Sweet Saturday Samples - Oct 27, 2012

Welcome back to Sweet Saturday Samples. If I haven't mentioned it yet, I'm looking forward to the Book Launch of Spinster's Folly in two weeks. Yes, that's right. Two weeks!!!!! There are still a few openings in the Blog Tour I'm running from November 4 through November 17. If you can participate, please click the tab above, labeled Spinster's Folly Tour, and I'll get you in.

Okay, back to business. Here's a snippet at the beginning of a manhunt in Spinster's Folly. Enjoy!

When Bill arrived at the Owen cabin with his horse, his gear, and the cowhands in tow, it appeared that Old Man Owen had affairs well in hand. The Morgans had shown up, including a surly-looking Parley; Mr. Bates stood in the yard tightening his cinch; Mr. Hilbrands stroked his chin and decided to mimic Mr. Bates’ actions; and two other men who had volunteered for the search party sat their horses nearby.

Bertie Owen led up three horses from the stable and threw himself aboard a buckskin. Mr. Owen came out of the house, followed by his son Clay, Mrs. Owen, and the little girl. Carl hobbled after them with the aid by a hand-fashioned crutch and stood in the doorway, grasping hold of the frame. He had gumption to come down from his cabin to see them off. His red-headed wife appeared to have a firm grip under his elbow as she shielded her eyes from the rising sun with her other hand.

One of the Morgan’s horses raised its tail and did its business, forcing Mr. Morgan to dance out of the way. Chico’s rude comment resulted in a retort from Tom.

We’re off to a good start, Bill thought, his mood as dark as the droppings.

Old Man Owen held up his hands to quiet the hubbub. “Hilbrands, is the reverend accompanying us?”

Mr. Hilbrands looked startled at the notion. “No. He said he’d stay behind to lend comfort to the women.”

The boss made a face, then continued talking. “We’ll head north along the road. The man strikes me as a townie. I don’t reckon he’d head off across the country, so it’s most likely they took the road.” He looked up as Rulon rode into the yard. “Good. Rulon is our best tracker. Son, you take the lead.”

Rulon nodded. “Ready to go?”

“Soon as we’re all in the saddle.”

As the remainder of the men got on their horses, Mr. Owen gave his wife a quick embrace, rested his hand briefly on the young girl’s head, and strode to his horse. Once mounted, he looked around at the searchers, his mouth a grim slash across the bottom of his face.

Rulon led off, his father right behind him. The rest of the searchers followed.

Bill clucked to the horse he’d chosen, and it responded smoothly without the use of spurs on its flanks. At least one thing is going well, he thought, trying not to gnash his teeth at the delay occasioned by rounding up the men. I should have taken out after that gambling lay-about an hour ago.

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