the life she could have had, the life other women led; a good man to love, children, and a pleasant house somewhere, perhaps even in town. She imagined friends and tea parties and gossiping with the other women about the goings on amongst their friends, even perhaps discussing politics or other current events.

But Daisy’s life had never been able to offer her such luxuries, or a life of normalcy the like of which other women enjoyed. Her life, body and soul, had been tossed from her Virginia home, her parents slaughtered, her young self hurled into captivity at the hands of those Confederate bastards until her escape. Since then, normalcy had become a dream, while death and vengeance had become her lifestyle, and Kyle Black as much an instrument of that mission as her twin Colts, which were about to sing their fateful tune and rid the world of three more wanted men. They were wanted by more than the sheriff in Boulder, and more even than by God, who wrought all manner of judgement upon the living and the dead. These men had passed through the Rocky Mountains, and that fabled region had a will all its own. It was a clean place which despised the arrogant will of the white man. The Rockies nurtured and protected as much as it repelled and destroyed, and Daisy knew herself to be a servant of that magnificent range and to do its bidding. These three men were an insult to the beauty of the Rockies and a threat to those whom the Rockies sheltered and protected. One of those was Daisy herself. The Rockies brought her prey, after all, like a great stone spider web.

Daisy was finally close enough to present herself to the three men. It would be easy enough to jump into the clearing and fire on them, killing them before they knew what had happened.

But that would rob Daisy of the pleasure of their stupidity as they galloped like blind horses over the cliff. Pleasure was hard enough to come by in the Rockies, living a life of unending death.

There was no more time for anticipation, for reflection. They’d see her soon enough and that would cost Daisy the very advantages she was relying on, which she always relied on.

So Daisy stepped into the clearing to a position not far from the fire, facing the three men. They were visibly shocked, looking at each other and reaching for their guns. But they stopped where they were, unable even to stand.

“Ev’nin’, boys.” Daisy’s Colts were already drawn as she stood in front of them on the other side of that crackling fire. “Don’t get up.”

“What the hell’s all this?”

“I’m here to kill you,” Daisy said, “does that seem so … surprising?”

The men looked at one another in some vague cocktail of anger, confusion, and gathering confidence. “Looks like we got ourselves a gen-u-ine tomboy!”

Another said, “Tomfool, more like it.”

“You,” Daisy said to one, “you’re Jonathan Barney, called Bummer John, wanted for kidnapping, rape, murder.” To another she said, “You’re Charles Kale, called Cactus Charlie, wanted for horse stealing, also rape, kidnapping. And you –”

“I know what I am,” the third man said, “and I know what you are. I don’t think you got the guts to use those guns, my perdy little thang.”

“Yeah,” Cactus Charlie said, “I like that perdy red hair too.” He looked her over, “Yer all kindsa perdy, come to thank on it.”

Daisy shifted her weight just a bit, cocking her hip in a way she knew men could hardly resist. They’d long been instantly attracted to her, Daisy knew that. Her riding denim was tight on her long, shapely legs. They hugged her hips and carriage, her ample bosom pushing out from her work shirt. Daisy’s life was not fit for the hoop skirts and petticoats that the women in town enjoyed, and her body was mountain-sculpted and meant to be seen, not hidden by layers of frills and fancy materials. It took men off their guard, in just the way Daisy needed to get by.

“Oh,” Daisy said with a feigned pout, “did I stumble into a lion’s den? Did the silly little woman get in over her head.” She looked around, exaggerating nervousness, “My oh my, maybe I shouldn’t have come out here at all! Why, it’s three against one, and I’m just a little girl lost in the woods!”

One man was dumb enough to stand. Daisy had thought it would be Cactus Charlie, but it turned out to be Bummer John instead.

It hardly mattered.

Bang! The Colt barked out that first shot, her finger squeezing the trigger with perfect timing. Bang-bang! Bummer John flew back, his face the very picture of agony as his hands reached for his wounds, unable to retrieve the deadly bullets lodged in his heart, his lungs.

Cactus Charlie stood and drew his own Colts, but he wasn’t fast enough. Bang-bang-bang! The pistol fell from his hand without ever having gotten off a shot. His body twitched and bent in a deadly dance, his last waltz upon the earth before he finally fell to it in submission.

The other, called Ox by his friends and enemies, lunged at Daisy with his bare hands, as if his sheer will would be enough to overthrow her.

It wouldn’t be.

Bang, bang-bang!

Big Ox stood near the fire pit, three massive holes in his belly still not managing to put him down, though it did stay his hand, his thick legs splayed to keep him on his stunned feet.

Daisy said, “You’re a dead man, and it was a woman who killed you. You were bettered by a woman, and I’m going to turn in your corpse for money.” Ox panted, hardly able to breathe through the wheezing and gurgling, swaying as blood loss conspired with gravity to bring the man down like a rotted tree.

“I’m going to spend that money on a hot bath and suds all over my beautiful body, which you’ll die without ever seeing. Take another look, you big dumb Ox, see how perdy I am? You’d have taken me if you could’ve, you’d have enjoyed my terror, my misery. This is what you like? This is what you want?” Daisy leveled her Colt pistol directly at the big man’s face. “This is what you get … by my hand.”

Ox made one last lunge, bloodied hands reaching for her.

Bang!

The big man’s forehead burst with a new, blackened hole in its center, smoke rising up from the charged circle as his brains blew out the back, covering a nearby Douglas-fir before the man fell lifeless to the ground.

Daisy looked around the suddenly quiet camp. There wasn’t another living soul for miles, just the smell of death in the air.

Kyle Black had struck again.

Daisy set about the difficult task of hoisting the men, one of them over two hundred pounds of dead weight, onto their horses before stringing them together to ride them back into town. But Daisy had techniques to get the job done, using leverage and rope to secure her prizes. She’d done it countless times before, and would do it countless times more. Boulder was only a few hours away, and Daisy would make it there by dawn by her estimation, and at a civilized gait, the full moon lighting the way.

Chapter Two

The Five Aces was already falling apart, and it looked to Willem Strong like it had only gone up within the decade, some time after the end of the war. The pine planks were already stinking of rot under the brutal Colorado winters. The chairs creaked, tables lacked felt, the bar serving beer cooled in the spring. The whores were fat and aging, the banjo player in the corner more annoying than entertaining. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of flatulence and body odor.

Willem leaned back in his chair. Three kings were staring up at him, and the only other man at the table, called the Wolf by locals, was bluffing, Willem felt certain. But the Wolf didn’t like to lose, and neither did Willem. The dealer didn’t care either way, but that didn’t mean that he would be shielded from stray bullets or hunting blades. The table was already stained with blood, both old and new.

The two men couldn’t have been more different, other than being men and of white skin. But the Wolf’s shaggy brown hair and long beard were a stark contrast to Willem’s blond hair and blue eyes. The Wolf was a man of the mountains, who lived in a shack and predated on whoever or whatever came into his path when he wasn’t mining the streams. Willem lived from town to town, sometimes city to city, a series of hotel rooms and saloons his traveling homes away from home.

Home, he thought as the chips collected in the center of the table, maybe in another lifetime.

The Wolf looked deep into Willem’s eyes, as if he might be able to see the truths hidden behind them. But better men had tried and failed, men with a lot more wit and will than the Wolf, and men of comparable bearing. He knew how to deal with men like the Wolf, and he almost looked forward to it. Murder wasn’t his business but self-defense wasn’t murder, something Willem had to remind himself more than once.

“Call,” the dealer said, looking at Willem and the Wolf, clearly sensing the tension between the two men.

Willem lay down his cards, the three kings staring up at the Wolf, who laid his own cards down, face up to reveal a pair of eights.

“You cheated,” the Wolf barked, pointing an angry finger across the table.

“You lost,” Willem said, “take it like a man.”

“Like a — ? I’ll show you a man, you weasel! That’s every dime I got on that table.”

Willem shrugged, “Next time, bet with your head, not over it.”

“Don’t give me any of your crap,” the Wolf said, “else I shut choo up fer good! Everybody knows about you, dandy, can’t shoot fer spit!”

Willem glanced around, the room having gone quiet around them with all eyes locked on the poker table. “That’s one gamble I don’t like to take,” Willem said. “Anyway, the gun is such a … such a brutal, thuggish weapon, don’t you agree?”

“I do not,” the Wolf said.

“Time was, when my father was coming up, and that wasn’t so long ago, that men settled things in a more manly fashion, if things came to it.”

“I’ll wring your nervous neck, fancy pants.”

Willem turned to the crowd, “Looks as if you’ll all have your entertainment for the night!” He stood up, and held his hand out to the window to indicate the street. “After you, my friend.”

The Wolf sneered, pushed himself up from the table and turned, inspiring an anxious gasp from the crowd. He turned and pointed at the dealer, “Leave those chips where they are, or you’re next!” He turned and stomped out of the little saloon, a stream of customers going out to stake out good positions to watch the brawl to come.

Willem stepped out with several others, creating a circle around the muddy thoroughfare in front of the bar.

The Wolf took his position, stretching his arms from their sockets, cracking his neck, Willem loosening up with a light bounce in his step. His hands were deft, loose, his body lean and agile against the massive, burly strength of the Wolf. But Willem had other advantages; training from his friends in Chinese communities, friends who had taught him things few if any other white men knew.

The Wolf charged, arms extended and fingers grasping. Willem ducked the bigger man, grabbing his arm, and using his own momentum against him was able to throw the much heavier man over his shoulder. The Wolf landed hard on his back, but he was quick to recover and get back on his feet. Willem gave him the chance to charge again, but even the Wolf wasn’t dumb or angry enough for that.

Instead, the big man threw a series of punches at Willem, who deftly ducked every one of them. Inching backward, he could feel the air displaced by the big fists as they swung, agonizingly out of reach.

Willem pulled the Wolf in a circle, drawing him in with a series of errant swings.

“What’s the matter, Wolf? Can’t see so well? Probably the same reason your card game’s off.”

The Wolf was seething with rage, eyes bulging on his big, grimy face, “I’ll kill you!”

“I know you’ll try.”

The Wolf charged again, but Willem stopped him with a sharp jab into the face. The Wolf seemed shocked and he was stopped in his tracks. Another hard jab sent the big man stepping back, though he remained on his feet. Willem threw a series of crosses, two rights then a left, another left and then a right, the Wolf stumbling back as the crowd did the same – nobody wanted to be caught under the huge Wolf when he fell.

The Wolf charged again, seeming to know he’d fall soon enough. With a low, growling battle cry, he ran at Willem with an angry desperation that would be his ultimate undoing. Willem stepped back and jumped, throwing out a kick from the side that hit the big man square in his face. The Wolf snapped back, his legs slipping out from under him. He fell to his back and landed flat, staring up as blood gushed out of his nose.

Willem landed on his feet without missing a step, walking around his fallen adversary. The crowd was stunned into silence. The big man lay on his back, failing to right himself like some great turtle on its hairy, fatty shell.

“If you want to die,” Willem said, “get up on your feet and I’ll finish the job.” The Wolf pulled his Colt and rolled over to shoot, the crowd gasping in fear of the move. But Willem was expecting such a cowardly move, and he was more than ready to match it.

He pulled his dagger from the sheath strapped to his ankle. He threw it in a single swift motion, the dagger twirling as it flew through the air between them. It landed just where Willem’s aim had sought, the meaty area between the two bones of his forearm, just below the wrist. The Wolf dropped his gun and screamed out, clutching his injured wrist as blood poured out.

Willem stood and took a few casual steps toward the writhing Wolf. He was reaching for the pistol with his other hand, but Willem kicked it away, out of reach.

He looked down at the Wolf with a little smile. “See what I mean about guns? They’re practically useless, even suicidal in the wrong hands. Now, a knife …” Willem stomped on the Wolf’s wounded arm, the big man screaming in pain, squirming on his back. Willem bent down and pulled the dagger from the Wolf’s wrist, blood shooting out in its absence. “A knife, or a fist or foot, that’s an honorable kill, that’s the way a man fights.”

Willem stepped away from the Wolf, but stopped and turned. “You’re going to bleed out, Wolf. I’m sorry, but those veins in your arms, you won’t be able to stem that flow. I mean, you can try.” He looked at the crowd, “Is there a sawbones in this camp?” The men and women shook their heads, eyes wide and mouths low. Willem turned back to the Wolf. “That’s a shame, innit, Wolfie? Well, maybe one of these good folks’ll get you a towel or a bedsheet or a shirt, let you tie it real tight, but … that’s just gonna be a waste of a shirt. Those veins need surgery, you ever hear about surgery, Wolf? I seen it in the war, gruesome business. In your case, I suppose they’d just cut off the hand and burn the wound closed; cauterizing, they call it. But you’ll never live that long, I’m afraid.”

The Wolf’s writhing slowed, the pool of blood next to him getting wider.

“Getting tired now, Wolf? Cold chill passing over you? Yeah, it won’t be long now, and the Wolf will be no more. And as you go, you big dumb bastard, I want you to know your life is hardly worth taking, barely worth losing, and you threw it way over a card game.”

Willem loomed over the dying Wolf. “Funny thing is I wasn’t cheating, as you claim. Not because I couldn’t, and not because I wouldn’t, but because I didn’t need to. You were too dumb to sit across from me at a poker table, Wolf, that was your first mistake. Your second was getting up from it, and your last was drawing that gun. If life’s a game, you’ve played your last hand. Now I’m going back into that bar to collect your money while you lay here and expire, and the last thing you’ll ever do in this life is watch it happen.”

Willem strode away from the dying Wolf and into the bar, where his winnings awaited him. He was also feeling a bit parched, so he thought he’d have a spring-chilled beer and perhaps a light meal before heading out toward Boulder, to arrive the next morning.

Chapter Three

Tom Cobb took his place in the stagecoach he’d be riding all the way to California. It was going to be a long and treacherous journey, this one more dangerous than most. Tom didn’t like guard duty, but the new Pinkerton Agency had established itself by its excellence and the obedience of its detectives. They did what they had to do and never failed, their reputation already getting stronger with each success.

Tom was determined that this would be another, though it would have challenges other comparable jobs just wouldn’t have. Because it was no mere guard duty; he wasn’t simply there to see the passengers safely across the badlands and over the Rockies. There was someone or something of incredible value on that particular run, so well-hidden and so sensitive in nature that they hadn’t even told Tom what the precious item was. And he wasn’t to ask, simply to get the stagecoach to the small coastal town of Santa Barbara. Once it arrived, the mission was over.

But until then, he had to remain alert, and a place like Chicago gave any person plenty to be alert for. The traffic was getting thicker with more horsemen riding in, carriages crowding the streets, more buildings built too close together and families piled up on one another. Thugs slunk around the alleys, with children doing smash and grab hits on the toffs and dandies who profited from commerce coursing through the burgeoning city.

And dangerous though it was, the true perils of the journey would be out in the wilds; cougar and bear, Sioux and Chippewa, road agents and banditos, falling rocks and flash floods. But as long as nobody knew the secret of the cargo, those would be the only dangers they’d face.

And they were prepared, because what Tom did know was that he was undercover as a Pinkerton and that he was backing the shotgun rider on the helm above and outside in the front of the carriage. There was also rumored to be another guard undercover, which compelled Tom to consider every passenger as they climbed in. It was possible that he was the only such guard, and it was likewise possible that backup would be riding alongside the coach, well out of sight but close enough to swoop in if necessary.

What baffled Tom was what manner of cargo it could possibly be to require such care in handling and delivery.

The first two passengers had just climbed in, two very attractive young women who had the unique feature of being identical twins; both with blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty smiles. Surely Tom thought, these two are the cargo. They certainly are precious! Probably the rich daughters of some vulnerable man of wealth.

They greeted him with pleasant nods, introducing themselves as Sally Ann and Mary Ann Keats, entertainers on their way to Denver, Colorado, to ply the world’s oldest and most reliable trade.

Can it be? Tom wondered. He brushed down his black mustache as he considered it. Even gorgeous identical twin whores are still whores, unless the Mexicans plan to scoop them up and send them south to the high-level politicians. That’s been known to happen, and twins of such loveliness of face and hair would carry a high value. In exchange for political favors, such a pair would be precious cargo indeed. Or they could be a mere novelty, a specialty for some discerning whoremonger or pimp.

Next to climb aboard was a stout, matronly woman, past her fiftieth year judging by the wrinkles in her jowls and the smell of her perfume. She also appeared to be a woman of some means, though she seemed smart enough not to wear too much jewelry in the coach. Her little triangular nose stuck up from her round, sagging face as she feigned politeness to the two girls and to Tom.

“Tom Cobb,” he said with a tip of his hat.

The matron didn’t seem at all impressed as she fussed her way into her seat. “Ruth van Kamp. Charmed, I’m sure.” Tom broke a little smile. It was going to be a long trip, but that fat old broad was going to suffer through every minute of it.

The next passengers in were a woman, who appeared to be Chinese and in her thirties, along with a child of about ten. Tom took them for mother and son, no doubt called in for servitude of some rich man. The Chinese were renowned for their cooking, cleaning, and laundering skills, making them a popular import from the East Coast.

Still, Tom thought, I hear there are plenty of Chinese out west. Why go through the bother of dragging these two across the Rockies?

The stagecoach rocked as they secured the luggage to its roof. The driver leaned over and threw out a long, shrill whistle. The horses huffed, the stagecoach lurched forward, and they were on their way west to leave Chicago behind them, likely for the rest of their lives.

Chapter Four

Daisy and Albert led Cactus Charlie and his friends, bent over their horses, into Boulder just as the sun came up. She’d taken it easy on the ride in, fully aware of the challenges and perils of a night ride. Despite being the woman behind the legend of murderous menace Kyle Black, Daisy knew herself not to be the most dangerous creature in those mountains – not by the longest shot. Cougar, black bear, rattlesnakes, Blackfeet and Sioux – all were expert night hunters. And Daisy was encumbered by roughly six hundred pounds of dead weight and three captured horses, valuable in their own right.

Because not only was Daisy not the most dangerous creature in the Rockies, but she wasn’t the only bounty hunter either. The nation was rife with crime and those who made a living at mastering that treacherous art. That meant almost every out-of-work gunslinger fancied himself a manhunter. More often than not, they simply poached the more successful of their ranks, bushwhacking hardworking bounty hunters to rob them of their prizes.

It was another reason to get to Boulder as soon as she could.

Once there, the sun was just coming up and Sheriff Cyrus Carlisle was slurping hard from a tin cup filled with hot coffee. He surveyed the bodies on the horses, comparing them to posters he had on file. He nodded and stepped away from the horses, shrugging.

“Three fer three,” Sheriff Carlisle said, brushing down his long, tan handlebar mustache which matched his ling, fine, light-brown hair. “That’s five thousand, total. I’ll make out the receipt, the bank’ll take care of you.”

“I know Mr. Black appreciates it,” Daisy said.

“I suppose you’ll sell the horses as usual.”

Daisy shrugged, “Mister Black prefers to travel light.”

The sheriff seemed to give that some thought before saying, “That’s what they say. ‘Course, when it comes to Mr. Kyle Black, people say a lot of things.”

That sent a chill up Daisy’s spine. It was the basis of Daisy’s invention, the crux of her strategy and survival in having invented the legend of the unbeatable bounty hunter in the first place. But rumor was a double-edged sword, and it could just as easy snap back and cut her down.

Daisy feigned innocent curiosity. “Such as? Only because it delights Mr. Black to hear such things.”

“Well, you’ve heard them all, of course; that he has a mountain retreat, the like of which no man who roams free has ever seen, that he runs a network of henchmen in and out of the mountains … bounty hunters, and those who are hunted by them.”

“Kyle Black does not travel with such men,” Daisy said, “that I can tell you with dead certainty. As to the rest, I really can’t say.”

“If you can’t, then who can?” Sheriff Carlisle looked Daisy over, as so many men had before and would likely do for at least a few more good years. “He sends you with his bounties, trusts you with his money. Some men think you must be his wife.”

“Nothing so commonplace,” Daisy said. “Kyle is a man that no single woman could satisfy. But we’re close, like family, and that’s something he wants widely known.”

“And it is,” Sheriff Carlisle said, palms held up flat to calm her. “Everybody know that; to deal with you is to deal with the man himself. And no name that shows up on his list goes unscratched.”

“That’s correct,” Daisy said with an authoritative snap to her voice which only the power of a dangerous man could lend to such a pretty face. “In that spirit, I’ll head on to the bank and finish Mr. Kyle’s business. Are there any fresh bounties in the area?”

The sheriff glanced around his quiet office, “The day aint’ over yet. You’re stayin’ in town?”

“For a few days, I should think. Keep me posted.”

“Sure will. G’day, Miss Dixon.”

“Really, Sheriff Carlisle, call me Daisy.”

Daisy stepped out onto the street. The sun was a bit higher, the sky bluer as another day passed over the great state of Colorado. Boulder was just coming to life, the lamplighter snuffing out the whale oil lamps on the big lampposts lining the thoroughfare. The streets were gradually becoming livelier as traffic into and out of town began for the day. Pedestrians filled the elevated wooden sidewalks, the muddy thoroughfare slowly filling with horses and carriages and carts.

Daisy surveyed the burgeoning city, which was expanding by the day. She knew herself to be an outsider, a woman in a man’s world. She was a ghost, a dream, representing a man who didn’t even exist. Daisy often thought at such times that she was no more real than Kyle Black himself; a lie disguising murder, a sheep’s wool over her wolf’s killer instinct.

Daisy stepped out into the street, a man on horseback passing just a little too close. He pulled his horse away and paused, tipping his hat. “I beg your pardon, Miss,” he smiled. Very handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes and an instantly charming nature, he struck Daisy as a man who didn’t have to apologize very often.

“I’ll thank you to know your place in the future.”

The handsome fellow looked around, then returned his attention to Daisy. “Well, we’re in the street, so really this is my place. You should be on the sidewalks, no?”

“No,” Daisy said, waving him off as she headed across the street, where the bank was only a block down. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Doesn’t sound as if I have much choice.” He held his horse at bay while Daisy crossed in front of it and to the other side, not bothering to look back. He was a handsome fellow, it was true, but Daisy tried not to think about it – about him or any other handsome fellows. She had business to see to.

After cashing in her bounty receipts and depositing most of it in her standing account in the First National Bank of Boulder, Daisy walked back onto the streets with a pocketful of cash and time to kill, or to not kill as the case may be. Daisy was willing to let Boulder make that decision for her.

---

“Adventures of a Deadly Duo” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Daisy Dixon is a fearless bounty hunter who thrives in the Rocky Mountains under the alias Kyle Black. She is always on the trail of atrocious criminals but when her ruse is almost uncovered, her world turns upside down and she is desperate to find someone to pull her out of the fire. Luckily for her, she will partner up with Willem Stron, a lionhearted man and passing gambler who will pose as Kyle. Together they will join forces on a risky mission to guard a passing stagecoach with precious cargo. When their lives are on the line, will Willem eventually win Daisy’s trust, so that they both succeed on this highly challenging undertaking?

While Daisy and Willem are planning the perilous ambush, a deep affection grows for one another. Day by day, their lifetime adventure brings them closer, but they both know that if they want to stay on course, they will need to set their happily ever after aside. While struggling to focus on their quest, the sudden appearance of a wanted poster with Willem’s face causes yet another series of menacing threats. How will Daisy and Willem react to this unexpected turn of events? Will they ever escape from this living nightmare and have a chance at love?

When the stagecoach becomes targeted by a vicious local bandit and his gang, the two bounty hunters will deal with endless challenges that block their way. Will the legendary duo manage to protect the secretive cargo, and live to tell the tale? Or will the forces of corruption and greed overtake them at long last?

A pulse-pounding drama, which will make you turn the pages with bated breath until the very last word. A must-read for fans of Western action and romance.

“Adventures of a Deadly Duo” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

Get your copy from Amazon!