Thunder Road by Luke Tracey

Author:Luke Tracey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western, supernatural, fantasy, historical, cowboy
ISBN: 9780994642684
Publisher: Phoenix Forge
Published: 2025-03-02T14:00:00+00:00

In Sundowner Saloon, Room 3, Jacobi had furtively cleaned and hid Hawk’s unique weapon in the bottom drawer of the bedside dresser. That strange emerald liquid slid off the axe blade easily, leaving him to wonder if it was some sort of blood from the Trikuhl—and if the monster was still around. The tomahawk was strange to him, hollow through the handle to a small bowl-like opening at the poll opposite the blade.

As he closed the drawer, thinking about how Royce had needed to return to the Scratching Post to collect his hat that he’d left behind, there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Jacobi asked, not expecting Royce back so soon.

“My name is…well, you know me,” the voice was familiar, pausing before revealing, “…I’m Twyla Matthias…”

“Uh,” Jacobi’s skin turned an impossible shade of white, “I’m not expecting anyone by that name.”

“I know it’s you from the boat, young man—and I’m actually glad that you’re okay.” Her mannerisms were certainly different. Vastly different. “I saw you pick up the Indian’s weapon outside.”

After the incident with Hawk, he wasn’t ready to deal with anything like that just yet. Despite all the madness of almost being scalped and surely witnessing an appearance by ghost riders, Twyla Matthias had seen him retrieve the tomahawk and had recognised him. She’d surely used her resources and cunning to find him—his name was signed into Sundowner Saloon’s guest registry—and was undoubtedly coming to collect the debt that the dullard Francis had caused.

That’s twice now his name was easily found. Jacobi realised he really needed to start using an alias in the West—perhaps Jack was becoming a good idea.

Jacobi opened the door. Why did I open the door? He knew he’d probably regret the decision.

If not for her already-established reputation, everybody around The Sundowner at the time of the attempted murder by the savage Indian recognised Twyla Matthias. Without a doubt, the woman who had almost been scalped upstairs outside Room 9 stood at his doorway.

Lavish red dress. Gold-plated revolver holstered with army sabre hanging from the same belt. Matching red bonnet held in manicured fingers that quivered. “I’m sorry to intrude. May I come in?”

This was not the Twyla Matthias that Jacobi and Francis had faced at the poker table on the River Grace.

Sure, her porcelain features had returned, and her dark hair was tied perfectly with a medical dressing in it, but it was the nervous hands that threw Jacobi’s expectations off. Everything that he knew about the woman had come from Hawk, Miller, Royce, Lafayette and his own experience on the River Grace—and not one piece of that information was pleasant.

“Please, do not fear,” Twyla pleaded, “I am not here to collect on the debt. In fact, on my behalf, do consider the debt rescinded.”

“Why would you do that?” Jacobi pointed to the professional wound-dressing adorning the area where a tomahawk had sliced into Twyla’s hair and skin. “Did the axe cut too far into your head?”

Jacobi thought that remark may have been too far.

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