The West Old & New Vol. III Issue II February 2014 | Page 14

Excerpt from Ida Hawkins, P.I.
EIGHT DAYS
“You can’t do this,” she screamed kicking her legs against him.
“You loved me. You can’t kill someone you love.” Frankie locked her
against his chest dragging her forward through the brushes toward the
river. “You’re going to kill me and then go home to her?” Ida screamed.
“It’s that easy, Frankie?” Ida aimed several wild kicks in succession for
the most sensitive area on his body. He knew what she was doing and
fought to stay out of the way but she got lucky and landed one that made
him let go. As he bent over in a deep groan of pain Ida flew through the
bushes behind him for open ground. Ida had once been fast on her feet
but the desk job was showing itself, her legs raw from movement and her
lungs searching for breath. It didn’t take Frankie long to catch up with
her. This time he grabbed both her hands bucking them high behind her
back. Ida fell on her knees moaning in pain and stopped fighting.
“Please, don’t do this Frankie,” Ida begged. “You know I loved you. You
can’t do this to me. You killed me once already.”
Frankie pulled the woman up in front of him and began dragging her to the edge of the river pushing her in front of him into the water. The icy cold river creeping up the legs of her jeans and taking her
breath away as it climbed higher and higher from her knees to her waist.
The water at the level of Ida’s chest, Frankie stopped moving. Ida slid
her feet over the slimy rocks of river looking into the murky green grave.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/290343

An Anthology of short stories written
around the Montana landscape.
Excerpt from Silenced.
Lieutenant Dunswood brushed a piece of lint from the sleeve of his
dress blues. It was late afternoon and the fall sun beat down on his
dark blue Calvary hat. He watched a dirt devil tossing a tumble weed
across the empty prairie outside the open gates of the fort. With luck
the stage would be on time, and he leaned forward scanning the horizon and the dirt tracks leading to civilization over the hills to the east.
Beads of sweat gathered along his neck under the collar of the
starched white shirt. He’d risen early to bath and shave a week or
more of stubble from his chin. He’d swept the cabin one last time and
straightened the calico quilt on the bed before leaving. He wanted
everything to be perfect for Sara. They had only been married six
months before he’d been called out west, leaving her at a Fort in Mississippi. Six months of letters lay in a box under the bed, six months
of waiting for the right time to bring her west and into his waiting
arms. He flicked small beads of sweat from his brow; today he would
hold her slender body next to his. He watched a red tail hawk ride the
wind marking dust from the east, a winding haze of flying dirt under
the hooves of alone rider. Dunswood squinted for a better view. It was
news to him that a scout would be sent out in front of the stage.
Dunswood knew something was wrong when the rider’s feet hit the
ground seconds after he pulled his horse up, words were unnecessary.
A cold chill climbing his spine to clutch his belly and making his skin
crawl, something was terribly wrong.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/291041