When the Good Turn Evil (Preview)

Chapter One

Nathan Mayhew shook the reins, the speckled stallion galloping at a steady gait beneath him. The Texas spring was crisp, and the wind blew his long, brown hair back over his shoulders. He savored the ride into El Paso, as he did any long ride. Away from the towns and cities which he knew he needed and which he knew needed him, and men like him, there was still no substitute for the peace of the open land—the call of the cowbird, the feel of dirt under a man’s boot and not hard wooden planks.

Cacti and red yucca were scattered over the flatlands, the Brazos river stretching through the rugged landscape in the distance. There were no traces of man’s vigorous domination over the land; no shops or liveries or jailhouses, no saloons or brothels or hotels. The land was unblemished, rugged and natural as God had created it.

But Nathan knew that wouldn’t last, just as his ride wouldn’t last. He’d wind up in El Paso, where he’d serve as the new deputy under Sheriff Jacob Collins, lucky to get the job and glad to do it. But the position came with a certain sadness that it was a job which had to be done. Men and women were given to succumbing to their basest instincts, to rape and kill and betray one another. It made men like Nathan necessary, and he considered himself blessed to be physically able to do the job at all. But the fact that men were so ready to criminalize their world turned his stomach and broke his heart—memory ensured that his heart would never be truly healed.

He could never ride fast or far enough to escape that painful past, but at least he was moving forward, and for Nathan, that meant living. He had more to do, more to contribute and accomplish. At almost thirty years old, he felt strong and in the prime of his life. Like that stallion beneath him, his muscles were strong and reedy and ready. His senses were keen, his gun hand as nimble as ever. Nathan had skill, he had purpose, he had life—unlike too many he’d known, the like of which he knew he’d never know again.

The open landscape called him forward, sun bright in that blue sky, speckled with clouds. He knew then the spirit of his fellow Americans, drawn west; away from the bickering of the States in the east, their politicking and posturing. The land had been corroded, defiled, debased. But the West still held promise and purity, the great notion of bounty for all. Nathan knew most men saw more booty than bounty, though, and no amount of land was going to satisfy them.

A small, irregular object appeared on the horizon as Nathan rode west, and it only took a few more minutes of hard riding for him to identify it as a covered wagon. The lack of dust meant it wasn’t moving, and a stranded wagon set off nervous impulses in the back of Nathan’s brain. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, lessons learned from a mentorship he could never have replaced. A stopped wagon could mean any number of crises, and that speckled stallion seemed to know it as well as Nathan did. Storm galloped faster, muscles flexing as he charged them both toward the wagon.

Getting closer, Nathan could see the several horses idling next to it, with no riders—another bad sign. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he rode in faster, even Storm becoming more certain that there was something afoot. Nathan rode up, pulling the safety strap off his holster, Colt loaded and ready.

A man stepped out of the wagon as Nathan rode up, slowing down to take a position on the side of the wagon. He was a Mexican, a bandito, Nathan knew immediately. And banditos didn’t ride covered wagons across Texas; they preyed upon them.

His long, black mustache and grizzled, stubbled chin hair curled around his fake smile. “Olah, meeee-ster.”

“Hello to you, friend,” Nathan said, looking the wagon over. “There some trouble here?”

He looked into the wagon, then back at Nathan. “Oh, uh, jes, meeee-ster. Why don’ you come down off that nice horse and help us out, mang?”

“Help with what?”

After an extended, silent tension and another glance into the wagon and back at Nathan, he said, “Joo gotta see fer jourself, amigo. Jus’ come down off that nice horse, mang.”

Nathan knew then that the bandito was trying to get him off his horse so he could be shot without injuring the animal. A good horse was a prize and not to be wasted, and it was probably the only reason the man and whoever he kept looking at in that wagon hadn’t opened fire on Nathan as he approached.

But there was still the question of what they were doing. Nathan’s instincts told him they were hiding something, more likely someone. They weren’t the original owners of the wagon, Nathan knew that, and there was no sign of the people who were.

A woman’s muffled scream leaked out from inside the wagon, and Nathan had no more doubt about what was happening. They were holding a female hostage, probably a lot worse than that. But Nathan knew just what to do.

He drew his Colt and blasted, the bandito’s face bursting in a shocked expression; eyes wide, mouth open, a large black hole in the center of his forehead, smoke still wafting up as he fell.

Nathan kicked his horse’s flanks, the stallion taking him in a wide circle around the crippled wagon. He could see the men’s guns sticking out of new slits in the canvas, barrels flashing with the shots. But Nathan knew their visibility was limited, and though they thought they were shooting from the cover of the canvas—seeing while remaining unseen—Nathan was drawing a bead on each gun’s location.

Nathan knew there was at least one live hostage, but common sense told him that she was being pinned down on the floor of the car, several feet below where the guns were; she would be a worthy prize if kept alive. So Nathan knew he could fire at will at a certain level, and on the second round he took his first precise shot.

Bang!

The gun fell back from the slit in the wagon, telling Nathan he’d landed a good shot. But it didn’t mean the man was dead, and it didn’t mean the job was finished. Nathan kept riding, already knowing where he’d find the next gunman.

But they kept shooting, obviously more interested in killing Nathan than in taking his horse, and the reason was disturbingly obvious.

Bang! Bang!

Nathan kept his head down, one of them landing a shot lucky enough to blast the hat off his head. He returned the fire and another gun fell, this time toppling out of the wagon and to the ground.

Three, Nathan counted, but another circle around the wagon revealed the four horses tied to the car, plus the horse pulling the cart itself. That meant one more rider, and at least one living hostage.

It would take drastic measures, so Nathan rode around to the side of the cart and jumped off his stallion in mid-stride, throwing himself tearing through that canvas and into the wagon. He hit the man off his guard, the two of them smashing to the floor. A woman screamed, suddenly thrashing and punching and kicking as if freed from a terrible hold, just as Nathan had thought. The bandito dropped his gun in the sudden attack, and Nathan knew the man had lost his only advantage.

Nathan grabbed his shirt collar with one hand and curled up the other, a tight fist pulled back to his ear. A hard jab cracked the bearded bandito’s face, blood spirting out of his nose at the bridge and the nostrils. Another hard punch crushed the man’s cheekbones, and Nathan was almost certain he would lose sight in his left eye.

Nathan demanded, “Who do you ride with? ¿Con quién viajas?”

“Ando con tu madre.”

The tug at Nathan’s gun belt came fast, and by the time he looked over at the woman who had been in the wagon, she was holding his Colt, pointing it at the bandito. Nathan shouted, “No!”

Bang! Bang!

The bandito took the shots, point blank range. One shot plunged into his upper arm, the other into the side of his head. The skull erupted, specks of blood and brain and bone flecking onto Nathan’s face. The bandito went still beneath him, and all grew quiet but for the woman’s frightened whimpering, gasping in little breaths as they both looked at the bloody results of her impulsive act.

Nathan pushed himself off the dead bandito and over the bodies of the other two, plus another dead man. The woman pulled up a blanket over her naked body, her blonde hair tangled. He reached out for the gun. The woman’s fear made her hold it, turning it on Nathan in a defensive delirium.

“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m a friend. Nathan Mayhew, new deputy in El Paso.” After a trembling moment, he asked, “And you are?”

She looked around, then back at Nathan. “Sally Ann Tremont,” she finally said, her eyes falling to the dead white man among the banditos.

“Your husband.” Sally Ann nodded, her reddened face telling Nathan that she’d been crying for hours and had no tears left. “My pistol?” Nathan extended his hand, Sally Ann looked at him, at the gun, the slowly extended it. He took the gun gently and nodded, looking at the banditos. “I’ll run the wagon into El Paso. I imagine you’d rather ride outside?”

Chapter Two

El Paso opened up lowly as Nathan led Sally Ann and their wagon of dead men and unmanned horses past the surrounding farms and ranches, spread out and distant among the live oaks and sage. But the closer they got to town, the more densely packed the buildings became; tents gave way to row houses and shops and hotels. El Paso was big and getting bigger, and Nathan knew he’d have his hands full as a lawman in that burgeoning town.

Men staggered down the elevated wooden sidewalks, leaning and stumbling in obvious drunkenness, even though the sun was only just then going down. Bawdy women leaned out of brothel windows, waving at Nathan and shaking their breasts, pushed up in their tight corsets. Nathan glanced at them, offered a polite tip of the hat, and rode deeper into town.

The road was muddy and pocked and stank of urine and feces, riders and carriages and wagons coming and going in a sloppy flow, people hollering at one another as they claimed the right of way.

He’d been told where to report to, so finding the sheriff’s office and jailhouse was easy. It was a small, boxy building, a single story among the three- and even four-level structures rising up as El Paso came into its own.

Nathan hitched his horse and parked the wagon in front of the sheriff’s office before helping Sally Ann down from her mount. She hadn’t said a word the entire trip, and Nathan didn’t blame her. As she climbed down from one of the bandito’s horses, clutching his hand, Nathan said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” Sally Ann nodded and clung to him as Nathan turned to lead her into the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Jacob Collins looked up from the coffee kettle as Nathan entered with Sally Ann. The big sheriff wore a rugged mask, wrinkled brow under his graying black hair, body big and broad-shouldered.

“Sheriff Collins, Jacob Collins?”

“That’s right,” he said, as much swagger in his deep voice as in his barrel chest. “Nathan Mayhew?”

“The same,” Nathan said.

“I thought you were coming in alone.”

“Came across Mrs. Sally Ann Tremont here, her covered wagon waylaid en route into town.”

“Waylaid?” He looked at Sally Ann as if reasoning out what Nathan didn’t want to have to say out loud.

“Four banditos,” Nathan explained. “All dead… by my hand.” He glanced at Sally Ann and she nodded, eyes finding the floor. “Her husband’s in the wagon with them. I brought their horses, too.”

“Really,” Jacob said, eyes shifting from Nathan to Sally Ann, then to the window, where the wagon was sitting.

“I think she should receive the proceeds from the sale of the horses,” Nathan said, “as fair recompense for what she’s been through… and what she’s lost.”

The sheriff seemed to give it some thought. He turned, eyes drifting before he snapped his attention back to the matter at hand. “Yeah, that… that makes sense. You killed four on your own, eh?”

Nathan shrugged. “They made all the usual mistakes. But we should get Mrs. Tremont here to a doc, and the rest… to the mortician.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jacob said, “right… good job, Nathan… Deputy Mayhew. Doctor Lionel Sanderson’s down the street. You see to the witness, I’ll take the bodies to the mortician, the horses to the livery.”

Nathan led Sally Ann back outside, walking the short distance between the sheriff’s office and the doc’s. The sun had gone down, a lamplighter going around raising a tall wooden pole with a lit candle to illuminate the whale oil lantern on the top of the lamp posts.

Doctor Lionel Sanderson had a stooped posture and friendly smile, red-faced and knobby-nosed and surrounded by the smell of bourbon. But he was a welcoming, calming presence, and Nathan knew that was just what Sally Ann needed. There was little he could do for her, and nothing that would undo what the banditos had done. But he could offer her soothing herbs and teas and a sense that not all men were monsters, which Nathan was beginning to doubt.

Nathan asked Sally Ann, “Do you want to move on, keep going west?” Sally Ann shook her head, and Nathan guessed, “Nobody expecting you?” She shook her head again, another wordless answer. Nathan looked at the doc. “She’ll need a place to live, something to do.”

Sally Ann finally spoke, her voice cracked. “Can’t I… live with you?”

Nathan shrugged. “I don’t have a place to live, myself.” He turned to the doc. “You in need of a nurse?”

The doctor seemed to give it some thought. “The way things are going, I’ll need more and more help. I can’t pay much, but… there is a second room in the apartment upstairs.”

Sally Ann turned to Nathan, already forlorn. “I’m sure you’ll make a great nurse,” he said. “I’m glad for you. And if you need anything, either of you, myself or Sheriff Collins will be here for you.”

“You,” Sally Ann was too quick to say, repeating in a softer voice, “you.”

Nathan smiled, turning to shake the doc’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Doc Sanderson looked Nathan up and down, nodding and shaking his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Mayhew… Deputy Mayhew.”

Nathan tipped his hat and offered Sally Ann a gentle smile. “Call me Nathan.”

From the doc’s place, Nathan headed to the nearest hotel. Sally Ann had brought up a good point, and with his horse safely in the livery, he had to get himself similarly situated. He walked into the big El Paso Rael hotel, narrow but tall, four flights where he assumed he’d find a room until he could find a reasonable apartment or boarding house.

The man behind the reception desk greeted Nathan with a broad smile on his fat face, hair gone from his shiny scalp but clinging to the sides and back as some painful reminder of what once had been.

“Nathan Mayhew, new deputy in town.”

“Bummer Jim Baily, Deputy Mayhew. You need a room?”

“For about a week, I should think, maybe less.”

“Anything for a new lawman,” Jim said with a little chuckle, turning an opened ledger and quill for Nathan to sign. “Truth be told, we could use a dozen more like you.”

“Things aren’t quiet?”

Jim shook his head, jowls rippling. “Not like they used to be. But there is plenty to do in your off hours, and the Riverbend Saloon is just next door.” He looked Nathan over, tall and athletic, built for action. “You should be quite popular there, I imagine.” Nathan knew what the fat hotelier was getting at, but he wasn’t a man who needed to pay for female attention—and he wasn’t about to start doing it, no matter how legal it was. “You like the games of chance, Deputy?”

Nathan shook his head. “My job provides enough risk and thrill as it is.”

“That’s as may be, but… what about the rewards? You can walk away from those tables a rich man.”

Nathan huffed out a bitter chuckle. “If I wanted to be rich, I wouldn’t have picked up the badge.”

The fat man looked at Nathan as if he were mad, then he shrugged those lardy shoulders. “We’ll see.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nathan’s words came fast and sharp, clearly grabbing Bummer Jim’s attention.

“Nothing, I…”

“Is there corruption in this town, is that what you’re saying?”

Jim looked around, mouth opening and closing like some great landlocked trout as he stammered. “No, I… some people… other sheriffs in other towns, deputies… that’s all I’m saying.”

Nathan looked the fat man over, shirt stained with sweat and body grease, making his sweating forehead shine. “You hear anything like that… anything… you come to me. Got it?”

“Um, yeah… sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I said yeah.”

“All right, then, give me my key.”

Chapter Three

Sheriff Jacob Collins went from the mortician to the livery. The owner, an Apache who had fallen in with the whites, did as he was instructed and saw to the new deputy’s speckled mare, the covered wagon’s quarter horse, and the four paints taken from the felled banditos.

The four horses were worth almost five hundred dollars, and the idea of the money going into that little widow’s pocket turned Jacob’s stomach. But what worried him more was the idea of the new deputy who’d raised the question. The killer of four banditos was going to be a capable force of influence in El Paso, but that wasn’t what Jacob had hired him for.

Ralphie knew how to take orders, Jacob thought as he walked down the thoroughfare, the more refined citizens tipping their hats or nodding respectfully at his authoritative presence. Poor dumb bastard couldn’t get away from two banditos, much less take down four of them. But at least I could control Ralphie. Ralphie played along.

Jacob sighed as he approached the Riverbend, jangling piano and rowdy conversation spilling out into the street. Whores preened at him from the second-floor balcony, blowing kisses and waving him in for yet another wild night, at least as far as they had every right to expect.

But Jacob had other things on his mind.

The Riverbend was loud, filled with cigar and cigarette smoke, stinking of cheap perfume and body odor. Chips clicked and men groused and glasses clinked from various corners of the packed saloon.

One of Jacob’s favorite whores, Candy, slid up to him, wrapping her pale arms around his shoulders. “Where you been, Sheriff?”

“Candy.”

Her short black hair gave her cherubic face a rounder aspect, prettier than the others. But time and drink and smoke and fornication were taking their toll, wrinkles forming around those sparkling eyes and laugh lines around those pouting lips.

“You wanna go upstairs, Daddy?”

“Not right now,” Jacob said, scanning the saloon. “Where is he?”

Candy looked around and shrugged her lithe, white shoulders. “I dunno, ‘round, I guess. Let’s go upstairs… I been a bad girl, I need to be punished.”

“Not now.”

“You wanna drink some first? We’ll bring a bottle up.” She pulled herself close, nuzzling and whining, “What’re you gonna do to me?”

Jacob felt the pull, every instinct in his body responding to the notion of being with her, of what she inspired in him—the inner criminal, a chance to step outside the law, even if only in their shared mind.

But there was other business, and he knew Candy would always be there for him when he was ready.

And he would be.

But first, the familiar face of Riverbend owner Dan Taggart, looking down from the open second-floor hallway at the top of the stairwell. He’d stepped out of his corner office and was surveying the saloon, overlooking his empire. His eyes locked on Jacob from above, the two men sharing a conversation that required no words at all. Dan tilted his head toward his office door and turned to re-enter, and Jacob knew he’d been called for the meeting he’d been looking for.

Eyes were on him as he climbed the stairs—those of Barney Mott, the big bouncer who overlooked the festivities with a gun in his holster, a knife at the ready, and a willingness to kill whoever he had to in order to keep the peace. His big, red-bearded presence was enough to keep the place running smoothly for the most part, and every exercise of his power and authority would remind everyone not to step out of line. But as Jacob reached the second floor and walked toward the corner office, he could feel the big gunman’s attention—and his hatred. Jacob gave him a grim nod from the second floor before knocking on Dan’s office door, the massive mountain of man on the first floor looking up as if he’d kill Jacob if he could. With each passing day, Jacob knew the order could come down and that he’d have to face the big man; Barney Mott seemed to know the same thing.

Jacob entered the big corner office of the Riverbend saloon, an adjoining bedroom the apartment of the place’s owner and operator, Dan Taggart. The great man sat down behind his desk and pulled a whiskey bottle and two shot glasses from the desk.

He poured two shots and clacked the bottle down onto the table. “Why the long face, Sheriff? You should be cloistered with Candy, not me.”

“I’ll see to Candy in due time,” Jacob said, taking one of the shots and downing it. It was hot and grainy in his throat, warm in his belly as he dropped the glass back onto the desk. Dan refilled it and set the bottle down. “But the new deputy has arrived.”

Dan shrugged, his long, light sideburns reaching out from both sides of his face. “So?”

“He’s going to be trouble, Taggart, he… I don’t think he’ll go along.”

Dan took his own shot and hissed with the impact. “Everybody’s got a price.”

Jacob shook his head. “He brought in four good paints, and he wants to give them to the widow he saved.”

“The widow he saved? Sounds like a gen-u-ine hero!”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Jacob shook his head, looking both into his past and into his future. “Five hundred dollars!”

“It’s a drop in the bucket.”

“Yeah, it’s the bucket I’m worried about!” Jacob poured himself another shot and downed it. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before: young, idealistic, thinks he can help people, make a difference.”

“Sounds like he helped at least one person,” Dan said. “Who was this?”

Jacob shrugged. “Some traveler, he took her to the doc’s.”

“Husband?”

“Killed.”

Dan nodded as he seemed to give it some thought. “She lookin’ for work?”

Jacob hadn’t given that any thought. “Dunno. She’s not bad lookin’, though, not at all,” Dan seemed to fixate on that, turning away to look into his imagination before Jacob said, “I’m not worried about her.”

“All right,” Dan said, “I understand. Let’s just wait and see what this young deputy of yours does. I’ve known plenty a young Prince Valiant become tired of their lofty ideals, it’s the base of my business. On another note, I heard from our friend in New Orleans. Things are right on track.”

Jacob nodded, glad to hear it but even more nervous that his over-zealous new deputy would ruin what had taken months to put together. And if that fell apart, the delicate relationship between the local law and the city’s premiere pimp and crime lord would come to a terrible and violent end.

Both men knew that.

Jacob stepped out of the office and surveyed the crowded saloon. Candy looked up from the bar, big eyes wet with anticipation. Jacob gave her a nod, and that was all that was necessary. She waved over the bartender, Li’l Jimmy, who gave her whiskey bottle, and then Candy climbed the stairs with a mischievous smile on her cherubic face. Without a word, she turned down the hall and away from Jacob to that familiar room in the corner. She seemed to know Jacob would follow and, of course, she was right.

She closed the door behind herself, and Jacob knew she wanted it closed, but only so he could force it open. The door swung on its hinges in front of him and she turned, clutching the whiskey bottle and wearing a face of sweet submission.

She whined, “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer before slamming the door behind him and stepping toward her. “Please,” she said with a plaintive whine, the inner beast within him rising up and ready to overwhelm them both. “Please…”

Chapter Four

Eliza Gable stepped down the stairs of her family home, lushly decorated with furnishings imported from Europe, drapes from China, and a housemother whose parents had come from darkest Africa.

Hattie rushed up to her, a plump and loving mother figure to see to her every need. Though a servant, Hattie had been with the Gables since before Eliza was born, and she couldn’t imagine her life without Hattie anymore than the elder woman seemed ready or able to live without her young ward.

But Hattie was respectful and stealthy despite her girthy build, sliding back into the kitchen to bring Eliza her breakfast.

Thomas and Martha Gable were already at the breakfast table, light streaming in through the windows, the room already warm. The scrambled eggs were firm and filled with white cheese and slices of jalapeño peppers. The tea was hot and oaky and refreshing, bringing Eliza out of what had been a pitched sleep.

Her parents exchanged a glance, unwilling to speak what they were clearly thinking. Finally, Thomas said, “You slept in.”

Eliza had been expecting it, and she knew her father was right. “I spent a bit more time than usual in prayer this morning.”

Her father only snickered, his own red hair graying like his wife’s. “I suppose that would be reasonable.”

Martha said, “Husband, please.”

But Eliza’s father didn’t seem interested in letting it go, chewing on a piece of hickory smoked bacon before taking a sip of hot coffee, the robust smells filling the room. “You saw your suitor again last night.”

Eliza knew there was no way and no reason to lie to her father. “He took me to the dancehall that opened up in town. The violinist was really quite good, and the tunes very jolly.”

“Not just the tunes, I imagine.”

“Husband!”

“I’m speaking of young master Stewart, that’s all. He’s in fine company.”

“Papa, please.”

“No, I’ve held my tongue long enough.” Thomas set down his fork and commanded the quick silence in the room. “This man’s been courting you for almost a year now. What are you waiting for? Marry the man!”

Eliza searched her head and her heart, finding no answer. “I… I’m not sure.”

“Not sure,” Thomas repeated with bitterness in his tone. “What is there to be sure of? His parents are running a very successful importing company, the most successful on the Brazos! And I don’t need to tell you how much we rely on those imports. Where would Gables’ be without the dresses and the furniture and the finery?”

“You will always lead us into a successful future, Papa.”

“Then let me do it!” A stubborn silence hovered over the table, Hattie ducking back into the kitchen to go on listening without being seen. “You’re going to marry that young man.”

“No, Papa,” Eliza was quick to say, “no.”

“You think you can find a better husband, out here in the wilds? What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing, nobody, I… I don’t know, Papa.”

“But I do know,” Thomas snapped back. “I’ve sat back and watched this folly go on long enough!” After a tense moment, he went on in a softer voice, “Eliza, I’m your father and I love you; everything I do is for your benefit, and that’s the way it should be. In return… you have to know that I love you, and that I know what’s best for you.”

“How can you,” Eliza said, “when you’re not me? Papa, I know you want me to marry Jefferson, but I… I just don’t want to! I’m not sure why, exactly, he… he’s not a bad man—”

“He’s a lot more than that,” Thomas said. “He has wealth, a future, and together, our two families could create a legacy that will carry our names into the ages! Child, listen to me: What you’re thinking of as love, it… it doesn’t really exist.”

Martha said, “Husband!”

“I’m making a point, Martha; be still.” To Eliza, he went on, “You think your mother loves me the way some princess loves her prince in those storybooks we let you read? These aren’t the tales of King Arthur, fair Guinevere. Those are fairy tales to amuse little girls, but this is life!”

“No, Papa, it’s love!”

Thomas waved her off, a bitter sneer on his aging face. “I’ve had enough! You’ll learn to love the man; he’ll teach you what love is. How else are you ever to know?”

“Because love is in the heart, Papa, I already know how to love… I… I just don’t know who.”

“But I do know. You’re my daughter, and you’re going to do as I say. Let’s all stop pretending as if you have some choice, which you do not. I’ve given you a chance, and you’ve proven yourself short of the mark, despite all that I’ve taught you!”

Martha watched in silent respect as her daughter and her husband clashed, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

Lacking an answer from Eliza, Thomas went on, “I’ve already allowed you to work at our store, yet you show the judgment of a child!”

“Husband—”

“No,” Thomas barked out, “I’ve sat by long enough! This is the future of this family we’re talking about! I won’t have any more of these… these progressive notions in my house, in my business! It’s time to do what is right for the family! I will not go another day without taking the reins of this matter firmly in hand.” He turned to Eliza, grim and impatient. “Resolve yourself, child, and I will see to the arrangements personally.”

Eliza looked at her mother, mouth downturned and brows low over her aging face. The sorrow that radiated out of her was impossible for Eliza to ignore. Eliza knew how much love her mother had for her father.

To hear such a proclamation from the man, that he denounced the very notion of love, was to say to her that he simply didn’t love her as much as she loved him; he didn’t love anybody as much they loved him. To know it made Eliza’s heart go cold, and she could see the same coldness in her beloved mother’s tired face, her sad gaze which couldn’t seem to meet Eliza’s. She was sure Martha could feel her attention, her wordless plea calling Eliza to rise to the occasion of her life, of their lives, both knowing that she couldn’t.

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“When the Good Turn Evil” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Nathan Mayhew is on his way to El Paso, to become the new deputy of Sheriff Jacob Collins. After rescuing a woman who was held hostage by a band of banditos, he manages to arrive in town safe and sound. But little does he know that those banditos were only the beginning of the deputy’s perilous adventure. When he discovers that his own boss might be behind a heinous crime, Nathan decides to fight corruption even if he will have to put his life on the line. Will he connect the dots, and uncover the truth about mysterious deaths and disappearance in the mountains?

Being afraid to trust anyone, even the Sheriff himself, Nathan tries to get a grip of the crime that infests the town to the point of destroying it. Luckily for him, he soon finds love and support in the face of Eliza Gable, the daughter of the largest merchant in town. But as long as there are criminals out there, Nathan cannot find peace and live his happily ever. In the end, will Nathan’s new love survive the onslaught? Will he serve justice and protect the innocent or will evil overpower good?

Women are disappearing, Mexicans are closing in, and all things seem destined to collide in a fiery eruption of violence that will shake up a whole town. Will Nathan triumph over the ruthless criminals, or will it already be too late?

A gripping, action-packed story of love, loss, and horror that will leave the reader breathless. A must-read for fans of Western action, with a touch of romance.

“When the Good Turn Evil” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

Get your copy from Amazon!