Blog Layout

Hearts of Julesburg Pony Express series -- the hero

Donna Schlachter • Sep 29, 2023

Today I will share about the hero on Release Day for Hearts of Julesburg in Hearts of the Pony Express series, book 3.


The town of Julesburg, Colorado, was named after a scoundrel who lived there, owned most of the town, and ruled with an iron fist. Jules was not a nice person, and eventually he committed enough crimes that he skedaddled, just ahead of a new law that decided to take back the town.


It’s no wonder then that Clint Baker, an ex-convict, heads there. He has nobody and nothing, except that he served his time for his part in a bank heist in another state. And now here he is, trying to prove the old Clint is dead and this new man is somebody worth knowing.


But his past keeps haunting him, in the form of his cellmate, who wants to drag him back into the life.


Can he resist the lure of easy money? Or is he really on the straight and narrow?

 

The book is available in ebook and print here: https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Julesburg-Pony-Express-Book-ebook/dp/B0C7FDMC4

 

 

About Hearts of Julesburg

Can a young woman who wants more adventure, and a young man running from his past, slow down long enough to allow God to intersect their lives?

 

A Peek Inside the book:

Clint Baker swiped at the sweat running down his forehead. He’d thought himself a shoe-in for this job. But that Andy Harper was a good shot. In fact, when Old Jim retrieved the two targets, they were almost a perfect match.


Like they were fired from the same gun by the same person.


But they weren’t. And that matchstick of a boy walking behind her was competing for the job he needed. And wanted. One he’d dreamed about since learning that a job was available.


Old Jim led them around the side of the building to the stable. “Andy, this one here is yours.” Inside the stall, a dun gelding shied from the gate. Good. A nervous horse rarely did well in competition. The old man paused at the next stall. “Clint, your mount.”


He peered over the door. A pinto mare stood, head in the corner, hindquarters facing him, one hoof lifted as if in rest. But he noted the quivering skin along her neck, the sidelong glances it cast toward him, and the lifted tail.


Horses always raised their tails before kicking.


She was waiting to nail him as soon as he stepped into her space.


Well, he’d show her.


He pulled a stub of carrot saved from the three he’d stolen from a kitchen garden in the next town over. His dinner last night. He’d thought to finish it off this morning, but he’d awoken to a stomachache and the back door trots, so he’d not eaten.


He leaned on the door and held out the treat to her. She eyed it and him, finally approaching, nose low to the ground. Holding the carrot flat in his hand, he kept his fingers safe while gaining her trust.


And sure enough, she delicately picked up the stub, all the while keeping her eyes on him. He patted her neck, rubbed her forelock, ran a hand down her chest.


Her skin twitched at his touch as though she expected him to hurt her, then she settled to leaning against the door. Clint played with the buckles on her halter, checking out the corners of her mouth.


He groaned. The skin was bruised. Crusted over in places, and, when he touched another spot, the mare tossed her head and shied away.


Yep. Hard mouth. Difficult to control. Had to keep her from getting the bit between her teeth.


Good to know.


He eased open the gate and she stepped toward him. He clipped on a lead rein, then turned her around, running his hands over her shoulders, back, and hindquarters. She let him.


Old Jim pointed to a bench. “Saddles and such over there. Meet you in the corral.”


While the old man hadn’t mentioned that this task was also part of the competition for the one job, Clint assumed it was. Within two minutes, he’d saddled and cinched the mare. As he led his mount out into the yard, Andy finished up and followed close behind.


The kid was quick, too.


An excellent shot.


But could he ride?


At the corral, he surveyed the scene before him. An obstacle course, complete with a water element and several seemingly impossible hurdles. Plus simple stuff. A trio of barrels to navigate. Hay bales to weave between.


He sighed. He’d spent his entire life proving himself to his father, but never quite succeeding. And now, once again, he had to show himself the better man—at thirty years of age, far older than any of the other candidates, he found himself still having to demonstrate he was head and shoulders above the competition.


Old Jim eyed the pair. “Who wants to go first?”


Harper stepped forward. “I will, sir.”


“Okay. You got two minutes to make it once around this course. If your horse balks, you got to make it do what you want. If you miss an element, you’re out. Got it?”


The boy—for surely he was. Not even shaving yet, he reckoned.—nodded. “Yes, sir.”


The gelding was tall—too much for the kid to handle. Old Jim gave him a hand up, and he settled tall in the saddle like he was born to it.


Into the ring, they waited for Old Jim to line up his pocket watch. At his nod, Adam spurred his horse forward. Powerful hindquarters launched the dun into motion.


Too fast. Around the barrels in a blur. One wobbled—but the three stayed upright. Down the long side of the corral, over the hay.


Over the next chest-high hurdle. Around the corner. Down the middle. Another set of bars, and another. Three in succession. No time to gain speed. Yank back on the reins, settle over the neck, leaning forward, reins allowing the beast to stretch—stretch—he made it.


Another sharp turn back for the final stretch. More hay bales, this time stacked two high. A water element—and they were over!


As they cleared the final hurdle, Old Jim snapped the second hand to a halt. “One minute, fifty-eight seconds.”


Harper rode up, smiled down at him. “Good luck, Clint.”


What was that? Wishing him well? He’d not even thought to do the same for the kid.


He cleared his throat. “Good work.”


“Thanks.”


Old Jim opened the corral gate, and Harper rode out, dismounted, then tied the gelding to the railing. One foot on the bottom rail, he settled in to watch Clint’s performance.


Clint licked his lips, mounted, and rode tall and straight into the corral. Old Jim fastened the loop of rope serving as a latch behind him. The mare, jumpy, nervous, maybe catching it from him?


He drew a couple of deep breaths. “It’s all good, girl. Do me proud, and you’ll have all the carrots you can eat.”


Even if it meant he had to steal from every kitchen garden between here and the home stations east and west to keep his word.


He didn’t have much in this world, but he kept promises.


Hadn’t he told himself he’d never go back to Pa and the farm in Burlington?


Well, he wouldn’t.


No matter what.


Keeping his focus on the old man, he nodded his readiness. Two, three, four heartbeats passed. Sweat trickled down his spine, but he refused to release a hand from the reins or the saddle horn to address it.


Old Jim nodded, and he slashed the mare’s hindquarters with the ends of the reins while spurring her. Keeping the reins more slack than he was accustomed to, he urged her forward. Her ears twitched as he whispered encouragement.


Down the first leg—no problem at all. She gathered herself at each jump as if born to it. Hooves flashed ahead. Around the corner, down the center. At the second jump, she rattled her rear shins against the poles. Ears back, she shook her head, but he pulled her attention—gently—back to the final jump.


She sailed over it, inches to spare.


This was a smart horse. Learned from her mistakes, and, like him, didn’t want to repeat them.


Another sharp turn, and down the final stretch. The double hay stack. No problem. Ahead, the water.


She slowed. Not much, but her strides shortened. At six feet wide, she needed more length, not less.


“Come on, girl. You can do it. Nothing to be afraid of.”


Not like it was the Colorado River or something. A few inches deep—but he knew of horses that didn’t want to even walk across water.


He tapped her sides with his stirrups. Ears back, she relaxed and stretched forward. Up and—


Over!


With enough steam left for the final hurdle, which they cleared.


He gave her her head and let her do a hop, skip, and a jump, then headed back to the gate.


Old Jim grinned up at him. “Can’t believe it. One minute, fifty-eight seconds.”


Now what? With only one job available, the old man had to make a choice.


Clint hopped down and stood beside the Harper boy.


Old Jim eyed them up and down as though comparing, then he shook his head and sighed.


Clint’s breath caught in his throat.


Harper shuffled his feet.


“You’re hired.”


Old Jim pointed to Clint.


He’d won!


Then he jabbed a finger in the kid’s direction. “And you, too.”


Clint stared, first at the Pony Express home station master, then at Harper.


What just happened here?


“Not sure but that I’m asking for double trouble, but that’s my decision. I can use two good hands.” He gestured to their horses. “Make friends with these beasts. You’ll use them often. But you don’t own them. Recollect that. You ride them. Feed them. Doctor them sometimes. But always leave ‘em better than you found ‘em. Can’t abide anybody mistreating horses. Or any animals. Understand?”


Clint nodded. The old man had just moved up several notches in his estimation. His father figured animals were there to be used however he liked. Clint never agreed with him. One of the reasons he’d left home.


He glanced at the Harper boy. On closer inspection, he saw he was right.


The kid wasn’t old enough to shave.

 

About Donna:

A hybrid author, Donna writes squeaky clean historical and contemporary suspense. She has been published more than 60 times in books; is a member of several writers groups; facilitates a critique group; teaches writing classes; ghostwrites; edits; and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, traveling extensively for both, and is an avid oil painter. She is taking all the information she’s learned along the way about the writing and publishing process, and is coaching writers at any stage of their manuscript. Learn more at https://www.donnaschlachter.com/the-purpose-full-writer-coaching-programs Check out her coaching group on FB: https://www.facebook.com/groups/604220861766651

 

 

Connecting Online:

www.DonnaSchlachter.com Stay connected so you learn about new releases, preorders, and presales, as well as check out featured authors, book reviews, and a little corner of peace. Plus: Receive 2 free ebooks simply for signing up for our free newsletter!

www.DonnaSchlachter.com/blog

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/DonnaschlachterAuthor

Twitter: www.Twitter.com/DonnaSchlachter

Books: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2ci5Xqq

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/donna-schlachter

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&query=donna+schlachter

Need a writing coach? https://www.donnaschlachter.com/the-purpose-full-writer-coaching-programs 

The Purpose-Full Writer: https://www.facebook.com/groups/604220861766651


Share by: