Prologue
East Texas – 1884
Rita knew the man was smitten with her, but there was nothing about him she found attractive. Gordo Sanford was a long, lean man who reminded her of a scarecrow. He might as well have had broomsticks for arms and legs, they were so scrawny, so underdeveloped. His face made her think of a shriveled apple—wrinkly and red and sunken in places. Crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. Thinning hair, coarse as sun-dried straw. And a voice so high-pitched and whiny-sounding that it could have belonged to one of her aunts.
No, Gordo was definitely not the man for her. Rita Laurel liked a different kind of man. Always had and always would. She liked her lovers to be big and strong, thick through the chest and shoulders, manly in their bearing. She preferred he possess a deep voice, one that would rattle her sternum when he spoke, like the growl of a bear. And, of course, who didn’t appreciate a handsome face?
Rita would never take Gordo Sanford as a lover, but he didn’t know that. The ranch hand came around and did favors for her because he thought he had an honest chance at winning her. The only things Rita really liked about Gordo were the things he did for her. So far, he’d done everything she’d asked of him. She had a feeling he would do absolutely anything she asked him to do, as long as he went on believing there was a pot of gold waiting for him at the end of the rainbow. She’d already determined she would allow him to go on believing that for as long as possible, even though her current interest was a different man entirely.
“I got it!” he declared, flashing a gap-toothed grin at her as he stepped around to the back of the shed, where Rita had been waiting for him for the past five minutes.
She glanced him up and down. “Where is it?”
“Right here.” Gordo quickly slipped a hand into his vest. When he brought it back out a moment later, he was clutching a small brown bottle.
“That’s all?” Rita asked. “Kind of small, isn’t it?”
Gordo shrugged. “It’s all I was able to get my hands on. Do I need to get more?”
Reaching out, she plucked the bottle from his fingers. After eyeing it for a moment, she said, half under her breath, “I suppose it’ll be enough.”
“Good.” The ranch hand nodded. “I had a hard enough time tracking that bottle down for you.”
“Thank you, Gordo,” Rita told him as she thrust the bottle into one of the pockets of her dress. “I’ll pay you for it tomorrow. You know I’m good for it.”
“I know you are, Miss Laurel. I’m not too concerned about the money. In fact, I’d just as soon take one of your homemade apple pies in trade for it.”
“Really?” Rita said, honestly surprised. “An apple pie in exchange for a bottle of poison? You don’t mean that, Gordo.”
“I do,” he said. Then, grinning, he quickly added, “On the condition that you sit down and eat the pie with me.”
Rita chuckled. “That’s a deal.” She laughed again as she began to turn away.
Before she could move even a step, the ranch hand caught her by the shoulder. “Hold on a second, Miss Laurel,” he said. “You never told me what you plan to do with that bottle of cyanide I worked so hard to fetch for you.”
Pivoting around to face him, she locked onto his gaze for a long moment before answering. “I should probably tell you, Gordo. But I’m not sure yet if you’re a trustworthy man.”
“You can trust me, Miss Laurel,” he assured her. “I won’t repeat a word of what you tell me to anyone. Not a word.”
“You swear?” she pressed him.
The ranch hand nodded. “On my dead ma’s grave,” he replied.
Rita Laurel drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “All right, then.” She narrowed her eyes on the ranch hand’s face. “I hope you’re ready for the truth because here it comes…”
Chapter One
“You sure you know how to ride a horse?”
The man’s voice was friendly, but his smell was bad enough to choke a goat. Ida Murray tried to keep in mind that the gentleman managed a livery stable, which meant he worked with horses all day. She couldn’t expect him to smell like roses or French perfume.
She nodded sharply. “Of course I know how to ride a horse, Mr. Varney. Been doing it since I was a little girl.”
“I see,” replied the livery manager. “I’ve just never known a blind man who rides horses. I am correct, ain’t I? The way your eyes look and all… I guess I just assumed that—”
“You’re correct, Mr. Varney,” said Ida, “I am blind. But, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a man. So now you know a blind woman who rides horses.”
She heard the man huff out a big sigh. When he spoke again, she could detect the reluctance in his voice.
“Well,” he began, “I suppose I can rent you Henry. He’s fairly gentle, and he knows the roads around here well. It’s occurred to me before that I could probably close my eyes and ride him to the opposite end of town and back.”
“Sounds like a wonderful animal,” Ida said brightly. “I’ll take him.”
“How many days will you be needing him?”
“One. Er, for now. I may decide to rent him again in the future, after I’ve settled in at the ranch.”
“Ranch?” The liveryman’s voice rose. “Which ranch you meaning, miss? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Ida touched her chin. “You know,” she said, “I’m not sure of the ranch’s official name. The owners are the Hawthorns.”
“Ah, then you’re referring to Warren and Pippa’s place. Real nice folks, the Hawthorns.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Ida, “since I’m going to be working for them.” She quickly added, “Well, assuming the lady of the house approves of me.”
“Now, that sister of Pippa’s,” the liveryman went on, “she can be a mite unfriendly at times. But I’m sure Pippa knows to keep her sis in line. Is it safe to assume you’re not hiring on as a ranch hand?”
Ida chuckled softly to herself. From some individuals, such a remark might have been meant as a put-down, but she could tell the livery manager’s intentions were innocent. He was a simple man asking a simple question whose answer truly interested him.
“Correct again, Mr. Varney,” she said. “I’ve applied to become the Hawthorns’ new maid. It’s work I’ve done before, work I’m good at. I’m hoping I’ll be a good fit at the ranch.”
“I hope you’ll fit in there, too,” the livery manager replied. “I forgot to ask… where’re you coming from? You’ve obviously never been to Black Rock before. Pretty sure I would remember someone like you if you’d passed through these parts.”
Ida opened her mouth to respond, but then, pausing, reached down and touched the pocket watch that hung on her hip. Long ago, she’d asked a jeweler to remove the glass from the timepiece so she could brush her fingers across the face. Based on the position of the watch’s hands, she could the read the time by touch. And now, based on her reading, she realized she was due at the Hawthorns’ place in just twenty minutes.
“I’d be happy to talk with you at greater length sometime later, Mr. Varney,” she told him. “Perhaps when I return Henry. But right now—”
“Right now, you’re in a hurry,” the livery manager interrupted her. “I understand. Most everyone who comes to rent a horse from me is in a hurry. Which makes sense if you think about it. Folks who ain’t in a hurry just walk to wherever it is they’re going, right?”
Ida laughed under her breath as she listened to Mr. Varney’s footsteps move away from the spot where the two of them had been standing for the past few minutes. Henry, she thought. Interesting that the horse shares a name with my uncle… an animal of a different sort.
***
Mr. Varney had explained to her how to get to the Hawthorns’ ranch—how many rights and lefts, how many miles between turns—and he’d also had a chat with Henry. She wasn’t sure if the horse had understood the directions his owner had given him, but she couldn’t rule it out. He was the most cooperative horse Ida had ever ridden, and the animal seemed to anticipate at least a couple of the turns ahead of time.
Eventually she met a stranger on the road, a man driving a wagon at what seemed to be a glacial pace.
“Whoa there!” the stranger called out from the driver’s seat as he reined his vehicle to a stop.
Ida also drew rein on Henry. Based on the sounds she heard, she and her mount were somewhere within a few feet of the stranger’s wagon.
“What are you trying to do there, ma’am?” the man asked her. “You’re riding halfway off the road. Are you drunk or blind?”
“As a matter of fact, I am blind,” Ida answered him. “And it’s not ma’am—I’ve never married.”
“Oh. Oh, sorry, miss.” The stranger’s tone changed instantly; suddenly, he sounded exceedingly apologetic. “I didn’t mean nothing by that. I just—”
“It’s all right.” Ida could imagine the wagon driver’s face flushing with embarrassment. “I appreciate your concern. I didn’t realize I was riding halfway off the road.”
“I really am sorry,” the man went on. “What a fool I was to say such a thing. I feel like I should make it up to you. Where’re you headed, miss? I can lead you there.”
“That’s a kind offer, but you don’t have to go out of your way—”
“I insist,” he said, cutting her off. “You tell me your destination, and I’ll make sure you get there safely.”
Ida shrugged her shoulders. “All right, then. I’m headed to the Hawthorns’ ranch. Do you know where it is?”
“As a matter of fact, I just came from there, myself. Just finished delivering some supplies to Warren and his crew. You’re about a five-minute ride from the front gate.”
“Five minutes,” Ida said as she reached for her timepiece. After brushing her fingers across the watch’s face, she added, “I’m going to make it there right on time.”
***
The wagon-driving stranger, Ida had learned, was a local merchant named Robert Teale. On the remaining five-minute ride, he apologized to her for his choice of words at least a half-dozen more times. He also tactfully inquired about her business with Warren Hawthorn. When Ida told him that her business today was actually with Warren’s wife, Pippa, Mr. Teale went on for a full minute about what a lovely woman Pippa Hawthorn was.
He also warned her about Pippa’s sister, Rita Laurel.
Ida wished she’d had more time to ask a few more questions about Miss Laurel. For now, she thought it best she heed the warnings from the merchant and the livery manager.
After giving her explicit directions to the ranch house, Robert Teale bid her goodbye at the front gate. Ida thanked him and, after trotting Henry forward another fifty yards, she heard a friendly female voice call out to her, “Ida Murray! You made it! Right on time.”
Chapter Two
She had not been blind her entire life. Ida had had sight until the age of ten, when the injury had taken it away. Ten years of sight had provided her with enough imagery to last the rest of her life, millions of images—shapes, colors, faces—she’d stored in the caverns and corridors of her mind. She called upon those stored pictures nearly every waking moment to help her construct the world around her. Whenever Ida met a new person, she couldn’t possibly know anything about that person’s actual features. But, based upon her memories of facial characteristics, she would invent a face for a new acquaintance. She liked to imagine that her own rendering of a person’s appearance was close to accurate.
Listening to Pippa Hawthorn’s soothing, lilting voice, Ida pictured the woman as being feminine but tough. Her face was small and cute, Ida imagined—like a china doll’s. But Pippa wasn’t pale, like some of the fancy ladies Ida remembered from her youth, women who lived their pampered lives indoors. Pippa spent some time in the sun, in the elements. Beneath the smooth surface, there was grit in the woman’s voice.
“I appreciate you telling me about your situation when you wrote to me,” Pippa said. “Not everyone is honest about their shortcomings up front.”
Ida, who sat across from her prospective employer, said, “I felt it was the fair thing to do. To be quite frank, Mrs. Hawthorn—”
“Please, Ida, just call me Pippa. No need for formalities here.”
“Sure… Pippa. As I was saying, to be quite frank, I’m surprised that you agreed to interview me for the position. Not everyone is willing to give a blind woman a chance.”
“As I said before, I was impressed by your candor. Our maids live in the house with us, so it’s important that we hire people we can trust. After reading your letter, I sensed you were someone who is highly trustworthy. Now the question is, can you do the job?”
Ida nodded and smiled. “I can. I’m a very hard worker. I sleep very little, and I don’t eat much, either.”
Pippa Hawthorn laughed. “That may be a problem,” she said. “We like to feast around here on a fairly regular basis.”
As Ida chuckled along with the rancher’s wife, it occurred to her that she already felt comfortable here. Of course, she knew that first impressions meant everything, and her first impression of Pippa could not have been better. Ida could hardly wait to begin the job.
“How about I give you a detailed description of all the duties involved with this position?” Pippa suggested. “But first”—Ida heard the rustling of a dress as the woman got to her feet—“I’ll make us some tea. Er, you are a tea drinker, aren’t you, Ida?”
Ida grinned in Pippa’s direction. “If that’s part of the job, then yes. I am a tea drinker.”
***
Ida remained seated in the parlor while Pippa went to the kitchen to make tea. Sitting there, it occurred to her that the rancher’s wife had not actually told her yet that she was hired. Do I have the job or not? she wondered, nearly muttering the words aloud. Then she quickly decided, I’m going to ask her point-blank for the position as soon as she gets back to the room.
From the sounds of Pippa’s footsteps, Ida could tell that the kitchen wasn’t exactly adjacent to the parlor. In fact, it seemed the kitchen was two or three rooms away from the place where Ida was seated. Still, she could hear Pippa opening drawers and cabinets, moving pots, manipulating utensils. Then she heard the rancher’s wife begin to speak.
It sounded to Ida like ordinary, mundane conversation—at least in the beginning. In the space of a few seconds, the conversation in the kitchen started to sour, quickly devolving into a heated argument.
Who is she arguing with? Ida wondered. The other person was obviously standing at the far end of the kitchen—or possibly even in the room beyond—because Ida couldn’t hear that individual, nothing beyond the faintest murmuring. What Ida did hear was the grit, the steel, in Pippa Hawthorn’s voice that she’d sensed from the first moment she’d met the woman.
The argument ended quickly and all was quiet in the kitchen again, aside from the typical noises one would expect. A few minutes later, Ida heard approaching footsteps as the rancher’s wife returned to the parlor, a tea serving tray in her hands—or so Ida imagined in her mind’s eye.
“Sorry, it took longer to make the tea than it should have,” said Pippa Hawthorn as she set the tray on a nearby table.
“Is everything all right?” Ida asked her.
“Yes. Yes, everything will be fine. Just a family matter that came up. Oh, goodness… you probably heard that whole thing, didn’t you? Your hearing is probably twice that of a seeing person’s.”
Ida smiled. “I wouldn’t say that my hearing is twice that of a seeing person’s, but you’re right, I do rely on my hearing quite a lot. I’m sure I often hear things others don’t.”
Pippa drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ida could hear the frustration in the woman’s sigh. Frustration and a touch of sadness.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Ida asked the rancher’s wife.
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure. I don’t wish to discuss it right now. But I do appreciate your offer. Perhaps another time.”
“Another time?” Ida lifted her eyebrows. “So, does that mean—?”
“Yes, Ida Murray. The job is yours if you want it.”
Ida’s smile expanded across her face. “I do want it,” she said. “I very much want to come work for you and your husband. Er, doesn’t Mr. Hawthorn need to approve of me before you make it official?”
“Not at all,” said Pippa. “He hires the ranch hands. I hire the inside help. If I approve of you, my husband will as well. It’s how we operate around here.”
Ida listened as her new employer poured their tea. She heard Pippa raise her own teacup from the saucer and take a few sips before clinking the cup back onto the saucer.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” she asked Ida as she returned her cup and saucer to the tray.
Ida nodded and, reaching out both of her hands, felt about for the warm steam rising from her teacup. She located the cup quickly and lifted it from the saucer. As she brought the hot tea close to her face, she paused. That’s odd, she thought. It smells like almonds.
She was about to ask her employer what kind of tea she’d prepared when she heard a sound she did not expect.
Pippa made a choking noise, followed quickly by gagging sounds. Immediately thereafter, she dropped her teacup onto the floor—Ida heard both the cup and the saucer clatter against the hardwood surface.
“Pippa!” Ida, sitting up straight, returned her own cup and saucer to the table. “Pippa—what’s happening? Are you all right?”
The choking and gagging noises continued. Getting to her feet, Ida felt her way around the table, reaching Pippa just as the woman slumped to the floor. She caught Pippa’s head in time to prevent it from striking the hard wood.
“Pippa!” Ida cried. Then, focusing on the rooms beyond the parlor, she hollered, “Help! Someone… anyone. Mr. Hawthorn! Please—help!”
No one responded. It was possible that the ranch house was empty, Ida realized. But only moments later, she heard footsteps coming from the direction of the kitchen.
“You,” Ida said. “Come here… please help us. I think she drank something bad. Poison, maybe.”
The footsteps paused a good ten feet from the spot where Ida was crouched on the floor with the limp body of Pippa Hawthorn cradled in her arms.
“Please come help us,” Ida continued, speaking to the person who had not yet identified themselves. She could sense the stranger’s presence, could feel the individual’s gaze upon her.
A few more moments passed, then the stranger turned and began to walk away.
Ida opened her mouth to call after the unknown individual again, but then it suddenly dawned on her.
That’s the one… that’s the person who did this to Pippa!
“Wait!” she shouted from where she was huddled on the floor. “Don’t go! Who are you? Who are you?”
Ida felt for Pippa’s pulse, but she knew even before her fingers landed upon Pippa’s wrist that the woman was gone.
Dead.
Not just dead, Ida thought as a wave of panic suddenly ripped through her core. Murdered! Pippa was murdered!
She continued to cradle the rancher’s wife for several more moments until, after saying a silent prayer, she laid the woman gently onto the floor. Getting to her feet, Ida took a second to steady herself. Her mind was reeling, dizzied by the flurry of thoughts and emotions that were passing through her.
I have to tell Pippa’s husband, Mr. Hawthorn. But what if he suspects that I did this?
“Help!” Ida called out reflexively. There was no response. The stranger who had walked away moments ago was now out of the house. Probably slipped out the back door, Ida mused.
She began to feel around the parlor room. Retracing her steps to the doorway, she found her way to the anteroom and to the front door of the ranch house. Drawing in a deep breath, Ida flung the door open and stepped out onto the porch, uncertain of what might be waiting for her outside.
Pausing, she cocked her head and listened. Aside from the usual sounds of nature—the chirping of birds, the stirring of long grasses—she heard nothing. The stranger who’d fled the house, the one who’d very likely caused Pippa’s demise, was apparently nowhere around.
“Help!” she called out again. “Something terrible has happened!” She waited for a few seconds, but no one answered her.
Just then, she heard the soft chuffing of a horse nearby.
“Henry,” Ida said as she stepped off the porch and approached the spot where the animal was tied off. “I hope you know the way to town, boy. I need you to take me to the marshal’s office. Right now—fast as you can carry me!”
Chapter Three
Every time Caleb Rothwell caught himself looking into the mirror on the south-facing wall, he couldn’t help but wonder why Ben Greer, the town’s previous sheriff, had bothered mounting the thing in the office. Why does a lawman need to look at his reflection?
He laughed quietly as the answer came to him. He was not a particularly vain man, but if he were honest with himself, he did at times enjoy the sight of himself wearing his gun rig, his Colt Peacemaker slung low on his right hip and his tin star gleaming on his chest. It was the exact picture he’d imagined when he was an adolescent boy dreaming of one day landing a job as a law dog. Sheriff Greer probably used the mirror for a similar purpose, Caleb figured. Maybe its purpose was to remind himself of the reason he’d taken the job in the first place.
As Caleb stood studying his image in the glass, his hand went up to his chin, which had been roughened and darkened by three days of beard growth. Just yesterday, Miss Malone down at the bank had complimented him on his looks. Caleb had never thought of himself as a handsome man, but lately, a number of eligible young ladies around town had offered such comments. Miss Malone had suggested that, as dapper as he was, Caleb’s appearance might be improved if he took up the habit of shaving daily. In fact, the flirtatious bank teller had gone on to venture, if he adopted a clean-shaven style, the lawman would surely look younger than his thirty years.
“Hmmn,” Caleb muttered to himself as he took his hand off his chin. “I don’t care to look younger than my true age.” And, he quickly added in his thoughts, criminals don’t care if you’re shaven or not. Besides, some of the ladies ’round this town seem to like my partially bearded face…
Turning away from the mirror, he started to cross toward his desk. Before he made it two steps, a familiar sound caught his attention: footsteps pounding on the boardwalk outside, rapidly approaching the office’s front door.
Caleb faced the door as it flew open and a pink-faced man entered, practically spilling through the doorway. The man, who was clearly out of breath, gazed wide-eyed at the lawman and panted, “Sheriff Rothwell! Someone robbed”—the man paused to gasp for breath—“robbed Baker’s…”
“The jewelry store?” Caleb said.
The winded man nodded, and Caleb, quickly pushing past him, stepped out onto the boardwalk. Outside, he turned northward and began to sprint in the direction of Baker’s Jewels & Watches. The criminals in this town, he thought, holding down his holster to keep his pistol from misfiring as he ran. They’re getting more brazen all the time. Robbing a merchant in broad daylight! What’s this world coming to?
It only took him a minute to reach the store. When he did, he found Ezra Baker behind the counter, frightened half to death, his face as pale as a cadaver’s. The proprietor’s wife, Penelope Baker, was also present, though it was apparent from the beet-red coloring of her cheeks that her anger overrode her fear at the moment.
“’Bout time you got here, Sheriff!” she snapped at Caleb. “You done let him get away!”
“I apologize, Mrs. Baker. I just heard about the crime. Which way did the thief go and what’s he look like?”
“He looks like Jed Horner,” the proprietor’s wife answered. “And he was headed westward when he left here.”
Caleb flinched back in surprise. “Jed Horner? You sure it was him?”
“’Less he’s got a twin brother,” said Penelope Baker, “it was him for sure. He was wearing a mask, but you could see around it. Might as well have had his name tattooed ’cross his forehead.”
Caleb nodded, then tossed a glance at Ezra Baker, who simply nodded in return. As Caleb began to step back outside, Penelope Baker called out to him, “Careful, Sheriff. He’s toting a big ol’ mean-looking gun. I don’t know if he can shoot the thing or not, but you might want to watch out for it.”
Caleb doffed his hat at the woman, then took off in the direction the thief had gone.
A couple hundred yards ahead, near the far edge of town, he saw a figure running through the street. Caleb shook his head. He fled on foot, not on horseback? It occurred to him that he’d forgotten to ask if the thief was mounted when he’d left the Bakers’ sight. Apparently not! Shaking his head again, the sheriff murmured, “Jed Horner… how desperate have you become to stoop to such an act?”
As he hustled along the boardwalk, dodging pedestrians, Caleb became aware of all the eyes on him. People on both sides of the broad, busy street had paused to watch the lawman in action. That was one thing he’d learned about his profession in the very early days: people harbored an intense curiosity about criminals and their nefarious activities. Because people were curious about lawbreakers, they were also curious about lawmen. As sheriff of Black Rock, Caleb reckoned he talked to newspaper reporters more frequently than the mayor himself did.
The fleeing man, still rushing forward, glanced back over his shoulder. Even from this distance, Caleb could see the dark kerchief covering the lower half of the thief’s face. He could not yet verify that the culprit was Jed Horner, but he had to assume that Penelope Baker had correctly identified him. Jed’s was a well-known face around town. Thinking about that fact prompted the sheriff to shake his head yet again. How desperate have you become?
The thief, it appeared, had spotted the sheriff trailing him. He reacted by turning onto the next cross street.
Caleb sniffed at the air. He knew this town as well as the men who’d built it. Every day he patrolled the streets, a few times on foot and once or twice on horseback. He knew how all the streets were connected. He knew every side alley, and he was aware of a couple of lesser-known dead ends. Black Rock was growing, but it was still a small town. There was no place for a man on the run to hide, not for long, not for more than five or ten minutes.
Might as well quit running and turn yourself in, Jed, thought Caleb, strategizing mentally as he left the boardwalk and ducked onto a side street. I will catch you. Only question is whether you’ll let me haul you in alive.
Caleb had lost track of the time, but it seemed to take him about a minute to reach the street the thief had turned down. When he arrived on the street, he didn’t step out into the open. Instead, he hung back, pressing himself up against the wall of a haberdashery. Reaching to his hip, the sheriff drew out his Peacemaker.
Closing his eyes and holding his breath, he listened. Caleb had good eyesight, but he possessed an even more powerful sense of hearing. His ears had helped him track down more than one wayward soul in the past. Now, as he focused in on his surroundings, he heard footsteps approaching—not on the wooden planks of the boardwalk, but in the dirt street. He could also hear the labored breathing of a man who was winded, a man who’d been running hard.
As the approaching footsteps drew nearer, Caleb thumbed back the hammer on his Colt. A few seconds later, when the moment was right, he stepped out from his hiding place and quickly pointed his pistol at the masked man.
“A Sheriff’s Quest for Justice” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Sheriff Caleb Rothwell is a brave man who has dedicated his life in the pursuit of justice. No one has ever gotten away with murder under his watch until dead bodies begin to turn up around town. However, when Ida Murray enters through his doorway, declaring she has witnessed a murder, Caleb knows he must devote himself to this serious case despite the challenges…
There is only one problem; how can he use a blind witness as evidence?
While Caleb tries to piece clues together with Ida’s help, he realizes that someone is trying to kill her. With each attack on Ida’s life, Caleb grows more determined to keep her safe even if it means sacrificing himself. Luckily, his brother comes to his aid, and works with him to solve the murders in time to save Ida.
Does he have the power to protect her and catch the killer, or is Ida going to be accused of a crime she didn’t commit?
As Caleb and Ida face new challenges and old demons, a silent threat creeps ever closer, ready to destroy everything they now cherish. Can they unmask the fierce enemy plotting against them even if it comes at an unbearable cost?
“A Sheriff’s Quest for Justice” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.
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