Supposed Crimes LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2012 Geonn Cannon
All Rights Reserved
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April 21, 1889. Purcell, Oklahoma.
Rose Skinner slipped the rucksack off her shoulders and let it hit to the ground with an explosion of loose earth. She rubbed her neck where the strap had been riding for god-knew how many miles and felt the muscles finally begin to relax. The pack at her feet contained her every worldly belonging; clothing and tools and one single pair of nice shoes crammed into an infinitely tiny space.
She rubbed her horse's thick mahogany neck and whispered, "You did good, Ezekiel. Real good." He nickered in reply and twisted his head to look at her, deep brown eyes asking her to make with the treat. She chuckled and fished a green apple from her pocket. "What the hell. You earned it." She held the apple out and he greedily snatched it from her fingers.
She smiled and ran her hand over his mane. Ezekiel was not a small horse, and she could barely see over his saddle as she stood next to him. Her auburn curls were bound in a bun beneath her wide-brimmed gray hat. Her clothes were caked with Texan dirt underneath a new dusting of red Oklahoma dirt. Her hands were calloused, her lips were chapped and her eyes were red from lack of sleep as much as the dust that had assaulted her during her entire ride. Her back and legs ached, but she was here.