The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,238

my own life since the first book, Whippoorwill, was written that it sometimes seems as if it happened to another person.

I’ve changed. I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve grieved.

And always, I’ve had the knowing my family was there, ready and willing to offer whatever I needed at the time to survive.

I’ve been blessed in ways too numerous to count, but the most precious blessing I’ve ever been given was being part of my wonderful family.

To Mother, who is always there for me. To Kathy and Ashley, and their sons Daniel and Lee—To Chris and Kristie, and their daughters, Chelsea, Logan, and Leslie—to Crissy and Andy, and their daughters Destiny, Devyn, and Courtney—to the Shero family and to the Smiths—to the Sala family to which I once belonged—and to my Bobby, who left me behind to pick up the pieces of my heart—I can only say that were it not for you all, my life would have been a lesser, sadder existence than the feast you’ve let it be.

Thank you. Bless you. Love you.

Contents

1. Rich Man-Poor Man

2. Beggar Man

3. Thief

4. Doctor

5. Lawyer

6. And One Sorry Ass Judge

7. Merchant

8. Chief

9. To The Death

10. Promises Kept

11. Ashes To Ashes

12. A Reason To Care

13. Beyond Her Wildest Dreams

14. Enemy Within

15. Soldiers And Patriots

16. Rock A Bye Baby

17. A Rooster In The Hen House

Epilogue

Rich Man-Poor Man

It was the dead skunk Harley Tatum’s dogs were dragging down the main street of Denver City that was causing everyone to wrinkle their noses in disgust. But it wasn’t the biggest stink in town by a long shot. The news that Eulis and Letty Potter had struck a gold bonanza had also struck a nerve.

The news had gone through the tent city faster than last winter’s smallpox outbreak, evoking just about as many emotions. Tempers flared. Envy set in like a splinter under a fingernail, burning and festering until something was bound to pop.

Every no-good in the territory converged on the swiftly growing town to see if they could wrangle a way to divest Eulis and Letty of their newly found wealth. Others tried to corner them when they’d come in from the mine in hopes of getting a grubstake or a handout, or—as a last resort—the possibility of a job.

Eulis had grown tight-lipped and stern, fearing that he would not be able to protect the mine, although he’d made sure that it was registered in Letty’s name, since she was the one who’d actually found the gold. And, he’d gone out of his way to do the same with the land they’d claimed on a bluff overlooking Denver City, and the house they were having built on the property. It was all in her name.

They’d been working the mine for more than three months now, but Eulis was nervous about the conversations he kept overhearing from his own employees, and from the whispers he heard when he went into town. It appeared that the hired hands were not above trying to steal a little of the gold for themselves. Eulis heard talk from a friend here and there that the men claimed the Potters had so much gold that surely they wouldn’t miss the occasional smuggled nugget.

He had kept his fears to himself, unaware that, not only had Letty also heard the gossip, but she was bound and determined to be the one to put an end to the talk, and the fear of God in every man who worked for them.

Spring had finally come to the Rockies, although the high peaks were still snow-capped. Rivers were gushing with overflow—running wild from the snow-melt above the valley. Tiny purple flowers, hardly more than two or three inches high, were popping up through the winter mulch of dead grass and leaves. Color had come to the mountains in the form of bright red cardinals, sassy blue jays, and the soft buckskin color of spotted fawns. Trees other than the prevalent evergreens were budding. Plum thickets were awash in pale blossoms more white than pink, promising a bumper crop of fruit in the coming months.

It was into this scene that Letty emerged, ignoring the scandalous glances of the few decent women by wearing men’s pants and accouterments, and riding astride, as a man would have. Her hat was wide-brimmed and black. Her hair was long and wavy, but tied back at the nape of her neck with a piece of blue ribbon—her only concession to femininity.

She wore a permanent expression of ‘don’t piss me off’ and had become quite a marksman