Sample Sunday - Preview of New Romance!

I have been diligently working on a new Romantic Suspense that I hope to have published soon. This one is a bit different than what you are used to getting from me - it is a historical romance, taking place in the late 1800's. I don't have a title for it yet, but as it is nearing completion, I thought I would give you all a sneak peek at what I've been working on!

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Tyson Sawyer jumped between train cars, watching the ground move underneath him. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he swiped it away with the back of his hand, feeling the dizziness overtake his senses. The Marshal had been hot on his trail, and he was lucky to catch the train before it had completely left the station, diving onto the caboose. Now that he was on board, he noticed it wasn’t a passenger train.

His body ached. He had been on the run for days now and his energy was failing him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Marshal’s group of horses still running in his direction. They’d tire out long before the train stopped again, but he had to take cover just in case. Edging along the side of the car, he pushed at each door he came across, all of them locked. Gritting his teeth, he clung onto any part of the metal he could find for leverage. One misstep meant he’d tumble to the hard ground below and be captured.

Something hot hit him in the shoulder, and the pain ripped through him. Groaning, he almost lost his grip, but his sheer need for survival and freedom kept him going. Finally, an open boxcar, but another bout of heat and pain coursed through him, this time in his leg. His muscles went limp and he fell inside, landing in some hay that padded his impact.

The dust kicked up and he coughed and the sound of gunshots echoed again, ricocheting off of the train.

“We’ll get you, Sawyer!”

Tyson ran his hand down his leg, pulling his hand to eye level. His palm was covered in red. He traced over his shoulder, noticing his shirt was soaked with blood. He felt faint, and his vision grew blurry. The law nipping at him was the least of his worries. His eyelids were heavy and he rested his head back, dozing.

He wasn’t sure where this train would take him or who would be waiting when he finally got off. Would he even make it there before his body gave up? Letting out a deep moan, he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to ward off the sharp discomfort. Maybe sleeping would be the best thing for him, and hell, if he didn’t wake up, at least he wouldn’t be hunted like a damn wild animal anymore.

The motion of the train rattled. The boxcar sounded like it could fall apart at any moment. To Tyson, he had scored a first class ride away from where he was wanted, despite the fact that he had two bullet holes that would soon be a bigger issue than he could deal with.

There was too much to comprehend and too much to believe. This was his life now – a wanted man with a reward over his head. It had all happened so fast that he hadn’t even had a chance to organize it in his head. It was like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Adjusting his weight, Tyson clenched his jaw to try to get comfortable. No matter which way he positioned himself, the burning fire deep in his wounds grew. After lying still for what seemed like an eternity, his body felt numb and his vision went black.

***

Cecilia Cook stared out of the window of her small, one room ranch house overlooking the few acres she was still able to hold onto. Her family had warned her that without a man around, she’d slowly see it slipping through her hands, but she’d never admit out loud that they had been right. Fanning her hand through her hair, she pulled it back into a bun and slipped into her pants and shirt, glaring at the one dress she had in her closet.

Her mother’s words echoed in her head – Maybe if you wore a dress like a normal woman, you’d be married with a family by now.

There was no doubt that Cecilia wondered about it. She was thirty-three and never had an intimate moment with a man. The thought made her face heat up – she longed for it, but at the same time, she enjoyed taking on the world on her own. It had placed her under huge scrutiny with not only her family, but with the townspeople, all of them chastising her for her life choices. The few times she did go into town, she heard comments about how she wasn’t “normal” and that there was probably “something wrong with her.” She was definitely an outsider. Sometimes it hurt and she didn’t care if she up and left, but sometimes she loved the fact that she was so out of the ordinary.

Maybe getting married would save her land. Maybe she could still have children, though now, she was older and it was unheard of at her age.

Cecilia gripped the handle of her mirror, glancing at herself. She swiped a few stray hairs from her forehead and smirked. She was conflicted in everything – from getting married to falling into the social-norms placed on the women in her area. Being different had really gotten her into hot water, and she was past the point of no return with most of the people she knew.

Taking a deep breath, she put the mirror down on her dresser and walked to the front door. There was work to be done and if she didn’t get started soon, she’d be out past dark.

***

Tyson heard footsteps and loud banging, pulling him from his deep sleep. His body jerked and he was quickly reminded of the harsh discomfort in his shoulder in his leg from the sudden movement. The pain was so bad that it almost knocked him out again. Pulling himself up, it took his breath away, but his need to keep moving helped him push through. Would he be able to walk?

The footsteps grew louder and though he was wobbly, he was able to stand. Ambling toward the door, he slid it open, squinting at the bright sunlight that pierced through his skull. He felt like he had been drinking, and whiskey sounded good right about then to help serve as a painkiller. Edging toward the steps, the engineer spotted him.

“Hey, mister! You can’t be here! What are you doing?”

Tyson didn’t bother to make eye contact and jumped. He tucked his legs and rolled, hitting the dry ground, his body objecting to everything he was doing, urging him to curl back up and sleep. He pulled his hat brim down low, guarding his face. Maybe he had traveled far enough that word hadn’t spread about the reward. Maybe the guy thought he was just a hobo hitching a ride.

Hobbling, his wounded leg was heavy, like the weight of one hundred bricks were tied to him. Glancing down, nausea took over at the sight of all of the blood that was saturated in the fabric of his pants. It was the same story with his shirt, and he hugged his arm around his midsection in an attempt to prevent it from moving.

Where the hell would he go? He was running in the direction of wide-open farmland. At the rate he was going, he’d be dead within a few hours. It was still a better option than getting caught. He’d rather die a free man than be hanged by the hands of the US Marshal. If he allowed the man back at the train to get hold of him, word would soon reach about Tyson Sawyer and he’d be dead anyway. He had nothing to lose in taking his chances out in the middle of nowhere.

He found a small creek and his mouth watered. He couldn’t remember the last time he had food or drink. He sat on the edge, he feared that he wouldn’t be able to get back up, but his need for water was more important than the other worry. Cupping his hand, he gulped the water from his palm, unable to get it to his mouth quick enough. It tasted wonderful and he took the time to wash his face. His injured arm felt disconnected from his body, like he was losing any use in it.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he slid it over his shoulder. The fabric stuck to his skin and he peeled it off of the blood, getting his first glance at the wound. It was still bleeding and he couldn’t tell if the bullet was still inside him. Dripping some water on it, it stung, but it served as a cooling effect.

Pulling his filthy shirt back on, he didn’t mess with buttoning it. Instead, he studied the gunshot in his thigh. It was the same story – the blood had caked so bad that the denim wouldn’t budge, nor did Tyson want it to. Maybe it was helping serve as a bandage, though with as dirty his clothes were, he was certain it would soon be infected.

He needed help, and fast. Glancing around the area, he didn’t see anything within the next few miles in all directions. The heat beat down on him and though the water helped, it still wasn’t enough to pull him through. He was almost certain that he couldn’t make it five hundred feet, much less another few miles, and even then, there was no guarantee that he’d find someone to at least let him die in a bed.

Tyson scooted across the ground, leaning back against a nearby tree, resting his head against the trunk. He kept telling himself one thing – at least he was dying a free man. The US Marshal wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching him swing. With that thought, he felt a small smile on his lips, and again, gave into his body’s will to fall asleep.

Any feedback on this opener is greatly appreciated! Check back here or on my Facebook page for updates and for when this will be available to buy!

---Danica