The Scarred Beauty of the West (Preview)

Chapter One

Kansas – 1847

The boisterous cheers rang throughout the saloon, causing Lucas’s ears to ring. He stared at the golden brown liquor flowing from Ryan’s bottle to his glass as he debated on taking another shot. Four shots were his limit, yet his companions were determined to polish off every bottle in the saloon.

“To James,” Ryan, the rambunctious man and the middle child of the Cartwright family, hoisted his whiskey bottle to the rafters. Lucas had known Ryan since he was no higher than the top of the bar and knew Ryan wouldn’t stop drinking until he passed out.

“To James,” came the reply of the men crowding the saloon. The saloon girls, with their loose skirts and rosy cheeks, flipped up their skirts to egg the men in the saloon on. Lucas shifted his gaze from them and focused on the whiskey shot Ryan poured for him to take.

Glancing at the bartender, Lucas nodded. With a sleight of hand, the bartender swiftly replaced Lucas’s full shot glass with an empty one before Ryan turned around. It wasn’t that Lucas didn’t want to celebrate; he just wanted to keep his wits about him. Although Dodge City was Lucas’s home, it was also home to less reputable men, men who could easily saunter into the saloon and start causing problems for Lucas and his friends.

“If someone like James can find a wife, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us,” Ryan continued as he stepped onto the wooden chair, ensuring everyone in the saloon saw him. Out of all the Cartwright brothers, Ryan had no shame and reveled in the spotlight. The laughter around Lucas rose even higher as the liquor flowed freely.

Lucas turned to face the room as he wondered how much more Ryan would consume before he hurt himself. As he watched Ryan sway, Lucas stepped up and moved over to Ryan, ensuring if he did fall, it wouldn’t be on his face.

“Alright,” Lucas said in hushed tones that only Ryan would hear. “Let’s step down before you fall down.”

“Lucas,” Ryan jeered, the flush of the whiskey evident on Ryan’s face. He curled an arm around Lucas’s shoulders as Ryan used Lucas to climb off the chair. “Why such a sour face? We are supposed to be celebrating. You know, having some fun?”

“Your idea of fun clearly differs from mine,” Lucas answered as he straightened the inebriated Ryan.

“You need to lighten up,” Ryan said, patting Lucas on the shoulder. “Look around you. We are surrounded by my father’s ranch hands, not to mention my brothers, Isaac and Porter. There’s no reason for you not to be enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” Lucas said sarcastically as he eased Ryan down to a barstool. The sarcasm seeped from Lucas’s lips, but he doubted Ryan picked up on it with as drunk as he was.

“Come now,” Ryan said, snatching an unopened bottle from behind the bar and popping the cork. “When was the last time we celebrated a wedding around here?”

“You should ease up on Lucas,” Porter, the youngest Cartwright, said as he squeezed through the crowded bar, making a beeline for Ryan and Lucas. “Not everyone thinks they need to be dog-faced at every event.”

Lucas gave Porter a slight nod and found himself grateful for his appearance. Although Porter was Lucas’s best friend, he knew if anyone could get Ryan to ease up a bit, it would be Porter.

“Ah, brother, you made it,” Ryan said as he pulled Porter into his sloppy embrace.

“I think the whole town made it,” Porter said as he motioned to the bartender to pour him a drink.

“Let’s hope not the whole town,” Lucas said as his muscles tensed. Just thinking about the Harringtons showing up at the saloon gave Lucas a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced around the saloon, scanning each face he could, praying his eyes didn’t find one of the Harringtons lurking in the dark corners.

“Lighten up, will you?” Ryan grumbled. “Even if we have uninvited guests, there’s more of us than there are of them. Nothing is going to happen. It’s a party.”

Lucas exchanged a suspicious glance with Porter, who seemed to share the same wary thoughts Lucas had. It was evident to Lucas that refraining from drinking too heavily was the right course. Even if it meant he’d be the only one on the look out.

“How many bottles have you gone through?” Porter asked Ryan as Lucas watched Porter grab the half-empty bottle out of his brother’s hand.

“Not enough,” Ryan answered, struggling to keep the bottle in his possession. “And what does it matter? You’re not my mother.”

“No,” Porter said, refusing to let Ryan keep the bottle as Lucas watched them fight over it as if they were toddlers fighting over a new toy. “But I will tell her if you don’t share.”

Ryan laughed and released the bottle. “Well, why didn’t you say you wanted a drink? Barkeep, get this man a bottle of his own.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Porter said, “I just wanted a swig.”

“You never could handle your liquor,” Ryan teased. Lucas shook his head and wished he could leave the saloon. He’d much rather go home to see his five-year-old daughter, Lily, than spend another minute tending to the inebriated Ryan.

A loud, blood-curdling scream silenced the saloon. Lucas jumped from his seat and quickly pulled the pistol from the holster on his hip. He pushed through the crowd, making his way outside. His heart dropped like stones as he stepped out.

“Get it off me,” James cried in pain. It took a moment for Lucas to understand what he was seeing. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a black shroud hovering over James. Its beady white eyes flickered against the dim lamps of the deserted street.

“Call off your dog,” Isaac shouted, and Lucas didn’t hesitate. He aimed his gun at the beast of a dog, ripping into the tender flesh of James’s shoulder. The fire of a pistol rang out, but it didn’t come from Lucas’s pistol. Lucas turned to find Ryan swaying on the boardwalk, smoke rising like ribbons from the barrel of his gun.

Lucas rushed to James and slid into the dirt to tend to James. The wounds were great, and it was a miracle Ryan’s shot hadn’t hit James.

“Simon Harrington, what are you doing here?” Ryan seethed. “This is a private affair.”

“Last time I checked, the saloon was neutral grounds,” Simon hissed as he shifted in his saddle.

“You’re not welcome here,” Porter announced as Lucas dragged James to the boardwalk to get a better look at his wounds. “I’d suggest you move along before my next shot is right between your eyes.”

Lucas glanced at the men on horseback. The dark riders made a semi-circle around the entrance to the saloon. Lucas knew there was no way any of the Cartwrights would make it out without a bloodbath. It dawned on him this was exactly what Simon Harrington wanted. Trapped between the saloon and the Harringtons, Lucas swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to die before my wedding day,” James whimpered as he gripped Lucas’s shirt.

“You’re not going to die,” Lucas promised as his mind reeled, trying to figure out some way to get out of this mess. He knew it was a bad idea to celebrate at the saloon. It gave them no place to run if things went south, and at the moment, this was worse than he ever expected.

“That was my favorite dog,” Simon growled with his icy gaze and the barrel of his gun trained at Ryan. The dim street lamps glinted off the cold metal, casting eerie shadows that flickered in Ryan’s eyes.

“You going to shoot? Then do it,” Ryan hissed, clearly unaware of the danger he was putting himself in. Lucas’s eyes shifted to Ryan’s older brother, Isaac, before shifting to Porter. The Cartwrights stood like a human shield, defending the entrance to the saloon.

“From where I’m sitting, my odds are better than yours,” Simon answered with a malicious grin stretching across his face.

Lucas grabbed James as tenderly as he could and pulled him behind the trough and away from the line of fire.

“You can’t leave me,” James said as he struggled to prop himself up against the splintered wood of the trough. Lucas knew it wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t about to let his best friend, Porter, face such odds alone.

“Stay hidden,” Lucas urged as he slipped away from James. Using the cloak of the shadows, Lucas made a wide circle and came up behind Simon and his men. He steadied his hand as he trained his sights on Simon.

“Best leave while you still got the air in your lungs to do so,” Porter hissed, his statement hanging heavily between the men. Everyone there knew engaging in a shootout wasn’t ideal, but there was no way they could avoid it.

The stakes were high and the consequences severe, but Lucas was prepared to do whatever it took to protect his friends and himself. Lucas waited for Porter’s signal as the seconds ticked away, amplifying the suspense that had a stranglehold over the town.

“Your father isn’t here to save you this time,” Simon said as Lucas found a bit of cover behind the wooden post holding up the awning. It wasn’t much if the bullets started flying, but he prayed it’d be enough.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away from here with your life.” Ryan’s threat rattled through Lucas.

“Bold words coming from a dead man,” Simon said. The pop of the gun shattered the tension with a bang. Steeling his nerve, Lucas squeezed the trigger as a hail of bullets disturbed the stillness of the town. Over the gunshots, Lucas heard the wailing of the saloon girls as little holes punched through the outside of the building.

“Roland is hit,” a man cried out from Simon’s group. Lucas watched as a dark figure slipped off his horse and fell to the ground. Not knowing if it was his shot that hit the man, Lucas stared at the fallen man a moment before taking aim at the other riders.

“You’ll pay for this, Cartwrights,” Simon’s voice boomed as he jerked the reins of his horse to turn him around. Lucas knew he was running out of time, and if he were going to put an end to the feud between the Cartwrights and the Harringtons, now would be the time to do it.

Taking aim, Lucas steadied his pistol and squeezed. Lucas’s heart dropped as the gun clicked signaling the lack of bullets remaining. Frustration pummeled him as he reached for his pouch to reload. By the time he got new bullets in, Simon and his men were out of range.

“What are you doing?” Lucas heard Porter shout. He looked up to find Ryan wrangling a horse and trying to mount it.

“I’m ending this right now,” Ryan growled as Lucas came out from his hiding spot and darted across the road to Porter.

“Don’t be a fool. Simon will shoot you dead, and then what will I tell our father?” Porter shouted, but Lucas knew there was no talking sense into Ryan once he had his mind made up.

“I’m not going to let him get away with this,” Ryan answered over his shoulder as he straightened the horse and took off.

“Where’s James?” Lucas asked, glancing over to the trough where he’d left James. Panic shot through him as he raced over to the place. Lucas swallowed hard as he saw James’s lifeless body under the trough. The cries from the saloon wailed in Lucas’s ears and only added to the guilt mounting on his shoulders.

“Sheriff’s coming,” Porter said, his voice sounding as if it were miles away and not coming directly over Lucas’s shoulder. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving James here,” Lucas stated as he grabbed James by the ankles and pulled him out from under the trough.

“Lucas, we’ve got to go,” Porter warned. “Think about Lily. Do you really want to spend the night in a jail cell? You heard what Brodey said last time. He catches any of us disturbing his town, he’ll lock us up.”

“I’m going after Ryan,” Isaac announced with several men at his back. The whole scene felt surreal as if time had slowed down and Lucas couldn’t snap out of it. Seeing James on the ground, he couldn’t help thinking of his ex-fiancée facing the exact same fate James had.

“I’m going with you,” Porter said.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to tell father what happened; I’ll get Ryan,” Isaac said as he marched to the post and mounted his horse. “We’ll meet back at the ranch in the morning.”

“Go,” Lucas said. “I’ll handle the sheriff.”

In the corner of his eye, Lucas watched as Isaac and Ryan, along with the remaining ranch hands for the Cartwright family, filed out of the saloon, leaving Lucas alone with James. Remorse seeped into Lucas. He had known there was no safe place to hide, but he never expected James to lose his life.

“You best have a good explanation as to why a dead man is lying in my street,” Sheriff Brodey growled as he jerked on the reins of his horse, stopping feet from Lucas. Prying his attention off James, Lucas looked at the burly sheriff with a stoic expression.

There was nothing Lucas could tell the sheriff that he didn’t already know. The long history of violence and bloodshed between the Cartwrights and Harringtons had been going on for decades.

“We were just celebrating James’s engagement to Alice,” Lucas started. Sorrow rippled through Lucas as thoughts of his ex-fiancée, Rudy, seeped into his thoughts.

“Tell me why every time you boys get together to celebrate, someone ends up dead?” the sheriff asked as anger laced his tone.

Lucas shook his head, trying not to dislodge the memories from his thoughts. He glanced at the sheriff and swallowed hard. There was no answer Lucas could give the sheriff. Deep down, Lucas knew there had to be a better way to live, one that celebrated life instead of death.

Chapter Two

Oklahoma 

Evelyn awoke to the thunderous howl of the Oklahoma winds and shifted to cover her ears with her thin pillow. The winds sifted the sand and dust through the frail walls of her family’s small farmhouse, and it covered the furniture with a thin layer of dirt she knew she’d have to clean later. She listened to the eerie symphony, a cacophony of sounds that whispered tales of desolation and solitude, wishing she could block it all out.

With sleep evading her, Evelyn tossed the pillow from her head and peered into the shadows of the room. Her three younger siblings rested quietly in their beds, unaffected by the howling winds that ripped her from her sleep. The world was still cloaked in sleep’s embrace, yet she knew dawn was calling, its soft glow just beginning to pierce the dark veil of the night.

“Evelyn?” Molly’s voice drifted over the low snores, drawing Evelyn’s attention. She turned her head slowly and pressed her finger to her lips, silencing her youngest sister.

“What are you doing awake?” Evelyn whispered, pulling the blanket off her as she slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to Molly’s bed. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Getting something to drink, you go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you,” Evelyn said, pulling the blanket back over her sister. She leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek.

She moved quietly, maneuvering through the slumbering forms of her siblings, and slipped out of the room. The chilly touch of the worn wooden floorboards sent shivers up her bare legs. It was a sensation that was both familiar and comforting, a constant reminder of her humble roots. Yet, it stirred within her a yearning for the wild, unbound spirit of the outdoors, a thirst for liberty that only the vast open landscape could quench.

Evelyn inched closer to the front door and gently twisted the rickety old knob as she pressed the door to keep it from moaning. The last thing she wanted was to disturb her weary mother. Taking care not to make a sound, Evelyn stepped out onto the porch and squinted her eyes. The sun had barely peaked over the horizon, yet it was merciless, the air thick with heat, suffocating her with its intensity. It was as if she had stepped into a furnace. Even though the day had just begun, the sun battered the dry, parched soil as the winds whipped her hair about her face.

Her eyes swept across the grim tableau painted before her: a vast expanse of once fertile fields now barren, a sea of withered crops sagging in defeat. The rows upon rows of corn that once stretched proudly toward the sky now bowed in resignation, their golden hue replaced with a dull, lifeless grey. The soil beneath them was parched, its arid surface cracked and crumbling, a stark testament to the drought that held the land in its ruthless grip. It was a desolate scene, a haunting reminder of the sweet relief of rain that seemed like a distant memory.

As Evelyn stood, lost in the harsh reality of the drought-stricken landscape, a soft, comforting voice broke through her contemplation. It was Mary, her mother, joining her on the threshold of their home, her silhouette framed by the harsh morning light.

“Evelyn,” she said, her voice carrying a wearied strength. “Go to the well and fetch some water. We need to get breakfast going before your brothers and sisters wake up.”

Evelyn nodded, tearing her gaze away from the sight before her. She moved obediently, her bare feet padding against the dusty pathway leading to the well. The bucket felt heavy in her hand, its rough texture a stark contrast to the coolness of the water that lay hidden beneath the ground. The creaking motion of the old pulley was a familiar melody as she started pumping the water and the rhythm that marked the beginning of another day of survival.

As Evelyn lowered the bucket into the well, her heart pounded in rhythm with each creak of the pulley. The bucket descended, its slow journey into the depths shrouded in an oppressive silence. The rope strained against Evelyn’s grip, its coarseness biting into her palms. Time seemed to stretch out, each tick of the clock a mockery of the water’s scarcity.

Finally, the soft splash that signaled the bucket’s arrival at the water surface echoed up the well. But the sound was feeble, a mere whisper of what it used to be. Evelyn held her breath, hoping against hope for the weight of water to fill the bucket. Her muscles strained as she started to pull, and the bucket began its ascent.

The upward journey, however, was far different from its descent. The bucket was surprisingly light, and it swayed precariously as Evelyn hauled it. Barely dampening the bottom, the amount of water it contained was pitiful, a cruel joke in the face of their dire need.

“Come on, there has to be some water down there,” Evelyn bemoaned. “Just one bucket, that’s all I’m asking for.”

She tried again, whispering a silent prayer as she lowered the bucket down. She knew each drop was precious and was a symbol of life in the parched wilderness. The disappointment stung, but Evelyn couldn’t afford to dwell on it. There was work to be done and a family to care for. With a heavy sigh, she started the process again, lowering the bucket into the well and praying for a little more water. It was slow going, but they needed every drop they could get.

“Finally,” she mumbled under the strain of the water-filled bucket. A smile of victory stretched across her face, and she couldn’t help dipping her face into the water to steal a bit to ease her parched lips. Sucking down the water, Evelyn only came up once her thirst was quenched.

Wiping the water off her face, Evelyn let out a sigh of relief. She carefully lifted the bucket and moved with caution as she returned to the house with the water. Evelyn joined her mother in the small kitchen, the heart of their home, and sat the bucket down.

“Was there any left?” her mother asked.

“Barely,” Evelyn answered. “I had to dunk several times just to get this much.”

The Montgomerys, a family worn by the harshness of life yet bound by love, gathered around their humble wooden table, each holding a piece of stale bread and savoring a thin stew made of corn and potatoes, the hard-earned fruits of their labor. The candlelight flickered, casting their long shadows against the wall of their home, giving the scene an almost surreal quality.

Evelyn broke the silence, her voice soft and tentative, “When is Dad returning from Tulsa?” Her eyes, mirroring every bit of her longing, were fixed on her mother.

Her mother, with her ever-calming presence, took a moment before responding, “He should be back later, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” Molly said, entering the kitchen.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Mother cooed. “Do you mind getting the others up? We’ve got a lot to do today before your father comes home.”

“You’re not going to have Eddie get the eggs, are you? He was tormenting the chickens last time, and we didn’t get any for two whole days,” Molly said, dropping her shoulders.

“I’ll tend to the chickens,” Evelyn said before her mother could answer.

“Sue will milk the cow,” Mother said. “As for your brothers, I’ll send them out to the fields. They can’t do any harm out there.”

Even amidst the harsh reality of their lives, there was a glimmer of hope, a determination in her voice that echoed around the table, bolstering the family’s spirits as they prepared for another day’s hard work.

Evelyn’s gaze shifted toward the window, her eyes lingering on the bare fields that once danced with golden wheat, the symbol of their prosperity. An intense longing washed over her, a yearning for the days when joy was not a luxury but a constant companion in their lives. She yearned for that old certainty, when the harvest was plentiful and their worries were simple, when the well never ran dry and every dawn brought with it the promise of a good day.

Back then, the looming cloud of uncertainty was just a bad dream, a mere figment of imagination. Now, it was their uninvited guest, casting a heavy shadow on their lives. But even as she lost herself in the past, Evelyn understood that nostalgia was a luxury they could ill afford. Pulled back to the reality of their situation, she took a deep breath and joined her family, ready to face the grind and challenges of another day.

***

Inside the dimly lit room, Evelyn sat huddled with her younger siblings, a worn-out book spread open on their collective laps. The flickering candlelight barely reached the corners of the room, but it was enough to illuminate the pages of the book, casting long, dancing shadows on their faces. Despite the harsh circumstances, Evelyn was determined to teach her siblings how to read, believing that education was their only way out of this life of hardship.

Evelyn glanced to the window and noticed her mother standing on the porch; her silhouette was a stark contrast against the setting sun. The sight broke Evelyn’s heart, and she knew why her mother was out there alone. It was a ritual her mother had every time Evelyn’s father left their farm. And Evelyn knew it was her mother’s way of hoping for his return.

“Pa!” Molly cried out as she raced to the window to peer outside. Evelyn had been so focused on her mother that she hadn’t noticed the wagon rolling down the dusty road headed for their house. Molly darted for the door and pulled it open before Evelyn could stop her.

“You stay inside,” Mother ordered with a wag of her finger, halting Molly’s advance. Evelyn rushed to Molly’s side and pulled her back from the doorway.

“You heard Mother,” Evelyn said, trying to corral Molly away from the door. As Evelyn recognized the familiar creaks of their old family wagon, she felt a surge of hope quickly quelled by the slurred, boisterous voice of her father, David. It was a voice that reeked of drunkenness and broken promises.

. Evelyn’s heart skipped as she tried to distract her younger siblings as the voices rose outside.

“What excuse are you going to give me this time?” Evelyn heard her mother ask. “You said you’d be back by morning, and it’s well past eight.”

“I had business to tend to,” Pa answered, but Evelyn heard the slur in his words and knew no good would come of it.

“You’re drunk. Again. I suspect your business was finding the bottom of the bottle?” Evelyn heard the disgust in her mother’s tone within the confinement of their rickety home.

Evelyn knew she had only seconds before her father would stumble inside, his anger and drunkenness spilling over into their sanctuary. It was a scene she had witnessed countless times before, and she was determined to shield her younger siblings from it. Swiftly, she gathered her composure and turned her attention back to the book, her voice steady as she resumed reading aloud, her words acting like a protective barrier against the chaos erupting outside.

Just as Evelyn had anticipated, her father stumbled through the front door, the echo of his heavy boots against the wooden floor signaling his arrival.

“Look who’s home,” Pa shouted, interrupting Evelyn’s reading. She glanced over to find him barely able to stand upright and wavering like a tree about to fall. He lurched toward his worn-out armchair and collapsed into it with a resounding thud, his head lolling backward as unconsciousness took him. The stench of whiskey was a palpable cloud around him, so potent that even from her corner in the room, Evelyn could taste the bitter tang of it in the back of her throat.

Eddie, George, Molly, and Alice rushed over to greet him as Evelyn closed the book and sat it down on the table beside her. She rose slowly, waiting her turn.

“What did you bring back?” George asked.

“News,” Pa answered as he ruffed up George’s hair.

“That’s not what I mean,” George grumbled as Pa patted him on the behind and sent him fumbling forward.

“Not this time, we don’t have the means to be spending like that,” Pa said as Evelyn noticed her mother side eying Pa.

“I’m going to bed,” Evelyn said as she approached her father, leaned up to her tiptoes, and planted a quick peck on his cheek.

“As should you all,” Mother said with a clap of her hands.

“But the sun isn’t even down yet,” Alice whined.

“I don’t care,” Mother answered. “It’s bedtime. Go get yourselves cleaned up before I get the paddle on anyone not in their bed.”

Evelyn watched as her siblings scurried to the room. She closed the door once she entered and made sure each was dressed and tucked into their beds.

“Why do you suppose Momma sent us to bed so early?” Molly asked.

“Maybe because she wants time alone with Pa,” Evelyn answered, although she was certain it had more to do with their mother finishing her scolding away from prying eyes and burning ears.

“But I’m not tired,” Eddie mumbled through a long yawn. For a moment, Evelyn recalled how easy it was for her at the tender age of seven as she watched her brother’s eyes flutter with sleepiness.

“Do you want me to read you all a story before bed?” Evelyn asked. Their faces lit up as they jolted from their beds and made a circle around Evelyn’s bed. She plucked one of the worn books from the shelf and thumbed through the pages before settling down. Her words lingered in the air as she read slowly and calmly. A smile stretched across her face as she watched her siblings’ eyes grow heavier with each passing moment.

When she finally finished the story, each of them was sound asleep, and only the mumbles of her parents’ voices off in the distance could be heard. She put the book away and leaned down to settle for the night.

The rest of the night passed in uneasy silence. Evelyn retreated to her bed, a thin mattress tucked away in a corner of the shared room. As she lay there, the scent of whiskey wafting from the other side of the room, she closed her eyes and found herself silently appealing to a divine presence she couldn’t fathom.

Her prayer was simple, yet filled with the desperation of one who knew the harshness of life too well – for a change, for a better life, for a future that held promise and warmth, a life far removed from the bitter coldness of her current existence.

---

“The Scarred Beauty of the West” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

In the rugged heartland of Oklahoma, Evelyn Montgomery, the eldest daughter of a struggling farming family, stands as a pillar of determination and hope. Facing the relentless challenges of the dust-ridden plains, she embarks on a daring journey to Fort Dodge, Kansas, aiming to secure a better future for her loved ones. Her path takes an unexpected turn when it crosses with Lucas Whitman, a brooding and mysterious man.

Is Evelyn’s bold move a step toward safeguarding her family, or will it entangle her in unforeseen dangers?

Lucas Whitman, a man with a shadowed history and dedicated to raising his daughter, emerges as an unwavering force in the chaotic world of Fort Dodge. The secrets he harbors threaten to unravel the fragile peace he’s fought hard to maintain. When Evelyn enters his life, a reluctant spark of attraction ignites, challenging the barriers of class and circumstance…

Can Lucas shield Evelyn from the turmoil that surrounds them without exposing the demons that plague him?

As Evelyn and Lucas navigate the precarious landscape of their intertwined fates, they are confronted with the harsh realities of the frontier and the specters of Lucas’s history. Their burgeoning relationship is tested by the trials they face, leaving them to wonder if their fragile bond can withstand the adversities of the Wild West. Will their love stand firm against the storm?

“The Scarred Beauty of the West” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 55,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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