Excerpt
Charlotte’s scream was a distraction, but only for an instant. Seeing her in the doorway, Bowie smiled cruelly. They had grown up together, yet she hardly recognized him. His boyish face was contorted, and he was no longer laughing. “Sure, girly,” he yelled, his voice coldly penetrating the hoots of the others, “we’ll leave him alone—real soon now!” Frozen in fear and disbelief, Charlotte watched as Bowie Rayburn lowered his gun and turned the barrel toward Adam. She watched the recoil as the bullets left their chambers again and again. She watched Adam slump to the ground, watched hooves pummel him as he lay there.

Suddenly she heard nothing, saw nothing but Adam. Ignoring an instinct that it was already too late, she ran into the street, pushed her way through the now panicked horses, and fought her way to the figure lying crumpled at their feet. Someone yelled…it was Luke Sammey’s drawl: “Ya shouldn’t oughta done that, Bowie! Come on now, let’s git!” Then it was Bowie’s voice, contemptuous and arrogant: “Yeah, I’m leavin’ all right—but ain’t no rush, Luke. She can’t do nothin’—she’s just a girl!” In a voice that seemed almost a whisper, he leaned down and mocked her, “So long, honey; think of me sometime.” Then he wheeled his horse and spurred it toward the others, who were already pulling away.